Michelle wanted to hang up the phone. She couldn’t face this. Not today. “What do you mean?”
“If you want my professional opinion I think he’s probably dead, just like the government said, ma’am. Three years is a long time to hide.”
“Karim’s doing it, though.”
There was a pause as Frank took a long drag on his ever-present cigarette.
“So let’s assume that he is alive. It still doesn’t look good. He lived of his own free will in that village, ma’am. From all accounts, no one was holding him hostage. No one was under any direction to watch him or detain him.”
Michelle swallowed. “Go on.” Her throat was so dry she almost choked.
“I’ve found out quite a bit more about this Karim. The man is a legend on the streets. From what I can tell, he runs some kind of elite terrorist group that works for hire. Everyone fears him and everyone has stories about the murders, the stealing, the bombings he’s been involved in. I’d guess that some of it has been exaggerated, but probably not much.”
“So what does this have to do with Brian?”
“The village people believe Brian was working with him, sort of a second in command, if you will. Which would explain why Jazmin was afraid to admit she loved Brian. These people don’t want to be tied to Karim any more than they have to be to stay alive. Of course some of this is speculation. Without Karim, we don’t know for sure Brian’s exact role in things, but I’m certainly convinced we’ve found enough.”
“I’m not.”
“Mrs. Colby, I love the money I’m making here, but—”
“Keep looking, Frank.”
“If you’re sure… .”
“I have to know…” Michelle’s voice faltered. She barely got the phone hung up before she collapsed in tears.
Her sobs were harsh and hopeless, but they didn’t last long. Frank had to be mistaken. He was missing something. There was an explanation—there had to be. The villagers knew what Karim wanted them to know. If the man was so powerful he could make people see only what he wanted them to, couldn’t he? Not only would Brian never be involved in bombings and murder, he’d never have willingly deserted his wife. Of that, she was absolutely certain.
She got up from her desk and went in to change her clothes, Frank’s words replaying through her mind all the while. She was looking for the hole in Frank’s reasoning that would prove Brian’s innocence. Brian smiled up at her from her nightstand, his face innocent, boyish and unlined. She picked up the photo and stared at it for a long time, as if the answers she was seeking were hidden there.
And maybe they were. She got out her wedding pictures and looked through them, remembering the moment when Brian had pledged his love to her, his young voice strong and clear enough to be heard in the back of the church. She remembered the feel of the cool gold band sliding up her finger as he made her his wife.
And she remembered their wedding night, Brian’s tenderness, his gentleness—and again, his youth. There was just no way Brian was a willing partner in any terrorist organization. He was too intrinsically gentle to be capable of senseless violence.
But neither was this young man still capable of filling Michelle’s needs. She was no longer the naive girl Brian had married. The past five years could have destroyed her, but they hadn’t. Instead, they’d matured her, tempered her. And with that new maturity had come new feelings stronger than anything she’d ever felt for Brian. She’d come to love as deeply, as passionately, as she’d suffered.
Michelle went through the house slowly, systematically, collecting all of Brian’s pictures. She cried for each one of them, for the dreams lost, and stacked them carefully in a box.
Her answering machine caught her eye as she headed toward the bedroom, and she stopped, coming back to play the recorded outgoing message. She listened one last time to Brian’s youthful voice saying, “This is the Colbys…” Then she pushed the record button, cleared her throat and said, “This is Michelle. I can’t come to the phone right now…”
Brian’s clothes came next. She pulled his shirts off their hangers, folding them neatly, and with every one of them was a memory. She brought in another box and loaded it with his clothes, until the only thing left of Brian in the home they’d had together was the shiny gold band on her finger.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JACOB KNOCKED on Michelle’s door, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he waited for her to answer. He knew she was home. He’d pulled his car behind hers in the driveway. Mind you, he wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to see him. His words to her that morning had been more than cruel. They’d been unforgivable. But he was going to apologize anyway, if he had to camp on her doorstep until she came out.
He was surprised when her door opened almost immediately and she pulled him inside. He could tell she’d been crying.
“Michelle, I’m—”
“Shh.” She put her finger against his lips. “Dance with me?” she whispered. It was only then that Jacob noticed the soft music playing in the background.
Unsure what was happening, he looked into her eyes hoping to see a glint of humor—some indication that this was merely an elaborate joke. Instead, all he saw was desperation.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, and started to sway slowly to the music. What’s going on? he wondered.
She nestled her face against his neck. She’s seeking comfort, he decided—until he felt her kiss against his skin.
Why was she doing this? She was worrying him, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Undaunted by his lack of response, Michelle continued to kiss his neck. Jacob knew he was going to have to stop her, make her tell him what was going on. But something held him back. There was a desperation in her touch—mirroring what he’d glimpsed in her eyes.
Still slowly dancing, he looked over her shoulder, hoping to discover some clue about what was prompting her to act like this. Then it hit him. Brian’s picture wasn’t in its usual spot on the end table. He noticed the empty mantel above her fireplace, the empty spaces on her bookcase where her wedding pictures used to be.
