by Peggy Jaeger
“Oh. My. God.” Laughter erupted from me fast and furious, and I was helpless to hold it back.
“I don’t see what’s so amusing.”
“Oh, come on. A bit of a shock? Really? You had no indication the girl you were planning to marry might be batting for the opposing team?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“No clues? Little hints? Inklings not all was what it seemed?”
He shook his head.
“Not even during sex?”
The sudden silence was deafening.
“Holy Hannah, you’re blushing!”
“Men don’t blush.” His adorable mouth twisted downward.
“Yes, they do, and yes, you are.”
“Cathy.” There was a warning in his tone, but like a proverbial dog with a bone, I never back down.
In my best grill-the-defendant voice, I said, “The way your face is turning splotchy is very telling. I can’t imagine the sex was very satisfying for her if she was a lesbian, was it?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I stretched out on top of him, pushing him underneath me, and kissed his chin, my lower body grinding into his provocatively. I wasn’t above a little seduction to get the information I wanted.
“Tell me.” I licked the corner of his mouth, his frown now a thing of the past. “You knew something, didn’t you? She said”—another lick on the opposite side—“maybe did something, or didn’t, that niggled a little in the back of your mind, right?”
“I wouldn’t know because we never slept together.”
Okay, there was a surprise. Two college kids, supposedly in love and pledged to marry, and they hadn’t tested the sexual waters? I grew up in a conservative Catholic home, and even I knew that was unusual and told him so.
Frayne heaved a sigh. “She wanted to wait until we were married. I respected her wishes.”
“Must have been torture.”
“Yeah, well…”
I slid my nose against his throat, placed a kiss behind his ear. “You really are a good guy,” I told him, meaning every word of it.
“I don’t want to talk anymore, Cathy.” His voice had grown husky and deep and my lady parts sizzled with need. His eyes had closed, his throat working furiously as I continued moving and sliding over him. My playful goal had been to get him to confess something he should have realized about his then-fiancée. My plan backfired, though, because with my next breath I was flipped and placed flat on my back on the couch. Frayne stared down at me, no playfulness at all in his expression.
“Me, neither,” I confessed.
This time our lovemaking was frenzied and frantic, stirred—no doubt—by my actions. We didn’t even shed our clothes, merely opened and rearranged them in an attempt to satisfy one another as quickly as we could.
Afterward, we lay panting, our heart rates both audible in the air around us, our clothes a disarrayed tumble between our bodies. The fleeting notion that we hadn’t used a condom skimmed across my mind, forgotten when Frayne kissed the side of my neck and snuggled next to me. Within seconds, we were both asleep.
The following Saturday, he decided he needed to make a trip to Richmond for his research. He’d learned all he could online and knew he needed to go through the actual archival documents to find mention of Josiah. After a quiet dinner, we settled in front of the fire Frayne had started and made love.
I’d grown to know every little thing that brought him pleasure, as he had with me. I’d given myself—mind, body, even my soul—to him with no regrets. Firelight danced and drifted over our bodies, the warmth from the flames nothing compared to the heat we generated between us.
This time, I didn’t fall asleep until we were tucked into my bed.
As soon as he backed down my driveway and onto the road early Sunday morning, I missed him. The house was empty and the intense loneliness, exactly like after George died, seeped through me again.
This wouldn’t do. I wasn’t the type to mope around, sad and surly. As I started getting ready to pick Nanny up for church, she called and informed me Colleen and Slade were taking her to an earlier mass. Nanny was scheduled to play the piano while her best friend, Tilly Carlisle, sang at a post-holiday brunch for the residents and families. And, since this was Nanny, she added I could make my way to church on my own time today, but to be sure I attended in order to start my week with a spiritual checkmark next to my name.
As kids, we’d never been allowed to skip mass for any reason other than arterial blood spraying from our bodies or infectious diseases that could spread to the other parishioners. I considered Nanny’s phone call as an ecclesiastical hall pass for the day and decided to do an adult skip. Father Duncan might toss me a stink eye next Sunday, but I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.
Seldrine’s mother had called me the night before to tell me they were all going to mass as a family and she would be responsible for her daughter getting to the A.A. meeting today afterward. Since I now didn’t have to worry about leaving the house, I needed something to take my mind off pining for Frayne, and I decided to tackle a project I’d ignored for months: cleaning my home office. I’d left it for far too long.
Paperwork from old cases littered my desk along with opened reference books and law volumes I’d needed for case citings. Underneath a pile of briefs, I found a pair of earrings I’d misplaced a month ago.
Dozens of dried-out pens, business cards from clients, even scraps of paper with cell phone numbers I’d been given by court clerks and business people were shoved into my desk drawers, along with filled legal pads, forgotten sticky notes, and even some coupons for dog food for George.
Meticulously, because I was, after all, my OCD mother’s daughter, I examined every scrap of paper to make sure it didn’t contain vital information I needed before I either tossed it, filed it, or put it in a pile to be scanned into my computer.
