by Robyn Grady
“I went along at first because I didn’t have much choice. Laura thought we were still married. The doctor said if I kept a close eye on her, she could go home. So we spent some time together, and as the hours and days went on…” He rolled back his shoulders, forming the words carefully in his mind before uttering a one. “I’m wondering whether we might not be able to save what we had.”
Bishop respected this man; they were friends, but this was extremely private. Should he have been this open? It wasn’t usually his style. Still, now the words were out, he knew he’d needed to say them out loud. Maybe then he’d be able to see how ridiculous this all was.
“Save your marriage?” Willis’s hands dug into his pockets. “That would be if she remembers, or if she doesn’t?”
“That part’s a little up in the air.”
“It’s none of my business, and you probably don’t need me to tell you, but you should tread carefully. If you decide to go that way, the road will be full of potholes, deep and wide.” Bishop grunted. No kidding.
“I’m going to book her in to see a neurologist midweek. See what can be done. In the meantime—”
“You have a beautiful bride who’s all doe-eyed for you, but deep down hates your guts. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. What a temptation.”
Feeling his gills heat up, Bishop lowered his gaze and shuffled his feet.
Willis did a double take, then swore. “Oh, no…Sam, you haven’t. She locked you out a year ago and now that she can’t remember the bad times, you’ve slept with her?”
Bishop growled, “I don’t need anyone beating on my conscience about it.” His tone dropped. “I’ve been doing enough of that myself.”
“Look on the bright side. Things couldn’t get any worse the second time around.”
“At least I know what to expect.”
“With a woman?” Willis coughed out a laugh. “You’re fooling yourself.” He drew up to his full height and got back on track. “What do you want me to do about those buyers?”
“Tell them I’m unavailable. We’ll get back to them later in the week.” He’d thought he was ready to sell. Move on. Now he wasn’t so sure. He did know that he didn’t want any reminders of his failed marriage, and every time he walked into that office, talked to his team or went on location, he remembered how he’d buried himself in his work during those hard times. In truth, perhaps those memories had more to do with his desire to sell than feeling stale at work.
Either way, he didn’t need to make a snap decision. He’d see how he felt in a day or two—in a week—about everything and decide then.
They returned to Laura, and Willis nodded his farewell. “Good meeting you, Mrs. Bishop.”
“You’ll have to come up to our place in the mountains for dinner one evening,” she said. “Bring your wife, of course.”
“I’m sure she’d like that. She loves the mountains.”
Laura beamed. “Me, too.” She looked to Bishop then back at Willis. “Why don’t we make it this weekend?”
“This weekend we’re having that get-together for my birthday, remember—” Willis stopped.
Bishop was glaring at him.
She’s not ready for big groups yet.
The consummate hostess, Laura patched up the awkward moment. “Oh, well, if you have a party on, we’ll make it another time.”
Bishop quietly exhaled. Ah, what the hell. It would either be a disaster with everyone asking the wrong questions, or they’d have a great time. If her memory returned before then, it’d be a moot point.
“We’re invited, Laura.” He shrugged, offered a smile. “It slipped my mind.”
Laura’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful.” She spoke to Willis. “I suppose I’ll see you next week then.”
“I know my wife will enjoy meeting you.” Turning to the doors, Willis sent Bishop a wink. “We’ll talk.”
He and Laura headed for the concierge’s desk. The fellow from last night, Herb, was still on. After the ticket was handed over and pleasantries exchanged, he asked, “Did you receive the champagne?”
Laura spoke for them both. “That was so thoughtful. And unnecessary. But thank you so much.”
“You were always so kind, Mrs. Bishop,” the older man said. “It’s good to have you back.”
Looking touched as well as bemused, Laura patted her hair uncertainly then tacked up her smile. “It’s good to be back.”
They headed out through the doors and, between two soaring forecourt columns, waited for his car to arrive. Hanging on tenterhooks, Bishop knew Laura would mention Herb’s comment. Good to have you back. She might think it was weird, but Herb hadn’t seen Laura in eighteen months, and yes, she had always been kind. She was kind to everyone. The last months of their marriage, with regard to him, didn’t count.
But rather than Herb, Laura brought up that other subject.
“Was Willis here about the sale of the company?”
“Yes, he was.”
“So you’re going in to the office later today?”
“No.”
Her eyes rounded as she turned to him. “You’re still taking the day off to be with me?”
She looked so innocent, so radiant, he couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t sound so amazed.”
Clearly self-conscious now, she bowed her head. “I know you love me—” she met his eyes again “—but I never imagined you’d take time off when you have such important business to sort out.”
The car rolled up. He opened the passenger-side door, thinking that he would never have imagined it, either. What an eye-opener. He hadn’t analyzed the dichotomy before, but it was true. He had put business first. When they’d been married, the company was still climbing and he’d had no choice but to put in the hard yards. Or that’s what he’d told himself. Truth was when things started to slide between him and Laura, he’d hid behind his job, used it as an excuse not to face his problems at home.
He slid in behind the wheel.
How often had he said to himself, If I had my time again? Now it seemed he had.
