If You Could Read My Mind

by Jeanie London

  “Then you’re in good company because I’m really starting to worry me, too. I found pornographic pop-ups on our computer.”

  Charlotte frowned. “All sorts of stuff sneaks around on the Web nowadays. You know that. Maybe something slipped through your firewall by accident.”

  “True, true, but I’ve got Fort Knox on all our computers. I’m not jumping to conclusions, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s another sign. One I shouldn’t ignore.”

  “Like Michael’s sudden interest in diet and exercise?”

  Jillian nodded. “And I caught him flipping through my day planner.”

  “And…?”

  “Why wouldn’t he just ask me about my schedule?”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him. We had such a nasty fight about the camp. I said…well, I said some hurtful things. I don’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. I made it clear I’m unhappy with the way things have been going. I wasn’t ready to end our marriage, but what if I’ve given him ideas?”

  “Michael’s pretty oblivious.”

  Jillian only nodded.

  “For what it’s worth,” Charlotte said, “both people in a marriage should have their needs met. That’s only reasonable. And it’s reasonable to bring it up if that’s not happening. Communication is the only way to keep marriage grounded.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Really? So you told him you’re going to the doctor.”

  “Of course.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Let me rephrase that—so you’ve told him what’s going on with the doctor?”

  “He hasn’t asked. And since I still don’t know what’s going on, I have nothing to tell. I’ll let him know as soon as I get a possible diagnosis.”

  “Jillian, are you sure that’s the best way to handle this?”

  She shrugged. “No. But I’m already resentful enough about the camp. When I have to make an appointment to inform my husband about my health that he obviously cares nothing about—”

  “Michael cares.”

  “I know, but the minute I tell him what’s going on he’s going to feel bad because he hasn’t asked. I know the drill. Then I’ll have to deal with him in addition to not knowing what’s going on with me. It’s just easier if I wait for a diagnosis. Then I’ll know how we’re going to handle treatment and involve Michael. I’ll have more patience.”

  “You will tell him if he asks though, won’t you?”

  “Of course, but I don’t see that happening. He’s a little preoccupied lately. I’m trying to reserve opinion.”

  “Doesn’t sound as if you’re reserving opinion if you’ve already paired him off with Brandi.”

  “They’ve been in that room for over ten minutes.” Jillian glared pointedly in the direction of the exam room. “You want to tell me what they’re doing in there that’s earning laughs?”

  “Examining a chipped tooth, I’d guess. Brandi called him in because her patient tripped over a parking lot divider and damaged her incisor. Maybe it’s a funny story. Who knows?” She frowned. “Brandi? I don’t buy it. I like her well enough, but she’s hardly out of her teens. Physically or emotionally.”

  “I happen to know she thinks Michael’s attractive.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as her frown melted into surprise. “You’re sure about that?”

  “I overheard her talking one day and thought she was a little too interested in what my husband looks like.”

  “I’ve never heard anything that would give me the idea she thinks of Michael as anything but a friendly boss.”

  Charlotte’s skepticism started to wear on the edges of Jillian’s mood. She wouldn’t be concerned if red flags weren’t popping up in all areas of her life. She tried not to sound defensive when she made her case. “Brandi was speculating about what Michael might look like in a Speedo.”

  “Are you sure she meant it as a compliment?”

  “Charlotte!”

  She spread her hands in entreaty. “Come on. A Speedo?”

  Maybe Jillian shouldn’t have said anything at all. “How else could she have meant it? Michael’s a good-looking man.”

  Something about that made Charlotte smile. “So that’s all you’ve got—a porno pop-up, a diet, Michael’s usual oblivion and the Speedo comment?”

  “Something’s up. I know my husband.”

  “That I’ll buy.” Folding her arms across her chest, Charlotte dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How’s your sex life?”

  “Our sex life?”

  “Because your husband was just asking me about women’s fantasies.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “What did he want to know?”

  “If women liked to talk to their husbands about their fantasies.”

  “Did he specifically say ‘talk to their husbands’ or did he just want to know if women liked to talk about fantasies?”

  “Husbands specifically.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That he should ask you. How am I supposed to know if you like to talk about fantasies?”

  Jillian might have laughed, except that Charlotte’s question had gotten her to thinking about the answer. She and Michael had been so busy lately that they hadn’t done much but collapse into bed when they got home at night. And now that she thought about it, she realized they hadn’t had sex since…

  Uh-oh.

  “We haven’t had a sex life since the night before Michael started his diet.”

  “Performance anxiety?”

  Charlotte delivered that with such a straight face that Jillian’s jaw dropped. “Charlotte! No, not performance anxiety. At least I don’t think so.”

  “It’s not as crazy as you thinking he’s sweet on Brandi.”

  Jillian collapsed onto the desk and buried her head in her arms. She just couldn’t face any more of this right now.

  Husband problems. Health problems. Camp problems.

  Too many problems.

  “All right. All right,” Charlotte said. “I’ll keep my ears peeled and let you know if I hear anything. In the meantime, I want you to get a grip. I trust your gut feeling, but your circumstantial evidence wouldn’t get a day in court.”

