Young Revelations (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  I glance at my watch and nod. “I’ve got an appointment soon anyway,” I tell her. “Don’t tell Samantha I was here. I don’t want her stressing out or getting upset.”

  Bonnie gives me a sympathetic smile and tells me she’ll see my on Thanksgiving, and I head back towards my car. As I cross the street near a little café Samantha and I used to frequent whenever we came into town, it occurs to me I haven’t brought her here recently whereas seven years ago we tended to make up excuses to come every couple days. Samantha usually has their grilled chicken sandwich with a loaded baked potato side dish, and for dessert we split a huge piece of cake between us.

  And as though wishing could give me what I want most, I swear I see Samantha inside the café as I cross the street towards it. Approaching the building, I realize I am seeing Samantha, and I forget everything I was supposed to do today. From where I’m standing she’s pale, thin, tired-looking, but she has a smile on her face, however wan it is. She’s a beautiful sight as always and at least she’s eating and taking care of herself again. I debate whether I should go in and say hello, but that thought is forgotten the moment my eyes find her apparent lunch date.

  “You’ve got to be kidding…” I mutter to myself.

  Dr. Mark Reilly is sitting across the table from Samantha grinning like the dipshit douchebag he is. He says something and I can hear faint sounds of her giggle—the giggle I thought she reserved specifically for me. I suppose that’s a bit arrogant, thinking a laugh of any sort can be reserved for one person, but I really don’t give a shit at this point. She’s mine. That giggle is mine. And Dr. Dipshit is not going to win.

  More determined than ever to get her back, I force myself to turn away and head for my car.

  ––––-o––––-

  Sitting across from Mark, I’m actually having an enjoyable lunch hour. From the moment he came to the bookstore to pick me up, I’ve been carefree and relaxed, and I wonder if that’s a result of Mark himself or the fact that I’m socializing with somebody who isn’t directly associated with Matthew. Either way, I’m in no hurry to return to reality.

  My morning didn’t start out on a great note. It seems Tyler has hit an age where he’s acting out and he decided to make a scene at breakfast. I’m still not even sure what had him so upset; he was cranky from the moment I woke him and it only got worse when I placed a plate of eggs and sausage in front of him. Apparently he would have preferred bacon and he threw a fit, swiping his arms across the table and knocking his plate to the floor. From there, he refused to apologize for ruining the breakfast Claire made for him, then screamed bloody murder when I tried to get him ready for school. A well-placed swat on his backside stopped the tantrum, but the drive to school was silent aside from the occasional sniffle in the backseat.

  Claire thinks he’s just acting out because he misses Matthew and he’ll get over it. She insists that by the time I pick him up from school today to begin his Thanksgiving holiday break, he’ll be back to my sweet little boy again. I’m not so confident. He never acted like this before. The so-called terrible twos were a complete breeze for me—the worst he’s ever gotten has been when he’s sick or over-tired. His nightmares have gotten fewer and far between, but I’m sure they still affect him somehow. It’s possible all the changes in scenery have caught up with him and he’s as sick of moving around as I am. I’m working on that, though I’ve still not come up with a solution that I’m happy with for more than a couple hours. Stay in New York to be near Matthew and Claire, especially with the baby coming. Go back to Iowa and live with my brother on the farm, only to revert back to my pre-Matthew days by working at Chet’s to support my son. Find someplace completely different and start a new life for the both of us. Or swallow my pride and go back to Matthew, where I feel I belong. Even though I’ve been debating the same four scenarios, I don’t settle on any one for more than a couple hours before second-guessing everything again.

  Thanksgiving is going to be interesting to say the very least. When I told Claire that Mark is Bonnie’s nephew, she told me to invite both of them to dinner, saying she’d planned on inviting Bonnie anyway. She still hasn’t told me whether Matthew will be joining us as well—apparently he’s yet to decide—but if he does come, it’ll be interesting to see how he interacts with Mark, all things considered. Personally I think she’s inviting Mark for the entertainment factor of having him and Matthew under the same roof on a day meant for family.

