by JoAnn Durgin
“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it’s been for you.”
He glimpsed the compassion in Trevor’s eyes. “Dr. Fontaine said I should concentrate on forging new memories since we’re basically starting over. But he advised waiting until we get to Montana.” He blew out a deep sigh. “The bottom line is that I miss Natalie.”
“I hope you don’t have to help her get over the whole ‘I hate advertising thing again.’” Trevor whistled under his breath and shook his head. “The first time was hard enough. I know she came to accept what you do, but you don’t want to have to go through that all over again. Not that you wouldn’t. Your devotion to your wife is admirable, and I have to say, a beautiful thing to witness.”
“You mean for someone like me? Type A, nose-to-the-grindstone workaholic? I don’t understand it myself, but thankfully, it hasn’t come up as an issue. Score one for amnesia.” Marc tossed Trevor a wry grin. He thought of Natalie’s words to Lexa about how proud she was of him. He was glad Lexa told him, and that Natalie herself told him at Peppino’s. “Present circumstances aside, you know I’ve grown closer in my walk with the Lord the last couple of years,” Marc said. “It’s changed the way I run the agency in some respects.” He’d always equated Christianity with being soft, but he couldn’t run a successful advertising agency by being a pushover. Perhaps not surprisingly, the agency thrived even more once he gave his heart to the Lord.
“You lost me again. You run a tight ship. You always have, but you’re a good guy at heart. Everyone knows that, and your stellar reputation in this cut-throat industry affirms it.” Trevor’s brows drew together.
Picking up the baseball paperweight on his desk, Marc balanced it on his hand. “Case in point—Reggie Remoulet. You must have wondered why I passed on the opportunity to sign him for that Reebok account.”
“Other than losing your mind, yeah, I wondered. But I’ve worked with you long enough to know you had a good reason. You’re not a man to do anything without substantiation. You’re too intuitive.”
Marc sat up straighter. “I’m telling you this in complete confidence, Trev.” He met his eyes and held them steady. “I discovered some . . . unsavory information about Mr. Remoulet. He beats his wife. On a semi-regular basis, apparently.”
His friend’s eyes widened and he released a low whistle, slumping back in the chair. “Wow. No kidding.”
Walking over to the window, he leaned against it. Marc barely glanced at the street many floors below. It made Natalie nervous when she saw him positioned like this. That thought sent him straight back to his desk. “The man should be behind bars instead of on a playing field. I prefer to think that even before I had Christ in my heart, I never would have signed Reggie on the dotted line, knowing he’d just put his wife in the hospital with a black eye and broken ribs.” His eyes settled on his dad’s framed Celtics jersey hanging on the wall. “Reggie’s got kids, too.”
He returned his focus to Trevor as he sat down again. “Let another agency deal with him. You and I both know there are enough blood-thirsty sharks in the pool without scruples or morals who’d be more than willing. Here’s the thing. If I’d glimpsed the slightest sign of remorse or possibility of redemption, I might have signed Reggie, but I didn’t see it, so I couldn’t find it in my heart to justify an ad campaign based on lies. What exactly would I be peddling?” Marc shook his head. “That’s not the way I run my agency.”
“Again, I think you’re selling yourself short. You’re an honest man and always have been, Marc. All your hard work and effort shows in the success of this agency. Without integrity, you’d have nothing to show for it. And, at the risk of swelling your head, your employees think pretty highly of you, too.”
“Thanks. Couldn’t do it without you.”
Trevor’s broad grin was a great thing to see. His pulled up his shoulders. “So, wait until you hear what I’m planning for Christy for Thanksgiving.”
Marc allowed a smile. “Tell me. I’m all ears.”
~~**~~
Arriving home after ten that night, Marc poured himself a bowl of cereal. Nutritious dinner, old man. He sank down into the soft, plush cushions of the sofa and looked over at Elwood sitting at attention, panting for food or affection. Or both. “Okay. Come with me, buddy.” Going back into the kitchen and retrieving the dog’s dish, he prepared another bowl of cereal, being careful not to add much milk. Shep used to love milk, but the vet always said not to give it to a dog often. “Knock yourself out, but don’t get used to it. It’s a special treat.” Tail wagging, Elwood dug into the bowl and enjoyed lapping up the milk.
