Family Affair

by Debbie Macomber

  “Jack said there’d been a misunderstanding.” Sarah grinned as if amused.

  “Please make yourselves at home,” Lacey said, gesturing toward the living room.

  Jack needed no further invitation. He helped himself to the love seat, and Cleo immediately snuggled in his lap as if she’d been waiting for his return.

  Lacey and Sarah sat down too.

  “I’m sorry for all the commotion Jack and I make,” Sarah said. “He’s pretty stubborn, you know.”

  “Me?” Jack protested.

  “All right, we both are. Since Mom and Dad moved to Flagstaff, he’s the only family I have here in San Francisco. We fight a lot, but we’re close too.”

  “We’d argue a lot less if it wasn’t for Mark,” Jack said with a frown, eyeing his sister.

  Sarah’s jaw went tight. “Jack, please, you promised not to bring him up. At any rate,” she continued, “I wanted to clear up any misconceptions you might have about me. Jack really is my brother.”

  “I should have realized that. There’s a strong family resemblance.”

  Sarah stood. “I really need to go—Mark’s meeting me for dinner—but I wanted to stop by and introduce myself. Jack’s mentioned you several times and—well, I hope everything works out—with Cleo.” She squeezed the last two words together in her rush to clarify her meaning.

  Sarah left, but Jack stayed exactly where he was—on her love seat with Cleo snoozing contentedly in his lap. “All right,” he said, after Lacey had seen Sarah to the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something’s troubling you,” he said evenly, studying her.

  Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she debated whether or not to tell him the truth. The hot bath hadn’t helped to soothe her mind the way she had hoped, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what Jeanne had said about her choosing to be a victim.

  “I’m a worm,” she confessed, slumping in her chair.

  “A worm,” Jack repeated slowly, as if he wasn’t sure of the word’s meaning. “In what way?”

  She tossed her hands in the air, not wanting to discuss it. The more she complained, the worse she felt. If she was going to whine about her job, she should be doing it to Mr. Sullivan. So far he was the last person to know how she felt, and she had no one to blame but herself.

  “All right, you’re a worm,” Jack said, “but even a worm needs to eat. How about dinner?”

  “Out?”

  “We can order in if you want, but I bet a night in Chinatown would do us both a world of good.”

  Lacey blinked back her surprise. Jack was asking her to dinner and she found that she longed to accept more than she had wanted anything for a long time. Before she could resurrect a long list of objections, she nodded.

  His smile rivaled the northern lights. “Great.” Gently he set Cleo aside. “You like Chinese food?”

  “I love it. Hot and spicy and lots of it.”

  “Me too. The spicier the better.”

  “They can’t make it too hot for me,” she told him.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”

  Lacey didn’t. Jack insisted on a taxi to save hunting for a parking space in crowded Chinatown. Lacey would have been comfortable riding BART. She didn’t own a car and her only means of getting around was public transportation. Luckily the City by the Bay had an excellent metro system.

  The taxi let them off on Grant Avenue. Lacey loved walking along the busy streets of Chinatown. Goods from the small shops spilled onto the sidewalk, displayed on long narrow tables. The smells tantalized her. Incense blended with simmering duck and mingled with the keen scent of spices that floated in the air. Chinese lanterns lit up the corners.

  Jack guided her toward what he claimed was his favorite restaurant, his hand holding hers. Lacey enjoyed being linked with him, so much so that she was almost frightened by the sense of rightness she experienced.

  When they approached a steep flight of stairs that looked like something the Maya had constructed deep in the interior of Mexico, Lacey balked.

  “It isn’t as bad as it looks.” Jack placed an arm around her waist. Lacey could deal with the stairs far easier than she could this newfound intimacy. It didn’t help that she’d been up and down three flights several times that day. She explained what had happened with the office elevator, and Jack was appropriately sympathetic.

  Dinner started with hot and sour soup, followed by pot stickers in hot oil. Jack did the ordering, insisting she try Szechuan chicken, prawns with chili sauce, and hot pepper beef. Every now and again he’d look at her to be sure she approved of his choices.

  “We’ll never eat all that,” she insisted, leaning toward him until her stomach was pressed against the side of the linen-covered table.

  “I know,” he said, unconcerned. “There’ll be plenty of leftovers for later.”

  It amazed her that they had so much to talk about. He respected her privacy and didn’t pry into subjects she didn’t want to discuss. He listened and his laugh was easy, and before she knew it she was completely relaxed. Her problems seemed much less important.

  Lacey even managed to sample each of the multiple dishes Jack ordered, none of which she’d tasted before. They were so good, it was hard to stop eating.

  By the time they left the restaurant, carrying the leftovers, Lacey was full and content. They walked along the crowded streets, stopping now and again to investigate the wares of a souvenir shop. Jack bought her a bar of jasmine-scented soap and a catnip toy for Cleo.

  “Tell her it’s from Dog,” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “I will. It’s the least he can do.”

  “The very least,” Jack agreed.