And suddenly Jacob understood. Michelle wasn’t kissing him, Jacob Ryan. She was using him to say goodbye to Brian Colby.
He tilted her head up, intending to reason with her. He wanted to ask her if she’d had word that Brian was dead, but when he started to speak her eyes pleaded with him not to. Then her lips met his and all hope for a rational discussion was lost.
When he finally pulled away and looked directly into her eyes, he wasn’t surprised by the regret he saw in their soft blue depths, nor by the tears trickling down her cheeks. He was frustrated beyond belief. It shouldn’t be like this. Loving her was more than he’d ever had before—but it still fell short of what it could be. What it should be.
She looked up at him silently, and stroked his face with her hand. It was then that he saw her wedding band. No matter what she’d done with Brian’s pictures, in her heart she was still married to another man.
Jacob released her a stepped back. “I came by to say I’m sorry about this morning.”
“I am, too, Jacob,” she said. “I am, too.”
After a long moment, Jacob gave her a kiss on the cheek and then forced himself to turn around and leave.
It was time to let go of Michelle.
* * *
IT WAS THE LONGEST weekend of Jacob’s life. He took Ellen to a preview screening of a new Tom Cruise movie and afterward over drinks tried to get a few things settled.
“When are we going to talk about the future, Ellen?” he asked, his hands on his glass in front of him.
Her eyes lit with pleasure. “I wasn’t sure you thought we had one.” She slid her hand across the table to his.
> “You’re the mother of my children. It seems to me only natural to consider a future together.” Great, Ryan. Think you could sound a little more excited about it?
“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that. Your insistence on keeping this just between the two of us really had me worried.”
He wished he could be sure he was doing the right thing. “You haven’t seemed overanxious to see the girls.”
“They are my daughters, Jacob. I may not be your ideal of a mother, but I do love them. I just didn’t want to push things. You were always protective of the girls, but you’ve guarded them like the crown jewels since I left.”
“You’ve had access to them.”
She covered his hand with hers, lines creasing her beautiful brow. “And I knew I’d have you to answer to if I said one wrong thing. You seemed to think I would just know automatically what all the right things were. And I don’t. Whoever hands out that natural mother’s instinct when children are born wasn’t in the delivery room when I had the triplets. No matter what I did, it always seemed to be the wrong thing. I’d make them cry or make them mad—it got to the point where I was afraid to do anything at all.”
Jacob thought of Michelle’s relationship with his children, her instinctive ability to provide for their needs. Looking at the woman across from him, he reminded himself that Ellen was his future. She was the one who’d borne his children. She was the one who wanted to be with him.
“You’d probably be a lot easier around them if you’d just relax a little,” he told her. “Maybe it would help if you saw them more as miniature adults than little aliens,” he added with a smile. He’d been happy with Ellen once. Maybe he could be again.
She smiled back. “Perhaps. I’m certainly willing to try.”
And with that, he would be satisfied.
* * *
ALLIE WOKE Jacob from a restless sleep at three o’clock Sunday morning, climbing into bed beside him.
“Have a bad dream, punkin?” he asked, his brain still fogged with sleep. He’d been dreaming that Michelle had told Ellen that Brian had come home.
“Uh-uh,” Allie said. “I’m cold.” Her teeth chattered.
Instantly awake, Jacob felt her forehead. His little leader of the pack wasn’t cold at all. She was hot. Too hot.
Telling himself not to panic, Jacob settled Allie in the middle of his bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and told her to stay put.
“I don’t feel so good, Daddy,” she said meekly.
“I know, punkin. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“Everything hurts,” she said, starting to cry.
Jacob brushed the hair back from her brow. “Shh. Don’t cry, honey. I’ll make it better in a jiffy. Does your throat hurt?”
She shook her head.
“How about your tummy?”
“Uh-uh.”
“You have an earache?” The girls had had their share of them over the years.
“Uh-uh.”
What else was there?
“Just everything hurts, huh?”
She nodded, her little mouth pursed as if she was going to cry again. And then sneezed. Twice.
Sneezing. Fever. Flu. The girls were seven. They’d pretty much had ever variation of the common flu and cold virus at least once.
“Okay, we’ll get you fixed up in no time. I’m just going to check on your sisters and then I’ll be right back with something to make you feel better, okay?”
She gave him a weak smile and snuggled into his pillow. “Okay, Daddy.”
Jessie and Meggie were both sleeping soundly, but if Jessie’s breathing was any indication, her nose was clogged. Jacob laid his hand against each of their cheeks and was relieved to find that both girls were as cool as the night air could make them. With any luck, they’d stay that way.
Allie was still awake when he returned to his bedroom with the thermometer and children’s Tylenol. The girls had had their share of illnesses through the years, and he’d become pretty adept at recognizing the symptoms.
She held the thermometer under her tongue, but she squirmed under the covers the entire two minutes he made her keep it there.