  Jillian braved a glance. “You don’t think so?”

  Charlotte met her gaze with a steely one of her own, her expression all earnest. “Trust me. And I’m more qualified than most to make that assessment. I’m with you two nearly as much as you’re with each other. And he did ask about women talking with their husbands. Last I heard he was your husband, not Brandi’s.”

  Just then the hygienist in question emerged from exam room five with her patient in tow. She smiled at Charlotte, who still blocked the doorway, and handed Jillian the chart. “We need to book an appointment for a bonding.”

  Then she bade goodbye to her patient and swept back down the hall with a bubbly laugh and a perky stride.

  Charlotte shot Jillian a gaze that clearly said, “You’re nuts,” before she eased out of the doorway and disappeared down the hall, too.

  Jillian scheduled the appointment, considering the whole time whether or not airing her concerns had made her feel better.

  Yes, she decided.

  At least until Michael showed up at the counter with his swim bag over his shoulder.

  “I’m heading out now,” he said.

  “Have a nice swim.”

  “This is for you.” He handed her an envelope before strolling back down the hall without another word.

  Retrieving the letter opener, Jillian sliced open the top to find one sheet of card stock and Michael’s handwriting scrawling the words:

  Tomorrow night at 8:00 p.m. You and me. Alone.

  She sank back in her chair. What was this?

  Her earlier concerns clanged in her head like warning bells, but Jillian countered them with Charlotte’s reassu
rances. She was overreacting.

  Wasn’t she?

  Or was she living in denial that her marriage was in more trouble than she’d ever suspected?

  If Michael didn’t want to be married anymore, he would tell her. Her earlier thought rang out as the loudest warning of all.

  Had he scheduled this appointment to tell her?

  TOMORROW CAME without any of the fanfare Jillian might have expected to accompany working herself into such a frenzy. She’d had to apologize to Charlotte twice for being short, and even make amends with Brandi, which had stuck in her craw for more reasons than she would admit.

  Now the moment of truth was at hand, and she stood inside her closet, staring at the rows of clothing for something appropriate to wear to ring in the demise of her marriage. She’d already discarded two possible outfits.

  How dare Michael drag out this suspense!

  He’d taken off from work today with no more than a casual goodbye. No explanation about where he was going or why he hadn’t shaved. Not even a “See you at eight.” He’d just strolled out the door as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Perhaps he didn’t, but she certainly didn’t feel that way.

  So how should she dress? Good enough that she’d make him regret every insensitive thing he’d ever done? Or a little disheveled so he’d think better of ending their marriage and resolve to give it another go?

  Jillian pitched disheveled right out the window, mortified the thought had even crossed her mind. The very idea of being desperate enough to keep Michael through pity appalled her.

  So she scanned the racks of clothing for an outfit with a pocket to keep a pen. If he asked for a divorce, she’d sign those papers so fast his head would spin.

  Brave words.

  But Jillian was nothing if not determined and pragmatic, so she chose a simple tunic ensemble that was flowy and feminine, dressy enough for a dinner out or casual enough for a walk in the park, since Michael hadn’t seen fit to inform her what they were doing.

  She applied her makeup with the precision of a Natchez Indian chief applying war paint for battle. But while determination kept her hand steady, it didn’t keep her from analyzing every crack and crevice on her face. Should she have sprung the hundred-plus bucks for eye cream?

  Argh. She squinted into the mirror. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the way she looked. She’d only just turned thirty for heaven’s sake, not eighty. Michael had always liked the way she looked, and if that had changed, then the flaw was his. Maybe he was tired of looking at the same woman day in and day out. Fair enough. Looking at him didn’t give her the thrill it once had, either.

  At least her weight didn’t yo-yo.

  Jillian slipped on her shoes, a pair of stylish mules with heels low enough to walk easily in the event she was forced to whip out her pen and put on a good show, yet easy to remove in case she gave in to the urge to beat her husband with them. And just as she emerged from the closet, she heard noise…a loud noise that seemed to be coming from outside.

  The low roar of a motorcycle.

  No one on their block owned a motorcycle that she knew of, but the sound didn’t pass—it grew louder. Making her way into the living room, she pulled aside the sheers on the side light beside the front door and peered out into the street.

  Spring meant that dusk was only now making an appearance, slicing across the fading sky in streaks of vivid pastel. She usually loved this time of year. The heat of summer hadn’t settled in yet, but the chill of winter was gone. Perfect. The kind of nights where she would grab her laptop and work outside on the deck beside the pool while the cicadas chirped and starlight twinkled overhead.

  One glimpse into the street revealed a man in black leather driving what had to be the biggest chopper she’d ever seen in her life. Jillian wouldn’t have been surprised to find Michael pulling up in a red truck with divorce papers in hand, but when this big, bad biker made his way into her driveway, she could feel her eyes practically bulging out of her head.

  Of course Michael was no where to be found when she needed him to answer the door and find out what this biker might want.