After two hours and three rounds of rapid-fire torpedo-sneeze episodes from the dust I’d allowed to accumulate among my things, I opened the last drawer in my desk, all set to cull and clean when I stopped short. My hand froze on the drawer handle, and my spine locked. I swiped my tongue across lips that had gone desert dry, leaving a bilious, metallic taste in the aftermath.
Danny’s dog tags sat in the center of the drawer draped over his official death certificate and the notification papers the army representatives had hand delivered to me. I’d forgotten I’d shoved it all into the drawer soon after his burial. I hadn’t wanted to deal with the paperwork, the filing, the reading of the official reports back then. I’d put them aside, with the notion to get to them eventually.
It looked like today was that day.
My hands shook as I lifted the metallic tags. I dropped them onto the top of my now cleared desk, then did the same with the death certificate. I didn’t need to read any of the information listed on it, since I knew the details by heart. The pages detailing the official report of Danny’s death at the hands of an ISIS member came next. Slowly, I lowered down into my office chair and began reading. It was only when some of the ink began to run on the page from my tears, that I stopped.
Danny had never stood a chance. While my husband was out on night patrol, the insurgent had snuck into the compound during the cover of night and had shot him, killing him instantly with a bullet to the head.
I had a vague recollection of the army reps and Lucas telling me all this when they came to the house that horrible day. My mind must have shut down, though, the details too harrowing to process at the time.
Almost three years later, it was still hard, but now I had the benefit of time passed as a buffer to the hurt. I’d begged Danny not to return to duty when he’d been home on his last leave. I’d argued, cajoled, pleaded, cried, did everything I could to make him retire from the service and stay home with me for good. Nothing worked.
When I threw out the accusation that he loved the army more than the thought of being with me and making a family, I’d finally learned the
truth, finally been given the reason he kept going back again and again, the reason he was never going to leave the life of a soldier.
It had all come out in a rush of run-on sentences, repeated words and phrases that wrenched and tore my heart in two.
Danny didn’t want a family, and he didn’t want the life with me he’d vowed to make when we were both eighteen. He already had a life he loved: with the army and with the men who served under him. The army was his life, his family. Not me.
He’d never wanted children, not even when he’d assured Father Duncan during our CANA preparation he had. He’d lied because he knew there was no way my parish priest would marry us if he knew Danny’s truth.
Through sobs, I questioned why he’d ever married me in the first place, and he answered that at the time he’d loved me. He’d wanted to go overseas with the knowledge he had a place to call home with a girl waiting for him. He’d loved me, he said, and wanted to be a husband.
Until he decided he didn’t. Until he took steps to ensure I never got pregnant. Or that any other woman would, either.
I threatened to divorce him. He told me he wouldn’t contest it, would even hand me solid grounds. There had been lovers over the years while he was away. Women who’d help him pass the long nights. Women who’d made him realize he didn’t need—or want—a wife.
I accused him of adultery. I called him a liar. I labeled him a coward.
He laughed at the first, accepted the second with a shrug, and took umbrage with the third.
And then he walked out of the home I’d made for us, the home where I’d dutifully waited for him, with his duffle in his hands and without a backward glance.
That was the last time I saw him alive.
I’d debated with myself about starting divorce proceedings for a month after he left, hopeful he’d change his mind. I cried, I railed to the empty house, cursed Danny, God, and all men. The one thing I didn’t do was share what had happened with anyone in my family. Nanny was still living with my parents, and they had enough problems existing day to day and maintaining peace among the three of them; Maureen and Eileen were busy with the inn they’d recently purchased, and Colleen was still in living in New York with her then fiancé and planning her wedding. I suffered in silence, and believe me, I know how dramatic that sounds. In the end, I was glad I’d kept Danny’s revelations to myself, because the day I accepted the necessity to start proceedings, the army representatives showed up at my door, Lucas in tow.
The last fight, the horrible things we’d yelled at one another, the inevitability of divorce, were all forgotten as I buried my husband, comforted his mother, and shoved my anger and grief to the side.
The anger, as I’d told Frayne, was a wasted emotion now. The grief I’d come to terms with. What was left were memories, distant and faded.
Determined to complete the task I’d set out upon, I took the tags and the reports, added them to a file folder and then placed it in the back of my metal cabinet with the label Danny attached to it.
Another two hours and I had a garbage bag filled with debris and an office dust-free, organized, and smelling like lemon furniture polish. Not a bad way to spend a lonely Sunday morning.
Since the cleaning bug had infected me, I set about to do as many of the rooms as I could. I tackled the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom and was able to get the living room done. At six, I was about to call it a day and grab dinner when my cell phone pinged. At the sight of Frayne’s incoming text, the tips of my fingertips started to tingle, and I found myself smiling.
—Just arrived. Traffic was horrible. All checked into my motel.—
—Glad you got there safe and sound.— I hit send.
I put my phone back down on the counter. It pinged again within seconds.
—I miss you.—
Those three words brought unexpected tears to my eyes and sent a waterfall of emotion cascading through my system.
Other than my family, who was the last person who’d actually admitted they’d missed me?
The truth? No one.
I swiped the blurring tears away. —I miss you, too. The house is lonely.—
—Just the house?—
That brought the smile back.