Returning to the living room, Marc sat in the quiet darkness. The blinking red light from the answering machine caught his eye. His first thought was to dismiss it. It only blinked once. Probably someone trying to get him to buy or donate something. The thought it might be Natalie brought him to his feet, and he quickly crossed the room. Pushing the button, he smiled when his wife’s voice filled the room.
His eyes fell on the soft Irish blanket draped neatly over the sofa. He remembered that blanket from the night after their return from their honeymoon. Still on Italian time, they’d gone to dinner downtown and window shopped, but neither of them could sleep when they’d returned home. If he figured correctly—and based on Natalie’s projected due date—the odds were high that was the night she’d gotten pregnant. Elwood padded back into the living room and took up residence by the sofa. Realizing he hadn’t listened to Natalie’s message, Marc pushed the button to replay it.
“Marc, hi. It’s me, Natalie.” A rush of emotion flooded through him as he heard her voice—so sexy, completely female, and all grown up. Elwood sat up at attention, letting out a boisterous bark, his tail wagging. Closing his eyes, Marc focused on her words. “I wanted to remind you of the ultrasound late Thursday morning. Call me tomorrow and we can talk about it.” She hesitated. “I’ve missed talking with you this week. I hope everything’s okay, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She didn’t say, I love you, and she didn’t say, I can’t wait to see you again.
“But, she did say she missed talking with me.” Marc scooped Elwood into his arms and carried him upstairs. The mutt was a captive audience as he brushed and flossed. He couldn’t stop smiling as he walked into the bedroom, the loyal little dog at his heels. “And that, my canine friend,” he said, peeling off his shoes and socks, “is what I call progress.” Removing his shirt and stepping out of his pants, he let them fall on the floor in a crumpled heap before crawling into bed with Elwood snuggled beside him. Falling asleep with the smile still on his face, he made a mental note to call Natalie tomorrow morning as soon as possible.
Chapter 17
Marc resisted calling Natalie at the crack of dawn. Armed with the best night of sleep he’d had in a long time, he waited only long enough to reach his office. Throwing his coat on the sofa, he swung around the desk and into his chair in seconds. Cradling the phone, he turned on his computer and glanced at his calendar as he punched the speed dial for the school. He smiled when he heard the customary cheerful greeting. “Good morning, Martha!” He adored the grandmotherly receptionist from Alabama who called everyone “sweet cakes” and “honey pie” and smelled like peppermints and gardenias. Every school needed a Martha.
“Why, Marc, is that you, sugar?” The enthusiasm in Martha’s voice was infectious. “About time you called. You’d better be coming around to see me. I told Natalie just last week that I needed a big old hug from her handsome husband.”
A grin curved his lips. “I’ll try to remedy that soon enough. I miss you, too.” He jotted a note on his calendar to stop by the school soon and take Martha a box of her favorite chocolates. She deserved Godiva, but preferred the cheaper, drugstore variety.
“I miss Natalie when she’s not here. Is she feelin’ any better?”
Marc stopped, his pen poised above his calendar. “What do you mean? Is she sick?”
The receptionist laughed. �
��Nothin’ that won’t go away in a few months, dear.”
Morning sickness. He’d hoped that might be over by now. “I’ll check on her. Thanks, Martha.” Replacing the phone, he sat lost in thought. No matter what Dr. Fontaine advised, he wanted to see Natalie. Roommates were one thing, but they couldn’t give her the comfort the expectant father could. Besides, it wasn’t like her mother and sister were next door or even the next town over. Otherwise, he’d consider having them drive up from Connecticut.
No, this is definitely a job for a dutiful, loving husband.
Pulling on his coat, he told Christy he’d return at some point. “Don’t wait up!” If he was honest with himself, he wanted to be the kind of husband and father his dad never was.
“Everything okay, Marc?” The compassion in Christy’s voice was touching. She’d been his assistant from the beginning days of the agency. Like Trevor, he couldn’t do it without her. It was unusual for him to take off this early if he didn’t have a scheduled meeting. He’d been doing a lot of things differently as of late.