“I’m itchy, Daddy,” she said the minute her mouth was free.
He stared at the thermometer. She had a fever of 102 and she itched?
“Where does it itch, sport?” he asked.
“All over my legs, mostly,” Allie whined, pushing away the covers to scratch.
After a quick inspection Jacob’s stomach sank. The girls had never had poison ivy. But he was fairly certain that’s what he was looking at.
“You went on a hike today for science, right?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm. To look at plants…” The little girl sneezed again and Jacob grabbed a tissue, wiping her nose.
“And did you stay on the path the whole time, like your teacher told you to do?” He’d read the field trip rules with the girls before he’d signed the permission slip.
“Yes, Daddy, I promise. Except when Jessie saw a butterfly and ran off for a second, but Meggie and me went and got her and brought her right back.” She sneezed again. And scratched her leg. And started to cry.
A cold and poison ivy. His little girl wasn’t going to have an easy time of it. He went back to the bathroom and located the calamine lotion he’d bought the time Jessie had had a reaction to a vaccine. Resigned to a long haul ahead, he returned to his bedroom and covered Allie’s skin with the soothing lotion.
The Tylenol took effect shortly after that and Allie fell into a restless sleep. But Jacob knew his vigil had just begun. If this cold went like most of the others, there would be a lot of nose blowing and then the coughing would start. If they were lucky, they’d miss the sore throat stage. Lying down beside her, he wondered how long it would be before Jessie and Meggie started sneezing, too. Would they also be itchy? It was times like these that the loneliness inherent in being a single parent hit him most of all.
By four o’clock Sunday afternoon Jacob was at his wits’ end. He’d spent the day catering to three cranky, itchy little girls and he was exhausted. Allie’s fever had risen to 103, and by midafternoon, Jessie and Meggie had fevers, as well. They also both had patches of poison ivy rash. He called their doctor, only to be told he was already doing all that could be done for the girls and should continue administering the analgesic. He should rub their chests with vapor rub. The doctor suggested certain brands of children’s cold medicine, but she wasn’t big on its use. She was of the school that believed runny noses were the bodies’ way of ridding itself of bacteria and that he should let the cold take its course. The doctor told him to keep the triplets out of school until the fever had broke and the worst of the cold had passed. When Jacob asked for something to help make them more comfortable the doctor suggested cool baths, followed by calamine lotion, vapor rub and lots of tender loving care.
“I itch too much, Daddy,” Jessie whined when he returned to the girls’ room.
“How about a cool bath, Jess? Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”
Jessie sat up slowly. “Okay,” she said, as if agreeing to give her favorite doll to the poor.
“Can I have some juice, Daddy? I’m thirsty,” Allie said, scratching at her stomach. Apparently the little girl had tripped and fallen in her haste to get to her sister.
“Just as soon as I get Jessie in the tub, Al. Try not to scratch so much.”
Meggie wrestled with her covers. “I can’t get to an itch, Daddy!” she cried. “It’s back here over my shoulder.”
She had poison ivy on her back?
Jacob went over to rub Meggie’s back, checking to see if there was a rash, and was relieved to find only tanned, healthy looking skin. “Dad-de-e-e, my bath
,” Jessie wailed from across the room.
“What about my juice, Daddy?” Allie asked hoarsely. Her throat had begun to hurt.
Jacob wished he was four people. He considered calling Ellen but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Ellen didn’t tolerate sickness very well.
But as soon as he had Jessie settled in the bath, got Allie her juice and put a fresh batch of calamine lotion on Meggie, adding a little on her back, too, as a placebo, if nothing else, he headed for the phone. Right or wrong didn’t matter anymore. He needed help.
* * *
“I KISSED JACOB, Mom,” Michelle said to her mother over the phone. “Several times.” She needed to talk with somebody—her guilt was eating her up.
“I expected that would happen sooner or later,” Grace said, surprising her.
Michelle stopped fiddling with the phone cord. “You did?”
“You’re a normal healthy adult, Michelle, and wanting to be close to another person is normal and healthy,” Grace said, sounding like the doctor she was. “It’s all part of facing the future, honey.”
“Maybe. I just wish I could be sure.”
“You of all people should know that life is never a sure thing, Michelle. Your feelings for Brian felt right five years ago but they don’t anymore, do they?”
Michelle’s eyes welled with tears. “No,” she said softly. Grace was putting into words what Michelle had only just discovered for herself. Somehow Michelle had outgrown the love she and Brian had shared.
“So how do you feel when you’re with Jacob? Are you thinking about Brian?”
“No,” she said. She’d spent the past two days thinking of nothing but Jacob and hating herself for it at the same time.
“So why do you sound so sad, honey?” Grace asked.
Michelle shrugged, then realized her mother couldn’t see her. She dried her eyes. “I called him last night, you know, to talk about things—seeing as we do have to work together. The girls’ babysitter said he was out—with Ellen.” She wasn’t going to cry about it again. She wasn’t.
Four Times the Trouble Page 18