  I push aside that thought and tune back into my discussion with Mark about a book he’s been reading. While I’m sure the premise of the book is interesting, considering how animate he is talking about it, I honestly have no idea what the damn thing is about—I’ve been daydreaming for most of our lunch. If he’s noticed my lack of interest, it hasn’t bothered him; he continues to try engaging me in conversation.

  When our food arrives, I shake myself, determined to make up for my less than interested responses and come up with a topic that might actually manage that. “Can I ask you something?” I say as I cut into my baked potato.

  “Of course,” Mark says, seemingly pleased that I’m engaging in conversation with him finally.

  I take a deep breath, uncertain if I actually want the answer. “Is Bonnie okay?”

  He looks at me in surprise, then immediately averts his gaze, but I don’t miss the sadness that crosses his features. “She hasn’t told you?” he asks softly. I shake my head. He sighs. “Without betraying her confidence as both her family and a doctor, all I can really tell you is that she’s getting the best care possible.”

  That doesn’t sound promising. “Can you tell me if it’s life-threatening?” I ask tentatively.

  He doesn’t respond, but he holds my gaze and I know the answer to that is yes.

  I nod, returning my attention to my lunch. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I won’t ask anymore about it.”

  Mark gives me a tight smile and we sit in silence for a few minutes as we eat. “So have you told Tyler about the puppy?” he asks with a grin.

  I snort a laugh and roll my eyes. “No. And at this point, I’m debating on whether he’s getting a puppy for Christmas or coal in his stocking,” I mutter.

  Mark’s eyebrows shoot up. “Causing trouble, is he?”

  Shrugging, I tell him about Tyler’s tantrum and how he’s never acted like that before.

  “Granted I’m not an expert in child psychology, but I know when I was around his age, I went through a phase where I put my mother through the wringer even though she didn’t deserve it. I got over it in a few months, though, so I’m sure Tyler will be the same,” he comments.

  “Well, I think I know what’s causing his sudden change in behavior and the solution to the problem isn’t an easy one,” I say wryly. Mark cocks his head to the side and raises a questioning eyebrow, inviting me to explain further if I want to. “I think he misses Matt.”

  “Ah,” Mark says, nodding. “I wasn’t going to ask, but I did hear the two of you split up.”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a sip of my water. “You know, there’s something to be said for being in love with a man whose personal life isn’t the talk of an entire town,” I mutter sarcastically.

  Mark chuckles. “Sorry,” he says sincerely. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t know the details.”

  “There’s not really much to know,” I tell him. “I got to the point that I decided I needed to separate myself from his life, take a step back and figure out if being with him is worth all the heartache and risk and drama. I mean, in the past six months, I’ve been taken from my home in Omaha in the middle of the night with my son and ex-boyfriend; Matthew has, for lack of a better description, died in a fiery plane crash, then miraculously came back to life. My son and I were kidnapped and we could have died. I found out I’m pregnant. I nearly lost my baby because I watched a video of my fiancé having sex in his office with his ex. My son has been kidnapped. When is it going to end?”

  He looks at me with complete s
ympathy. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “But like you said, you’ve got to be the one to make the decision. If you want my opinion, there’s no doubt in my mind that you love him and he loves you, and for most people, that would be enough. Though when you take into account all the things you’ve been through, I think anybody would have second thoughts. Do you want to be with him?”

  I nod. “Yes,” I whisper. “More than anything. But every time we’re together, something bad happens that neither of us can stop. I don’t feel as though he fully trusts me, and I’m struggling to find a place in his life when for so long he’s managed without me. I never stopped needing him, and he says the same is true for him, but he hasn’t proven that.”

  “Why does he need to prove it?” Mark asks challengingly. “He came after you and Tyler when you were taken. He went after Tyler again without hesitation. And considering what he walked in on that morning in the hospital between me and you, he’s dealing with a lot of the same issues you are. I can’t tell you whether he trusts you, but he does keep coming for you. If nothing else, he’s damn determined.”

