"I waited for you at the restaurant,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice neutral. She felt him stiffen. After a moment, he turned over and draped an arm across her breasts.
He released a drawn-out sigh. “Oh, Christ, Leigh. I'm sorry. All hell was breaking loose on the Floor. I just couldn't get away. I'm sorry I didn't have Becca call you.” He propped himself on an elbow and leaned over to peck at her cheek. “I'll make it up to you next year, okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, he turned over on his side, muttering, “Goodnight."
Leigh gazed up at the ceiling, dry-eyed. Happy Anniversary to you, too. She supposed she should consider herself lucky for that grudging little kiss on the cheek.
There hadn't been any physical intimacy between them since that October morning she had initiated sex while he was still sleeping. Over a month ago. She didn't want to believe it, but she was beginning to think that the only reason he'd been able to perform then was because he had been asleep. Could he only make love to her when he wasn't really aware of what he was doing—or whom he was doing it to?
Leigh stared into the darkness, her heart leaden. What had happened to their marriage? When had he stopped loving her? And dear God, when had she stopped caring that he'd stopped loving her? But that wasn't really true, was it? She did care. She just didn't know how to change it.
But something had to be done. They couldn't go on living this sham of a marriage. Existing in the same house, but living separate lives. Tomorrow she'd go to the library and check out some books on rejuvenating a lackluster relationship. If she could get Bob to read them, discuss them with her, maybe then, they could get their marriage back on track.
Making that decision made her feel better. And with the sound of Bob's soft, rhythmical breathing beside her, she finally fell back to sleep.
* * * *
It wasn't until the weekend that she got the chance to corner Bob about the books she'd checked out. One of them, Celibate Wives, seemed especially appropriate to their situation. In the three days since their anniversary, she'd read it from cover to cover, earmarking one particular chapter which seemed especially relevant to them. The more she read, the more excited she got. It wasn't a hopeless cause. There were some things that could be done to get their marriage back on track. As long as they both agreed there was enough of a marriage left to get back on track. Leigh had to believe there was. Deep down, she thought Bob still loved her. On some level. And she? She loved the Bob he used to be. Not the bad-tempered, tight-assed workaholic he'd become in the years since they'd moved from Ohio to Washington. But was there any way of finding that old Bob again?
On Sunday afternoon she found him in his study, poring over a new bill he wanted to propose. It wasn't a good time. She knew that. But when was a good time for Bob? And she'd resolved that the weekend wouldn't get away without them talking about this. Holding the book in her hands, she sat down in the chair opposite his desk and waited for him to look up. It took a few moments, but finally he did. He frowned, his mind obviously still on his work.
"Well?"
Leigh didn't know how to begin. Bob stared at her. She knew he was perplexed. He wasn't used to her invading his space. Especially when he was working.
"What is it?” His voice was impatient.
She took a deep breath. “We need to talk about us. Our problem."
He released a frustrated sigh and looked down at his legal pad. “Not now, Leigh. I'm busy."
"You're always busy. But Bob ... we can't go on like this."
He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and assumed a maddeningly patient expression. Like an over-worked father forced to take a moment out to listen to his whining child.
"Okay. So, what's ‘our problem’ this time?"
Leigh stared at him. Was he playing dumb? Or was he really so clueless that he didn't realize they had a problem? His condescension made her want to slap him. Cut to the quick. Our problem? Oh, nothing, really. Just that you can't get it up with me, you ass! But of course, she would never, ever say anything so cruel.
No, she couldn't be cruel, but she could be blunt. “Your impotence,” she said flatly.
His face reddened. He looked away from her as if he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. “That's just a temporary problem. Things will get better when Congress recesses."
"But that won't be for another month. I don't think this can wait. I think you should see a doctor, Bob."
His mouth thinned. “No way. I'm not going to let some psychiatrist dig around in my mind, and start asking me asinine questions like if I hated my mother. No fucking way!"
"I'm not talking about a psychiatrist,” Leigh said calmly. “A medical doctor. First, you need to find out if the impotence is physical."