—Well…maybe me, too. A little.—
—Just a little? Well, I miss you way more than a little.—
He added a sad face emoji and then a heart with an arrow through it.
My real heart stuttered inside my chest. Was this a declaration? I wasn’t fluent in emoji-speak and had never flirted—in person or via text—so I had no yardstick to gauge what he might be telling me. Or how I should respond to it.
—Still there?— he wrote after a few seconds of silence on my end.
—Yup. Sorry. Doing 15 things at once. How long do you think you’ll be there?—
—Hard to tell. Depends on what I find. Or don’t. I’m hoping only a few days.—
—Okay. Well…—
Before I hit send, I took a moment to decide how brave I was. Nanny’s voice popped into my head. In her no-nonsense take-no-prisoners tone, it said, “Go for it, Number One. What have ya got to lose?”
A good question.
—A few days is too long— I typed. —Hurry back as soon as you can.—
Before I lost my nerve and started overthinking, I sent it.
Seconds later his return message came through.
—I’m rethinking the entire trip right now. If I leave, I can be there by early morning.—
It took everything in me not to tell him to get on the road.
—Don’t— I typed. —You’ve been driving all day after limited sleep, and I’d worry about you. Stay put, and I’ll see you when I see you.—
—You have no idea what hearing you’d worry about me does to me, Cathy. No idea. Okay. I’ll stay put.—
I thought he was done. I was wrong.
—I wish I was there to kiss you good night.—
—Me, too.— I scrolled through my phone’s emoticons, found a kissing face, and sent three of them.
—You’re killing me…— he replied, and then added his own series of kiss-faces.
Who knew phone flirting could be such fun?
He signed off for good with the next text.
I missed his warmth next to me later on when I got into bed. The pillows carried a subtle trace of his scent, and I burrowed into them, inhaling, conjuring his face and body behind my closed eyes.
Both filled me with longing. It was no wonder all my dreams were filled with him. In the morning, I woke clutching his pillow.
Chapter 17
“I was starting to think you’d left town with Frayne,” Maureen said when I showed up at the inn Wednesday at lunch time. I’d learned a thing or two this past year about mooching from Colleen, who was an expert on the subject, and had timed my visit perfectly in the hope my baby sister would feed me.
As I knew she would, Maureen pointed to a chair and said, “Sit.” When I did, she placed a piping hot bowl of her mouthwatering New England chowder in front of me along with a hunk of bread I didn’t even need to ask to know she’d baked.
“You’re my favorite sister,” I told her after swallowing a big spoonful of the delicious creamy soup.
“Hey,” Colleen said from next to me, her own spoon of chowder in her hand.
“Sorry, sis, but you’ve never cooked for me.”
She tossed me a pout. “My talents lie elsewhere,” she said. “Did I not get you all glammed-up for speed dating?”
“One time. Maureen feeds me all the time.”
Through slitted eyes, she regarded me. As kids her attempt to mimic my death stare hadn’t intimidated me one whit. It still didn’t.
“Just sayin’.” I shoved a chunk of bread into my bowl.
“Any idea when Frayne will be back?” Maureen asked from the stove where she was filling a tray with bowls for her guests. “He kept the reservation on his room even though he’s not here, which was nice of hi
m. Unnecessary, but nice.”
“He texted me last night that he’d found a mention of Josiah in a county court record. He was pursuing it today. Depending on what he finds, or doesn’t, he may be back by the weekend.”
“Things have gotten hot and heavy with you two, haven’t they?” Colleen asked.
Ever the lawyer, instead of answering her, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“She knows Frayne’s been spending nights at your house,” Maureen said.
I tossed my baby sister a glare.
“She didn’t tell me”—Colleen pointed her spoon at Mo—“so don’t give her your lawyer face. I happened to drive by your house the other day on the way to a meeting and saw Frayne pull out of your driveway.”
“So?”
“My meeting was at seven thirty. A.m.,” she added for emphasis.
“We’re not judging you, sis. In fact, Colleen and I are both thrilled you’ve met someone you’re interested in, aren’t we?” She peered across the table at Colleen with a Nanny-worthy don’t-contradict-me glower.
Colleen nodded, then cocked an eyebrow my way. “Although, I think a little more than interested.”
I’ve never been a huge divulger when it comes to my private life, case in point the fact I’d never told them about what happened with Danny. My sisters were nothing if not supportive and loving though, so again, the brave gene that was rapidly become a familiar facet of my personality broke through.
With as little detail as possible—because some things should be kept private—I confessed we’d become lovers and the surprise I felt about it.
“Why are you surprised?” Maureen asked. “You’ve both been working closely together, and anyone with eyes can see you’re attracted to one another. You’re both super-smart, successful people. Respected in your fields. Plus, he’s hot and single, as are you. No one is surprised the two of you have hooked up.”
“I’m not hot.” I shook my head. “I can manage somewhat pretty with help”—I thrust my chin at Colleen—“but I’m not hot by anyone’s definition.”
My sisters tossed one another questioning eye rolls.