  “Yes, he’s so very determined that he hasn’t sent me so much as a text message in weeks.” I’m surprised at the bitterness in my voice.

  “Well, you wanted space,” Mark says matter-of-factly. “He’s giving you that. If he’s as smart as he seems, he won’t leave you to your thoughts for much longer. For all you know, he’s planning some grand romantic gesture to win you back.”

  I grin. “He is good at grand romantic gestures,” I say softly. “It’s more the everyday gestures I’m interested in seeing.”

  “Give him time,” Mark urges. “No man in his right mind would let you go, especially when he has your heart the way I know Matt has yours.”

  Blushing, I look down at my lunch. To my relief, Mark changes the subject to much more lighthearted topics and within minutes I’m laughing with him about nothing in particular. As I finish my lunch I get the feeling that I’m being watched. I look over to the entrance of the café and for a very brief moment, I swear I’d seen Matthew passing by the window. I shake myself. It’s the middle of a business day and he wouldn’t skip out on work to come into town an hour away from his building.

  Mark insists on paying for lunch, then walks me back to the bookstore where I tell him I’ll see him on Thanksgiving. We hesitate for a few moments as though both of is wondering what we should do—I have the brief image of him leaning in and kissing me, and I think he does to, but neither of us makes the move to do so, much to my relief. Instead, he smiles tersely at me and opens the door for me to enter. I do, turning to look over my shoulder as he heads towards his car, running his hands through his hair in what looks to be frustration.

  ––––-o––––-

  “You seem agitated, Matthew.”

  I look up from my rapidly tapping feet to shoot an incredulous expression to Dr. Morris. “Do I?” I respond sardonically. “Imagine that…”

  “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

  Sighing, I lean back in my seat and stare at the ceiling, shaking my head. “I saw Samantha today,” I say quietly.

  “I thought you were waiting until Thanksgiving to see her,” Dr. Morris comments.

  “It wasn’t planned,” I reply. “I was in town running some errands and she’s working at a bookstore owned by a friend of ours. I was just going to pop in and say hello, but Samantha was out having lunch. I stayed for a bit to chat with our friend, then left to come here. And as I was heading back to my car, I walked past this little restaurant and saw her through the window.”

  Dr. Morris nods. “What did you think when you saw her?”

  I smile sadly. “I thought about how beautiful she looked and how much I miss her and how much I hate that I’ve lost these weeks with her when with every day that passes, our baby is getting bigger. I thought about how meaningless my existence seems without her. And then I thought about beating the shit out of the fucking asshole sitting across from her.”

  Dr. Morris looks at me sternly. “Language, Matthew,” she reminds me sternly. “We’ve discussed this before.”

  I snort a laugh and nod. The first time she called me on my cursing was actually quite amusing. Nobody since my mother has scolded me the way Dr. Morris did and I learned quickly that if I have any intention of continuing these sessions, I need to watch my mouth. “Sorry, Doctor,” I say, duly chastised.

  “Who was she sitting across from that you reacted so strongly?”

  “Dr. Mark Reilly,” I say through gritted teeth. At her prompting, I go into the explanation of Dr. Dipshit, explaining how I returned from Germany to surprise Samantha only to find her fast asleep holding another man’s hand while that other man had his free hand resting on her pregnant belly. I should have beaten the shit out of him that day… “Samantha insists they’re just friends.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I want to,” I reply. “I really, really want to, but knowing she’s having lunch with him while she and I are on a break or whatever this is isn’t setting my mind at ease. If the circumstances were different, he’d probably be perfect for her. Attractive, successful… Even my sister likes him.”

  “I suppose this goes back to whether you trust Samantha. Do you believe she is attracted to this man?”

  I shrug. “She told me herself she’s attracted to him, but she has no intention of anything but friendship with him. She told me she loves me and she couldn’t rightfully be with anyone else and be happy.”