He tossed her a smile. “Everything’s fine. If you need anything while I’m gone, call Trevor.” Noticing the flush in her cheeks at the mention of Trevor’s name, he waved as he pushed open the glass doors and headed toward the elevators. He started to whistle, something he rarely did.
Stopping at the drugstore on the way to Natalie’s apartment, Marc pestered the pharmacist about possible remedies for morning sickness. The man finally shook his head in exasperation. “Sir, go home to your wife. Hold her hand, smooth her brow, and tell her how much you love her. This will all take care of itself in a few months. Trust me.” His smile more than intimated he wasn’t the first husband in the history of the planet to go through pregnancy. He selected a fun-looking mystery novel and a couple of magazines he’d seen Natalie read before and a big box of chocolates for Martha. The day was unseasonably chilly, so hopefully they wouldn’t melt in the car.
Next stop was the florist where he chose beautiful, long-stemmed pink roses with baby’s breath. Baby being the key word. Hopefully, she’d appreciate the sentiment. Marc pondered calling her on the way to the house in Newton, then thought better of it. Best not to give her the opportunity to tell him not to come. He hoped she’d feel well enough to answer the door since most, if not all, of the other girls should be at work. Leaving everything at the front door wasn’t an option. He needed to see his wife, probably more than she wanted to see him.
Reaching the house, he retrieved his purchases and flowers and hopped out of the car, taking the outside steps two at a time. His heart pumped as it always did in anticipation of seeing Natalie. He hoped his presence might give her some small measure of comfort. Instead of pushing the doorbell, Marc knocked on the heavy, wooden front door. Kim peered at him from behind the sheer lace curtains covering the living room window.
With a warm smile, she ushered him inside. “Hi, Marc.” Seeing the flowers, her smile grew wider. “Looks like someone’s here to brighten Natalie’s day.”
“That would be correct. At least I hope she’ll be happy to see me. I called the school and Martha told me she’s under the weather.” That was one way of putting it. He nodded toward the stairs. “Is she in her room?”
“Yes. Second door on the right.”
“Thanks,” he called, already halfway up the stairs. He’d never been allowed up to her room when they were dating. Funny how these things work out. With a gentle knock on Natalie’s bedroom door, Marc paused, listening. Not hearing anything, he knocked louder. Hearing a small groan, he pushed the door open. The bed was empty as Marc walked into the middle of the spacious bedroom. Putting the roses on the bedside table, he pulled the magazines and the book from the bag and placed them beside her pillow.
“Natalie?” He shrugged out of his overcoat and tossed it on a chair.
“In here.” Following the voice to the small adjacent bathroom, his eyes opened wider. Natalie sat on the floor, rocking back and forth, head face-down on her bent knees.
Dropping down beside her, he gathered her in his arms. She looked up with a combination of shocked surprise and relief, but leaned into him. He followed the pharmacist’s advice and smoothed her brow and kissed her damp forehead. He’d save the “I love you” part of the man’s suggestion until she wasn’t in imminent danger of being sick. Pushing dark hair away from her face, he leaned his head against hers, and couldn’t help but notice she wore a nightgown that dipped strategically in the front. Focus. “Is it bad?”
In response, she gagged and clamped one hand over her mouth. On her knees in a heartbeat, she retched none-too-delicately, clutching the sides of the toilet so hard her knuckles turned white and shook from the effort. Not knowing what else to do, Marc held back her hair as she alternated between retching, dry heaves and gasps.
“I guess that’s my answer.” He pulled her into his arms again when it seemed she had nothing else left to give, ignoring her frown at his lame attempt at humor. Grabbing the damp washcloth from the edge of the sink, he pressed it against her forehead, murmuring sweet endearments. Her body trembled, and his heart swelled like it might burst. Poor baby. Seeing her suffer triggered deep, protective instincts. Natalie rarely complained of anything more than a headache, so it must be pretty bad. He gently wiped her mouth with the washcloth and leaned her back against him, tightening his hold until she stopped shivering.