  She had trouble pulling her gaze away from his. It had been a long time since she’d had such a happy time with a man.

  “We’d better head back,” Jack said abruptly, waving to flag down a taxi.

  “So soon?” she protested, not understanding the swift change in his mood. One moment they were enjoying each other’s company, and the next Jack looked as if he couldn’t get home fast enough. He turned and looked at her, his eyes burning into hers. “I don’t want to leave either.”

  “Then why are we going?”

  “Because I can’t go another minute without kissing you, and doing it on the streets of Chinatown might embarrass you.”

  Five

  Neither spoke on the ride back to the apartment building. Jack paid the driver, took hold of Lacey’s hand, and led her into the lobby. The elevator was waiting with the door wide open, and the instant they were inside Jack reached for her.

  The moment their lips met, Lacey realized she’d been half crazy with wanting him. His mouth was firm and needy, as needy as her own. Standing on the tips of her toes, she linked her arms around his neck.

  When he lifted his mouth from hers, she buried her face in his shoulder. He held her close, rubbing his chin across the crown of her head. His touch was as gentle as she knew it would be. Cleo trusted this touch, savored it. Now it was her turn.

  She wanted him to kiss her again, needed him to, so she’d know this was real. Reading her mind, he used his thumb to raise her chin. His eyes met and held her for a breath-stopping moment before he lowered his lips to hers. His mouth was wet and warm, coaxing. Lacey sighed as her emotions churned like the dense fog that swirls around the Golden Gate Bridge.

  This was real, she decided. It didn’t get any more real than this. One moment she was clinging to him, breathless with wonder, and the next she was battling tears.

  “Lacey.”

  She didn’t answer, but freed herself enough to push the button to their floor, to escape as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to talk, to explain emotions she didn’t understand herself. Shaking from the i
mpact of his touch, she realized how terribly frightened she was.

  After Peter had left, she’d been in shock. If she’d examined her pain then, she would have had to acknowledge how deeply he’d wounded her.

  Now there was Jack, patient, gentle Jack, who evoked a wealth of sensation. But she couldn’t accept this promise of joy without first dealing with the dull, throbbing pain of her past.

  “Lacey,” he whispered, keeping his arms loosely wrapped around her waist. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. An explanation was beyond her. “I’m fine.” It was a small white lie. She’d hadn’t been fine from the moment she’d learned that Peter was involved with another woman. She felt broken and inadequate. She had never recovered from the crippling loss of the dream she’d carried with her since she was a child, playing love and marriage with paper dolls.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Marriage was forever. Love was supposed to last longer than a night, commitment longer than a few months.

  All that Lacey had gotten out of her years with Peter was a bitterness buried so deep in her soul that it took the tenderness of another man, one she barely knew, to make her realize what she’d been doing for the past eighteen months.

  Silently, Jack walked with her down the hall that led to her apartment. Pausing outside her door, he brushed a tendril of hair from her face, his touch light and nonthreatening.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, gently pressing his lips to hers.

  She blinked. Twice. “Why are you thanking me?”

  A smile lifted the edges of his mouth. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  Her hand trembled when she inserted the key. Cleo was there to greet her, clearly unhappy at having been left so long. It took several moments for Lacey to pull herself away from her thoughts.

  Setting her purse aside, she wandered into the kitchen. She could hear Jack’s movements on the other side, storing the leftovers in the refrigerator. She poured herself a glass of water and smiled when she heard a light tapping sound coming from the wall.

  She reached over and knocked back, smiling at their silly game.

  “Good night, Lacey,” she heard him say.

  “Good night, Jack,” she whispered, and pressed her flattened palm against the wall, needing this small connection with him, yet fearing it. She was glad he couldn’t see what she had done.

  Lacey couldn’t have been more surprised when Sarah Walker entered Sullivan’s Decorating two days after her dinner date with Jack.

  “Sarah, hello!” Lacey said, standing to greet Jack’s sister.

  “I hope you don’t mind my stopping in unexpectedly like this.” Sarah glanced nervously around the crowded shop. Every available bit of space was taken up by sample books, swatches of material, and catalogs.

  “Of course not.”

  “I was wondering if we could meet for lunch one afternoon and talk?”

  Lacey was pleased, although surprised. “I’d enjoy that very much.”

  They agreed on a time the following week, and Sarah chose a seafood restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf, one of Lacey’s all-time favorites.

  Lacey saw Jack almost every evening that week, never for very long. He had a long list of convenient excuses for dropping in unannounced, easing his way into her life bit by bit. Lacey knew what he was doing, but she didn’t mind. He made no attempt to kiss her again and she was grateful, but she didn’t expect his patience to last much longer.

  “I was divorced over a year ago,” she mentioned casually one evening, not looking at him. With Cleo in her lap, Lacey felt secure enough to touch upon the truth.

  Jack sat composed and relaxed on her love seat, holding a mug of coffee, his ankle resting on his knee. “I guessed as much,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not now. Do you mind?”