"Would you stop using that word? I'm not impotent! I've got a lot on my mind these days, and I'm just not that interested in sex. So, sue me!” He scowled across the table at her. “Besides, didn't we screw a few weeks ago? You didn't seem to think we had a problem that morning, did you? In fact, if I remember correctly, you didn't have any reason to complain about my performance then, did you?"
It was Leigh's turn to blush. “Yes, I remember that morning very clearly.” Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. “But Bob, we still have a problem, and you know it. Here.” She leaned forward and placed the book on his desk. “Can you take the time to read this book? You don't even have to read it all. I've book-marked one particular chapter that describes our situation. Please, Bob, will you just promise me you'll read it?"
He sighed and shook his head. “Whatever, Leigh. I'll try and get to it."
"You have to do more than try, Bob. If you care at all about me ... about getting back anything close to what we used to have with each other, you've got to promise me you'll read that chapter."
"For Christ's sake!” Bob reached for the book, his face glowering. “Allright! I promise I'll read the goddamn book. Now, will you let me get back to work?"
"Of course,” Leigh said quietly, and stood up. Holding her head high, she left his study.
* * * *
The book was due back at the library on the 20th. He had almost three weeks to read it. Every Saturday, Leigh checked his progress when she went into his study to dust. The bookmark remained at the beginning of the chapter where she'd inserted it.
On the Saturday before the 20th, she picked up the book, looked once more to see it the bookmark had moved. It hadn't. She sank to the sofa, clenching the book in her hands. Her heart hammered as the truth hit her. He didn't care. He really didn't care at all. She bit down on her lower lip, her eyes swimming with sudden tears. And if he didn't care, how on earth could she make him care? Here, in her hands, she held the proof that her marriage was in shambles.
It dropped from her limp hands, hitting the carpeted floor. Leigh stood as a spasm of fury coursed through her. No! She couldn't let this go! She'd confront him, demand that he read the book. Threaten to leave him if he wouldn't.
From the back of the house, a door slammed. “Mom!” Aaron bellowed from the kitchen. “I'm hungry! What's for lunch?"
Her anger drained away. She bent, picked up the book and took out the bookmark. Then she left Bob's study and headed for the kitchen.
The book was never mentioned again.
Chapter 5
As Leigh turned to the stove to check on the beef stew, she heard the back door open and the stamp of boots on the doormat. Erik. She knew it was him because of the subtle scent of his sandlewood after-shave.
"God aften,” he said, coming up behind her to peer into the stew-pot. “Mmmm ... smells delicious. I'm famished."
Leigh stiffened at his nearness. Her heart gave a sudden lurch as his large hands clamped down on her shoulders. He leaned over her, so close she could smell the fresh scent of his flaxen hair. She closed her eyes, fighting an overwhelming desire to turn and rub her face against his bristly jaw. Instead, she forced herself to move away from him to open a cabinet, her eyes searchi
ng for something she didn't need.
"Reminds me of aromas from my mother's kitchen. Have you heard of rommegraut? It's a porridge flavored with sour cream and cinnamon, a Norwegian specialty.” His eyes wore a faraway look as he gazed out the kitchen window. “It's especially good on a cold afternoon like this."
"It sounds delicious.” Leigh moved to the refrigerator and opened it. “You wouldn't be homesick by any chance, Erik?"
He shrugged. “Perhaps a bit. Especially with the holidays coming up next month."
"Well, you're going home for Christmas."
"True. But you know, I think when I am at home, I will be homesick for America. I guess you just cannot win."
Leigh brought out tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers for salad and dumped them on the counter. “I guess not. Anyway, you'll be here for Thanksgiving. You know about that holiday, don't you?"
"Of course. It's your Turkey-Day. And if I remember my American history correctly, it is about Pilgrims and Indians, ja?"
"You forgot pumpkin pie."
"Oh, ja, pumpkin pie. I am looking forward to my first Thanksgiving."
"I think you'll enjoy it. My family is driving out from Ohio. They're really anxious to meet you. By the way, where's Mark?"
"Studying at the library for mid-terms.” Arms folded, Erik leaned against the counter, gazing at her. “Tell me about your family, Kayleigh. What are they like?"