Part of him wanted to tell her how sorry he was he’d done this to her. Another part of him was ecstatic. He prayed it wasn’t perverse to feel that way. When they held their baby in a few short months, it would be worth it all. One other thing Marc knew: no matter what an esteemed Boston psychologist told him, he had a personal timeline.
Comforting Natalie until she was better, he gave her privacy in the bathroom for a few minutes. He ran down the stairs to the kitchen and filled a glass with ice water. As he waited in the bedroom, he vowed that by the time they brought their child home from the hospital, their relationship would be fully restored. A baby deserved no less than two loving parents who not only loved one another enough to bring her into the world, but wanted to raise her in the love and joy of the Lord. Together. Under the same roof.
In his heart, Marc suspected Natalie carried their daughter—a sweet little girl he prayed would inherit her dark hair, gentle manner and incredible smile, and hopefully his intense blue eyes but none of his irascible traits. Call him crazy, but he’d started referring to his child as “she” in his daily prayers.
Natalie looked at him through tired eyes as he helped her settle against the pillows. Her eyes drank in the roses, her smile weary. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you. There’s a vase under the bathroom sink, if you can fill it with water.” She spied the glass of water on the table. “Thanks for hydrating me, too.”
Coming back into the bedroom, he paused, watching her. Her eyes were closed. Even with her hair matted to her head in places, her eyes red-rimmed, pale and withdrawn, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He’d do anything to drain away her sickness, take it on himself. Placing the vase on the bedside table, he gathered the roses and arranged them the best he could, trying to be quiet so as not to wake her.
“Oh, no.” Natalie groaned as her eyes fluttered open.
“What’s wrong? Need to go back in the bathroom?”
“Look at your shirt.”
His eyes traveled down his shirt and found the telltale stain. “Well, I suppose I could leave it there and claim it as a badge of honor.” Catching a whiff, he wrinkled his nose and shot her a wry grin. “But then again . . .” Good thing he kept extra shirts in his office.
“That’s just gross.” Natalie waved her hand, and the thought probably wanted to make her gag. “We’d better try to wash out that stain before it sets.” She struggled to sit up.
“You rest. I’ll take care of it.” Not thinking, he started to unbutton his shirt. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, but when Natalie’s eyes widened as he unfastened h
is cuff links and proceeded to pull the shirt from his shoulders, his fingers paused. He hadn’t put on an undershirt.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, crossing the room to the bathroom. Once there, he closed the door and removed the shirt. Leaning against the sink, head bowed, Marc blew out a deep sigh. Holding the stained section of the shirt under the running water, he rinsed it before lightly wringing it out and smoothing it flat against the sink. “Natalie,” he called, opening the bathroom door, “where’s your hair dryer?”
“What?” she called from the bed.
Opening the door a bit wider, he stuck his head out the door. “Where’s your hair dryer?”
“What?” Her voice sounded louder, stronger, and that hint of mischief intrigued him.
“Where’s your hair dryer?” Marc repeated, stepping around the door, minus the shirt. Seeing Natalie’s bemused expression, he laughed out loud. “You sneak.” His chest was one of the things she loved most about him, so who was he to waste the opportunity? It was worth it, seeing the undeniable look of longing in her eyes. Amnesia or not, some things never change. Maybe he should beat on his chest like Tarzan and call her Jane. Elwood could be Cheeta, and the baby she carried Boy. Except it was a girl. He just knew it.
She giggled, and it thrilled him. “What in the world are you thinking?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “Just being stupid.”
She shook her head slowly. “I disagree. Right now, you’re the sweetest man in the world.” Her eyes looked brighter, the color had returned to her cheeks. “Thanks again for the flowers, the book, the magazines . . . everything. It was incredibly wonderful of you to bring them all to me this morning. Still,” she added, her tone wistful, “you’d best go put your shirt back on before you drive me crazy, you sexy man.”
If he didn’t take her advice, he’d be on that bed beside her. Considering she was feeling nauseous, that wasn’t the brightest idea. “I’ll be right back.” A few minutes later, his shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck like a Pilgrim, he repositioned his tie and fastened the cuff links. She turned her head and gave him a small smile.