  “Has she demonstrated that to you?”

  I think about everything she and I have been through together, including our time apart when she was living with Tom Saunders and I was with a number of women in my attempt to replace her the way she replaced me. Something about that stops my thoughts dead and I feel my brow furrow. “Yes,” I say quietly, slowly looking up at Dr. Morris again. “She has.”

  “How?”

  I swallow hard. “When she left me the first time, right before our divorce, she went to a friend of hers, Tom, who she’s known all her life. He proposed to her last year on her birthday and I know he wanted to marry her and have a family with her, but she never gave him an answer. At least not until I came back into her life. She admitted to him and me and herself that she couldn’t be in love with Saunders the way she was in love with me and she couldn’t marry him, couldn’t settle for him when she felt so strongly for me.”

  “I think you’ve got your answer about whether she still wants to be with you, Matthew,” Dr. Morris says. “Friendships between men and women don’t need to be sexual; it’s insecurity in one’s relationship that makes a person question whether their partner is seeking affection or anything else from that friendship. Your situation is a textbook case of that. Samantha has been trying to prove to you that she’s in your relationship for the long haul, but you have to realize that and trust her completely if you stand any chance of keeping her in your life.”

  By the end of my session, I’m exhausted, but at the same time, I’m hopeful. Looking back at the scene at the restaurant, remembering in vivid detail exactly how Samantha looked sitting across from Reilly, I see it differently. While she did seem to be enjoying herself, there was still a hint of intense sadness in her expression and body language that didn’t register with me at the time. Any outsider would have looked through that window and would have seen two friends having lunch rather than the midday romantic rendezvous I believed it to be. I still don’t like Reilly and I think I would take any opportunity to smash his face in with my fist, but for the first time I truly trust that Samantha isn’t falling in love with him and that she never could, because she loves me.

  And with that realization in my head, I know what I have to do to get her back.

  24

  I have never been so nervous about a Thanksgiving dinner in my life. For the last five years, Tom would drive us from Omaha to either his parents’ house or mine the night before and it was a group eff
ort to cook and clean while the men all tried to sneak away and play football. I’d gotten to the point only last year where I was able to do a much better job at hiding my sadness about being away from Matthew for yet another holiday, and faking my way through the day without Tom sending me concerned glances every five minutes. Since I’ve been back in New York and realized I’d be spending this day with Matthew, I’ve been looking forward to it. At least until a few weeks ago. I didn’t even know until yesterday whether Matthew would be here today—Claire told me while we did our last minute shopping. That’s also when I realized she’s known he’d be coming for a few days and seemed to take pleasure in my panic when I reminded her Bonnie was bringing Mark as well. I’d asked her if she realized that by having Matthew and Mark in the same room there was a possibility of bloodshed. She’d only grinned at me and went about picking out dinner rolls that weren’t completely smashed on the shelves.

  At the same time, I’m very much looking forward to finally seeing Matthew again. After the last few weeks, I know there is so much we need to discuss and what better time to do that than now? Part of me wants to grab him the moment he walks through the door and drag him upstairs to get everything out in the open, then maybe take care of a few other needs I’m sure he shares with me so we can get back normal. The other part of me wants to see if he takes the lead for a change. Then there’s part of me who wonders how long it will be between the time Matthew gets here and the time when he puts a fist in Mark’s face. Because that is honestly the only outcome I see at this point, and while I know that’s unfair to assume, I know Matthew and his jealousy.

  Bonnie and Mark have already arrived, and are in the living room with Danny and the kids while Claire and I work in the kitchen—not that I’m actually getting any work done as I look between the hallway to the clock wondering whether Matthew is even going to show.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re actually nervous about this,” Claire teases, grinning at me from where she’s leaning against the island counter, a glass of wine already in her hand even though it’s not even noon yet. I glance down at my baby bump, desperately wishing I could join Claire in her alcohol intake.