  It took him awhile to answer; it seemed like the longest moment of Lacey’s life. “No, but I do feel we should. Someday. The sooner the better.”

  She knew he was right. For the past few days, she had been rewriting her journal. It was the only way she had of sorting out her feelings. The habit of keeping a record of events in her life had started while she was still in school, and for years she had written a paragraph or two at the end of each day.

  After Jack kissed her, she’d gone back to the daily journal she’d kept through those painful months before her divorce. What amazed her was the lack of emotion in those brief entries. It was as if she had jotted down the details of a police report. Just the facts, nothing more. Bits and pieces of useless information while her world blew up in her face.

  She’d reread one day at a time, and then with raw courage she rewrote those trauma-filled weeks, reliving each day, refusing to dull the pain. What surprised her was the incredible amount of anger she experienced. Toward Peter. And toward Michelle, the woman he’d left her to marry.

  The bitterness spilled out of her pen until her hand ached and her fingers throbbed, but still she couldn’t stop. It was as if the pen insisted she get it all down as quickly as possible because only then would she be well, only then could she move forward with her life.

  She was afraid she was going to explode. Even Cleo knew not to come near her. Holding a box of tissues, she’d weep and pace and weep some more. Then she’d wipe her eyes, blow her nose, and toss the damp tissue willy-nilly. In the morning, she discovered a trail that reached to every room of her apartment.

  Sleep avoided her. It wasn’t fair. She’d purged her soul, or so she thought. Yet it was well after midnight before she’d fall into a fitful sleep.

  Lacey wasn’t in the mood for company the next evening when Jack arrived, but she was pleased he’d stopped by. He was easy to be with, undemanding and supportive.

  Cleo jumped down from her position in Lacey’s lap and strolled into the bedroom, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. When Cleo left, Jack stood and moved to Lacey. He stretched out his hand to her.

  She looked up at him and blinked and then, without question, gave him her hand. He clasped it firmly in his own and then lifted her from her chair. Deftly he switched position, claiming her seat, and drew her into his lap.

  “You look tired.” His gaze was warm and concerned.

  “I’m exhausted.” As well she should be after the restless night she’d spent. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bury the past. It prickled her like stinging nettles.

  He eased her head down to his shoulder. “Are you able to talk about your marriage yet?”

  It took several moments for Lacey to answer, and when she did she found herself battling back tears. “He fell in love with someone else. He’d been having an affair for months. Oh, Jack, how could I have been so stupid not to have known, not to have realized what was happening? I was so blind, so incredibly naive.”

  Jack’s hand was in her hair. “He was a fool, Lacey. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “I . . . all I know is that Peter’s happy and I’m miserable. It isn’t fair. I want to make him hurt the way he hurt me.” She buried her face in his chest.

  When her sobs subsided, Lacey realized Jack was making soft, comforting sounds. Wiping the moisture from her face, she raised her head and attempted a smile.

  “Did you understand anything I said?”

  “I heard your pain, and that was enough.”

  Appreciation filled her. She didn’t know how to tell him all that was in her heart. How grateful she was for his friendship, for showing her that she’d anesthetized her life, blocked out any chance of another relationship. Little by little, he’d worn down her resistance. All she could think to do was thank him with a kiss.

  It had been so very long since a man had held her like this. It had been ages since anyone had stirred up the fire deep within her. Their mouths met, shyly at first,
then gaining in intensity. After only a few seconds, Lacey was drowning in a wealth of sensation.

  A frightening kind of excitement took hold of her. It had been like this when Jack had kissed her that first time, but even more so now. She opened to him and sighed with surprise and delight as his hold around her tightened. Her initial response was shy.

  “Lacey,” he groaned, “do you have any idea how much you tempt me?”

  “I do?” She basked in the glow of his words. After Peter, she’d been convinced no man would ever find her desirable again.

  “We have to stop now.”

  Lacey had never meant for their kissing to develop to this point, but now that it had, she had few regrets. “Thank you,” she whispered and lightly kissed his lips as she refastened her blouse.

  “You didn’t tell me very much about your divorce,” he said.

  “But I did,” she assured him. “I told you almost everything.”

  He frowned. “Was I a good listener?”

  “The very best,” she said, with a warm smile. “You made me feel desirable when I was convinced no man would ever want me again.”

  Jack closed his eyes as if attempting to fathom such a thing. “He must have been crazy.”

  “I . . . can’t answer that.”

  “Do you still hate him?”

  She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to read what was going on inside her. She had thought she did. Now she wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. For a long time, I pretended the divorce didn’t matter. I told myself I was lucky to have learned the kind of husband he was before we had children.

  “It’s only been since I met you that I realized how deeply I’d buried myself in denial. The divorce hurt, Jack. It was the most painful experience of my life.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Every time I think about Peter, I feel incredibly sad.”

  “That’s a beginning,” Jack said softly, rubbing his chin against the side of her face. “A very good beginning.”