Thirty minutes later, the car slowed down and Laura brought the dented fingernail out from between her teeth. “I’m nervous.”
Bishop swung the Land Rover to the curb. “If you don’t like any of them, we’re under no obligation.”
“I’m worried I’ll like them all. What do you think? A girl or a boy?”
The engine shut down. “Your choice.”
“A girl, I think. Maybe we could get a friend for her later on.”
“I’d better watch out or we’ll be taking all four home.”
On the drive, Bishop had let the cat—or dog, as it happened—out of the bag. Laura had been beside herself, she was so excited to be actually looking at puppies. Now, as a tall, wiry lady answered the door of a pristine suburban cottage, Laura held Bishop’s hand tight. The woman introduced herself as Sandra Knightly then ushered them around the back to where a silky coated retriever lay in a comfortable enclosure, nursing four adorable pups.
“As I told you on the phone earlier, Mr. Bishop,” Sandra said, “we have three males, one female.”
Besotted already, Laura hunkered down. “Only one girl?”
“Right there.” Sandra pointed out the smallest. “She’s the quiet one. They’re six weeks old. They’ll be ready to go to their new homes in a couple of weeks.”
“Will their mother miss them when they go?” Laura asked.
“Think of it as your own children leaving for college,” Sandra replied.
“I don’t know that I’d ever like them to go.” Laura reached out a hand then drew it back.
She looked up and Sandra asked, “Would you like to hold her?”
Laura’s face lit up. “Can I?”
“Of course. It’s good to have human contact at this age.”
Sandra scooped up the female puppy and laid her in the cup of Laura’s palms. She snuggled the sleepy baby close and brushed her cheek along the pale gold fur. The pupp
y turned her head and nudged her nose against Laura’s.
“Oh, my.” Her sigh was heartfelt. “She smells so…puppyish.”
Standing again, Sandra laughed. “Would you like me to put her aside for you?”
“Not yet.” Bishop stepped forward.
And Laura’s head snapped up.
“Why not?” Hearing her own tone, more a bark, she bit her lip.
She’d only meant that she knew this puppy was the one. They could look at a dozen more, but she would always come back to this darling. If they didn’t put something down to keep her, she’d be snapped up by someone else. She even had a name picked out.
Looking to Sandra, Bishop rolled back his shoulders. “We’d like to discuss it.”
“It’s a big decision,” Sandra agreed. “All the relevant information is on the website where you found me. But feel free to call if you have any questions.”
Hating to leave, Laura kissed her puppy between her floppy ears. “You stay put, little one,” she murmured against the downy fur. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Two minutes later they were back in the car, buckling up. So happy and anxious and excited, Laura felt as if she could burst. She gave her thighs a hyped up little drum. “She’s totally perfect, isn’t she?”
He put on sunglasses. “She’s a cute pup.”
“So we can get her?”
“I’d like to be thorough. We want to make sure.”
Laura clenched her jaw and held back a groan. Why must everything be put through the Samuel Bishop tenth degree decision sieve? For once, couldn’t he say, “Yeah. Let’s do it!”
“I don’t care if she isn’t from a long line of champions or if she’ll need a hip replaced when she’s twelve,” she told him. “I’d want her anyway.”
“And you wouldn’t be crushed if down the road we found out she had a problem…that we might lose her?”
“Of course I’d be crushed. But I wouldn’t love her any less, and I wouldn’t blame anyone. I certainly wouldn’t blame you.”
“You wouldn’t, huh?”
“I know you want to protect me, Bishop. You don’t want anything bad to ever happen. And I love you all the more for it. We can plan and hope and dream our lives will turn out a certain way. We can care for each other and pray that nothing goes wrong. But no one’s immune. If we put ourselves out there, sometimes we’re going to get hurt. The alternative is to hide away. Wrap ourselves in cotton wool. I would never hold you back from your dreams. If you want to build Bishop Scaffolds into a multinational corporation, I’m one hundred percent behind you. If you want to sell to pursue another venture, I’ll support you there. I know you’ll support me in my dreams, too.”
She was talking about more than buying a puppy, and he knew it.
He searched her eyes for the longest time. She saw the battle going on inside of him. Bishop was a man who made precise moves. He needed to anticipate, to strategize and arrive at the best possible solution to advance. As a wife, his process could be frustrating; impulsiveness didn’t feature in Bishop’s personal dictionary. But he wasn’t indecisive. Quite the opposite. When he made up his mind, that conviction was set in cement. But he had to be sure…as sure as he’d been when he’d asked her to be his partner in life.
A deep line formed between his brows as he frowned and he thought. Behind his sunglasses, he was looking deeply into her eyes, but she knew he was envisaging the future…. Her concern if the puppy developed joint problems, her misery should she be struck by a snake or get lost in the bush. He wanted to shield her from pain. That was noble. But Laura wanted to feel, to love, and if that meant a possibility she might lose, then she was prepared to accept that, too.
He flicked a glance back at Sandra’s house and, after another long moment, nodded once.
“It’ll be two weeks before we can collect her.”
A yip of happiness escaped and Laura flung her arms around him. He’d agreed they should get a puppy, this puppy, but in her heart she suspected she’d broken down a wall and he was agreeing to more.