  She could ignore the door, but wasn’t inclined to let a man’s appearance frighten her off. Who knew, he could be one of their policeman buddies representing the biker organization that hosted the annual fund-raiser, Ride for Kids.

  And there was something familiar about him….

  When he heeled down the kickstand and got off the bike, everything about his strong, fluid movements seemed familiar.

  She blinked then did a double take.

  Michael?

  If she still wasn’t convinced, Jillian watched as he removed the helmet and hung it on the back rail.

  “Oh my God!” she heard herself say. “Not a red truck but a chopper. The man really is having a midlife meltdown.”

  She stood there, unable to do anything more than stare as he strode up their walkway, looking as casual and content as if life hadn’t just turned end over end.

  She was still staring when he knocked on the door.

  Knocked?

  Jillian forced herself to open the door. She did not step aside or let him enter. She left him standing on their porch, uncertain how to greet him and dumbstruck by how a costume change had altered everything she knew about this man.

  He might be her husband, but he wasn’t Michael.

  The man standing on her front porch sported a two-day stubble that shadowed his cheeks, hardened the lines of his jaw and deepened the blue of his eyes. The leather jacket made his broad shoulders even broader. The tight pants showed off his trim hips and newly-toned butt to perfection. The butt of her high-school memories.

  This man could have been the bad-boy Michael of her fantasies, which made the reality of their troubled marriage drive a knife into her heart.

  “Are you ready?” He sounded as laid-back as if they were leaving for work the way they did every morning. “You should probably grab a jacket.”

  “Michael, what’s going on?”

  She sounded calm for a woman staring at her husband masquerading as a stranger.

  He flashed a grin that managed to be even more dashing against his stubbled cheeks.

  Jillian wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t for Michael to take her hand.

  He brushed his mouth across her knuckles in a poignant move from their past. Once upon a time, when they’d been young and in love, Michael would always gallantly kiss her hand and she would sigh the most heartfelt of sighs.

  Now she could only think to ask, “Are you having an affair?”

  Still holding her hand, he peered up at her with bedroom eyes, a look that used to melt her knees underneath her. He shook his head slowly, still not letting her go. “Not yet, but I’m going to be.”

  The breath solidified in her throat, just seemed to harden into a knot that she thought would choke her. Or make her pass out. Clutching at the door with her free hand, she needed some anchor to hang on to as her head spun dizzily.

  But she refused, absolutely refused to let Michael see how his news impacted her. If he could casually deliver that statement with no thought for her feelings, then she would accept the news just as casually.

  “Oh.” She managed a calm she was far from feeling. “Well then, do you mind if I ask with whom?”

  She braced herself to hear the name of a saucy little hygienist who giggled too much, when with all her heart she wanted to hear words of reassurance that their marriage wasn’t in desperate trouble.

  Michael only smiled a thoughtful smile that looked so different now. His gaze went even softer, a sure sign he was head over heels for whoever his girly-girl was.

  She braced herself when he tightened his grip on her hand and said, “You.”

  8

  FOR A MOMENT, Jillian looked so utterly shocked that Michael thought he might have to catch her—not exactly the reaction he’d been going for. But she hadn’t laughed in his face and he supposed that was something. />
  Not that he would have blamed her.

  This whole fantasy idea had seemed brilliant while sitting at Widow Serafine’s table—the perfect solution to reawaken the passion in his marriage. Of course, at the time he’d been groggy from rich food and influenced by Widow Serafine.

  That crazy old bayou granny had been pushing so hard for him to make Jillian’s dreams come true that he knew without a doubt she was responsible for his superpower.

  Not that he could rationally explain it, nor would she confess.

  But all Widow Serafine’s references about reading Jillian’s mind were the only confirmation he needed. The widow knew more about his marriage than he did. Since he didn’t think Jillian would share personal information with a new employee, he’d guessed that Widow Serafine must read minds, too. That would certainly explain how she’d managed to share the skill with him. And at this stage of the game, about the last thing he wanted to do was tick off this bayou granny. Which meant following her not-so-veiled suggestions.

  As far as Widow Serafine was concerned, Michael would be a fool not to make the most of opportunity when it knocked. Since he owned the camp, he should use it, especially since his wife had grand plans for the place.

  And that’s exactly what he intended to do.

  Lifting Jillian’s hand back to his lips, Michael brushed his mouth across her knuckles and raised his gaze to hers. “I want to have an affair with you, Jilly my love.”

  There, he’d said it. The words didn’t sound nearly as stupid as he’d thought they would.

  Especially when Jillian melted around the edges, that look she always got when she was underneath him. A look that made him feel as if he performed magic.

  “An affair, Michael? But we’re married.” She gave a soft chuckle. “You have me at home, at work. You can’t get away from me no matter how hard you try.”

  “I’m a lucky man.” He brushed his mouth across her knuckles again. “But you’re talking about reality. I’m talking about fantasy. We’re going to leave the real world behind tonight.”

  Her gaze darted over him again, taking in the black leather in a glance, and the lines deepened around her beautiful mouth.