"There's not much to tell. They're just ordinary people.” She pulled open the cutlery drawer to search for a serrated knife. “Down-to-earth-Midwesterners. I think you'll like Dad. He was a senator on the Hill for several terms, you know. We moved to Washington when I was fourteen. That's how I became such a big Redskins’ fan. Dad is a gruff old bear sometimes, but if you get him talking about something that interests him, you'll be his friend for life. Just to prepare yourself, he's suffered a hearing loss in the last few years. The TV will be on full blast while he's here. I think Mark told you what a football nut he is."
"Like his daughter.” He grinned. “And your mother? Is she like you?"
Leigh cored the lettuce and rinsed it under the faucet. “In some ways. She's quiet, rather reserved. A bit old-fashioned, I think. She's never had a career. I don't know what she'd do if she didn't have Dad to take care of."
"May I slice the tomato for you?” He reached across her and grabbed one of the ripe fruits. Expertly, he cut it into wedges. “What about your sister? Barbara, isn't that her name?” He popped a piece of tomato into his mouth and grinned. “Ulterior motive, ja?"
"Just for that, you'll have to slice the cucumbers, too.” She placed two cucumbers on the cutting board. “Oh, Barbara is as different from me and my mom as you can get. She's outgoing and vivacious. A real extrovert. It wasn't easy growing up in her shadow. Following her in school. All the teachers expected me to be just like her. Instead, I was painfully shy."
"Well, it appears you've come out of her shadow now. A successful artist, a good mother. Are you ready for these?” When she nodded, he scraped the cucumbers into a bowl.
Leigh began to toss the salad. “Yeah, but every time I get together with Barb, I always start to feel like that same shy little girl. I don't know, Erik, it's as if she were born under a lucky star or something. Everything has always worked out for her. You should see her with her husband. They've been married longer than Bob and me, yet ... oh, I don't know. You'll see what I mean. They have such a special relationship..."
"You deserve better,” Erik said quietly.
Leigh looked at him. His eyes met hers steadily. A long silence fell, yet, it was as if something unspoken passed between them. Her pulse raced. Abruptly, she grabbed the salad bowl and turned away.
Behind her, Erik spoke, “I'm sorry. That was inappropriate."
With one hand, Leigh made some adjustments in the refrigerator to squeeze in the salad bowl. The cool air fanned her hot cheeks as she struggled to regain her composure. She cleared her throat. “You're just too easy to talk to, Erik. It must be the psychoanalyst in you."
It was the perfect thing to say. The tension between them eased at once.
Erik laughed. “Perhaps I should look into writing an advice column. But actually, I want to ask you for some advice. Do you mind if I have a cup?” He nodded his head toward the coffee maker.
"Help yourself. I'll have one, too."
Erik poured the coffee into mugs and brought them to the kitchen table. “There's this girl in my Abnormal Psychology class,” he said, taking a seat. “She is, to use an American phrase, coming on to me."
Immediately Leigh had a vision of the girl ... tall, blond, pert breasts, shapely ass, seductive smile. A tide of unreasonable jealousy ripped through her. She bit her bottom lip and sat down opposite Erik. “So, what's the problem? You don't like her?"
"Oh, she's hot, as Mark would say. But to put it bluntly, I'm not interested in going to bed with her. And she isn't easily discouraged.” Erik scratched his head, his brows knitted in thought. “The thing is, Kayleigh, I like her. She's intelligent and easy to talk to. Fun, as well."
"I'm not sure I know what the problem is, then,” Leigh said. “Keep it on a friendly basis."
Erik grinned ruefully. “That's easier said than done. Like I said, this girl is hot."
Leigh shook her head. “Erik, I'm afraid I'm still confused. Are you worried she's going to seduce you?” She felt the blush spreading across her cheekbones. “You can't tell me you've never been in this situation before. A good-looking guy like you..."
Erik's eyes drilled into hers. “No. But I'm at a period in my life where I prefer to remain celibate.” He paused, his gaze dropping to his coffee mug. His index finger circled the rim restlessly. “Personal reasons. Let's just say my philosophy has changed in the last couple of years."