At least she prayed that he was.
Nine
Bishop put a deposit down on the pup and Laura gave her furry baby another big cuddle goodbye. She spoke of little else all the way to the Darling Harbor apartment or on the way home to the Blue Mountains. Bishop couldn’t decide if he felt relieved or ridden with guilt that he’d agreed to her getting a dog.
This time two years ago they’d had very near the same conversation. He’d stuck to his guns about checking out potential pets yet had agreed a short time later to Laura falling pregnant. He knew why he’d made that call. Laura would be able to abide by the logic behind checking out a dog’s pedigree, but despite his own reservations, in his heart he understood, now more than ever, that Laura would never forget about conceiving and having her own child. Clearly, regardless of everything they’d gone through—everything she’d gone through—Laura hadn’t put aside her deeper feelings.
Had he been wrong to expect such a sacrifice on her part in the first place? Had his insecurities been more important than her desire to be a mother in the truest sense? He’d thought he was merely being cautious, a responsible parent-to-be, but perhaps he’d simply been selfish putting his wishes above hers.
After he swung the Land Rover into the garage, he removed the luggage from the trunk, recalling how he’d rationalized this all the first time, when they’d been three months married. If Laura was willing to take the risk, he’d come to the conclusion that he could do little other than support her choice. It wasn’t about courage or recklessness or defeat on his part. Back then it had been about love and, initially, she’d understood that. The here and now was about seeing if there was any chance they might get that love back.
When he’d married Laura he’d believed to his soul that she would be his wife for life. Divorce papers and living apart hadn’t changed that ingrained perception, which was only one of the reasons he would never marry again. Beneath all the murk of the breakup, behind the smoke and mirrors of her amnesia, did Laura feel the same way? Reasonably, why else would her mind wind back to this precise point in her life, in their relationship, if not for some deep desire to change the misfortune that had come before? Statistics said her memory would return over time. When it did, she could tell him whether he’d taken advantage of the situation or if this time he’d been the one who’d taken a risk that might pay off.
When Bishop moved inside with their luggage, Laura was standing in front of the fireplace, peering up at their wedding portrait, her head tilted to one side as if something wasn’t quite right.
While she’d chatted to Grace Saturday morning, he’d found their wedding photograph stashed at the back of a wardrobe in the adjacent guest room. His heart had thudded the entire time he’d perched atop a stepladder and rehung the print, but he had an excuse handy should she walk in. A spider’s web had spread across one corner, he’d decided to say, and he’d taken the print down to see if the culprit was living behind the frame.
But she’d stayed on the phone a half hour and hadn’t noticed the portrait either way after that. As he watched her now, inching closer to the fireplace, examining the print as though it were a newly discovered Picasso, he considered the other discrepancies she might wonder about now that they were home again. Things that didn’t quite fit.
He’d bat the questions back as they came and tomorrow he’d get her into a general practitioner who could give them a referral to a specialist. Until then he’d wing it and let the pieces fall as they may.
Still engrossed in the photograph, she tapped a finger at the air, obviously finally figuring out what was wrong.
“It’s crooked,” she announced.
After lowering the luggage, he retrieved the stepladder, which was still handy. As he set it up before the fireplace, ready to straighten the frame, Laura continued to analyze.
“It seems so long ago,” she said, “and yet…” She released a breath she must have been holdi
ng and a short laugh slipped out. “Can you believe we’ve been married a whole three months?”
He grinned back. “Seems longer.”
He straightened the frame. She took in the angle, then nodded. “Perfect.”
On his way down the ladder, he remembered the sketch lying on the car’s backseat. “Have you thought where you might hang the other one?”
“Mr. Frenchie’s? We’ll need to get it framed first. Something modern, slim-lined, fresh!”
She was headed toward the phone extension. As she collected the receiver, Bishop’s pulse rate jackknifed and he strode over. When he took the receiver from her, her chin pulled in.
Hoping unease didn’t show in his eyes, he found an excuse.
“We’ve only just come home.” He set the receiver back in its cradle. “Don’t you want to unpack, have a coffee, before we let the outside world in?”
“I was expecting Kathy to leave a message about the library. I told you about the literacy program we want to set up. We usually get together Wednesdays if there’s anything to discuss.”
She waited for him to back down, to say, of course, call your friend. But if he did that, Kathy would likely ask what on earth Laura was rabbiting on about. Laura would expand and not clued in, Kathy would laugh, perhaps a little uneasily, and say that her friend was living in the past. That what Laura was talking about happened two years ago.
Should he protect her from such a harsh jolt or hand the phone over and let friend Kathy help unravel this tangle of yarn? He’d been prepared to field any blow when last night he’d questioned her about losing a baby, so what was different now? Other than the fact that he wouldn’t have control over how this conversation wound out. No control at all.
He glanced over the luggage by the door then their wedding portrait, rehung on that wall. Were they home again or should he have kept the engine running?
Resigned, he stepped back.
“I won’t be on the phone all day,” she said, guessing at his problem. She could talk under water once she got started. “I just promised Kathy I’d call her early in the week to check.”