"Oh.” Leigh didn't know what to say.
"I guess I just wanted to feel you out on this. Should I tell her upfront that I want our relationship to remain platonic, or should I wait until the situation actually comes up? I don't want to be rude, you see."
Leigh shrugged. “I guess it depends on the girl. But if it were me ... if I were interested in someone, I'd want to know right away if there was no chance of it going any further than friendship."
Erik smiled. “Ja, you would. You're forthright. That's why I like you.” His hand reached out and covered hers. “You're so easy to talk to. My sister, Dordei, is there for me at home when I need advice. Perhaps you can fill in for her here."
With a feigned casualness, Leigh withdrew her hand from under his, yet even afterwards, she could still feel his touch. “Sure, Erik. Any time."
He stood up. “Thanks, Kayleigh. As Mark would say, I guess I'd better go beat the books. See you at dinner."
Leigh smiled at his mistake, but as soon as he left, her expression sobered. She sat at the table a moment longer. He'd compared her with his sister. She should feel relieved. She tried to tell herself she was. But inside, she knew the truth. It wasn't relief she felt; it was disappointment.
* * * *
Leigh dipped a sponge into the bucket nearby and attacked the charred mess in the oven again. Cleaning the oven was one of her least favorite household chores, which was why she always procrastinated about doing it. She was the only congressman's wife she knew who refused to have live-in help. It was something to do with her upbringing, she supposed. Her father had served seven terms in the Senate, and Mom had always done her own housekeeping. That's just the way it was on the Connelly side of the family. And ordinarily Leigh enjoyed the housecleaning. She took a great deal of pride in her home, and loved the way it felt to finish the weekly cleaning, to have the whole house looking sparkling and new—even though it never stayed that way for long.
But cleaning the oven was one job she wouldn't mind farming out to a maid. It didn't make sense, anyway, having an oven in this state-of-the-art kitchen that you still had to clean by hand. What were the previous owners thinking? The stove was one of the first things she'd
planned on replacing as soon as it died a timely death. But that didn't appear as if it would happen anytime soon. The damn thing seemed to have the life expectancy of a cockroach!
She sighed and continued scrubbing. Burned on cherry pie filling, she guessed. This was what she got for being an avid baker. But she'd finally run out of excuses for putting it off. Especially with Bob's Christmas party coming up next week. He'd sprung it on her just a few days ago.
"I invited a few people over for a little get-together on the 19th,” he'd said offhandedly.
Trouble was, Bob's “little get-togethers” usually meant a Capitol Hill crowd of forty to fifty. Of course, she'd have it catered, but even so, there were a thousand details that would have to be taken care of by ... guess who?
"Worthless goddamn cleaner,” Leigh muttered, scrubbing at the burned-on crud.
"Talking to yourself, Kayleigh?"
Startled, Leigh craned her head back to see Erik standing in the kitchen next to a slender girl who looked as if she'd just stepped out of the pages of Glamour Magazine. She had long, silky light-brown hair that just grazed her shoulders in a sweeping bob, deep blue eyes, and a smile that would beguile a Tibetan monk.
"Kayleigh, I'd like you to meet Dawn. She's in my Psych class."
Dawn thrust out a slender hand and then withdrew it self-consciously when she saw Leigh's soiled rubber gloves. “Hi there, Mrs. Fallon. I'm happy to meet you.” Her southern accent was thick and syrupy. “Erik is always talking about his American family. He's just crazy about you all."
"Where are you from, Dawn? That's certainly not a Virginia accent you have.” Leigh hoped her smile was pleasant, yet the slight edge in her voice couldn't be disguised.
"You're right, Ma'am. I come from a little town in Tennessee. I'm sure you've never heard of it. Three Pines? It's at the foot of the Smoky Mountains."
Leigh's eyebrows rose. Her mother's side of the family came from Bristol, Virginia, a few miles from the Tennessee state line, and Leigh was well attuned to the nuances of the southern accent. Tennessee was one thing, but this “Miss Cornbread and Grits” accent was straight out of Gone with the Wind.
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 5
