His Ordinary Life

by Linda Winfree

  “Good.” He rubbed his finger over their son’s hand again. Barbara glanced at Blake. He’d woken earlier, incoherent, but able to cling to Del and smile at Barbara’s kisses and maternal murmurs. He rested now, eyes closed, monitors keeping track of his heart rate and oxygen levels.

  Del turned his hand palm up, aligning Blake’s fingers with his own. Barbara’s heart flipped in her chest as she recognized the gesture. He’d done that often over the years, from those first days with tiny baby fingers to chubby six-year-old fingers to preteen fingers, carrying scabs from skateboard spills. This time, Del’s fingers were only marginally longer.

  “He’s catching up to me,” he whispered, his other hand blanketing Blake’s. “He’s already looking me in the eye and he’s still growing.”

  “Don’t feel bad.” Barbara let the affectionate humor creep into her voice. “He passed me three years ago, remember?”

  “Yeah. He was awful damn proud, too. Kept wanting me to mark it on the kitchen doorway.”

  A pang tugged at Barbara’s heart. Every spring, he’d measured the children on that doorframe, but he hadn’t been there this year to do so. On Blake’s birthday, she’d offered to mark his height but he’d shrugged her off, saying it wouldn’t be the same. She averted her eyes from those hands, wishing she could get the memories out of her head that easily. The light glinted off Del’s hair, and her fingers itched to sink into the dark strands, to see if they would still be thick and crisp and soft all at the same time.

  Swallowing hard, she clenched her hands into loose fists. “Are you hungry? The nurse said they have this beeper thing to give us if we want to go down to the cafeteria. Or we can take turns, and I’ll sit with him while you go.”

  With elaborate care, Del placed Blake’s hand back on the bed. “Why don’t we both go? I hate eating alone.” Standing, he rubbed at his thigh. “Not that I’m really hungry, but coffee would be good.”

  After stopping at the nurse’s station and picking up the beeper, they headed for the elevator. Del punched the first floor button and leaned against the wall. He lifted the collar of his shirt and inhaled. “God, it even gets in your clothes.”

  Confused, making sure she stayed on her side of the elevator, Barbara looked at him. “What does?”

  “The smell.” He wrinkled his nose, his eyes dark and haunted. “That disinfectant or whatever it is. It never changes. They can add on and redecorate, but the smell is always the same.”

  She sniffed and shrugged. “I don’t smell it in here. I guess it has to do with sensory memory—”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He punched the button again with a savage motion, as if that would make the car move faster.

  Memory. Hospital smell. Barbara groaned inwardly. How could she have forgotten? He didn’t associate hospital smells with the birth of their children as she did. To him, the sharp disinfectant would bring back memories of Will’s death, of barreling into the barbed wire fence while running for help, of having the jagged tear on his chest stitched up, of facing his father with the circumstances of his brother’s accidental shooting.

  Abandoning the distance between them, she stepped across the elevator and touched his arm. “Del, don’t. Please.”

  He stared at her hand, and the shock of connection traveled all the way up her arm to her chest, spreading in a tingling warmth.

  “When are you going to forgive yourself?” she murmured. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow and he shook his head. She pulled back, but he reached for her, linking their fingers, drawing her to him. Their gazes locked.

  “I’m glad you were here,” she whispered. “That you were with Blake today.”

  “Me, too.” His fingers flexed around hers and her breath caught. She dropped her gaze from his eyes to his mouth and suddenly she couldn’t remember why she’d let him go without fighting, why she couldn’t give him another chance.

  As she watched, he lowered his head. Her stomach clenched and dropped, fluttering the whole way down, and her body tightened in anticipation.

  He stopped a breath away from her lips. “Barb?”

  The elevator lurched and stopped.

  She closed her eyes. The doors slid open and she straightened with a small laugh. He stared at her a moment, then reached to stop the doors from closing again. “Come on.”

  Barbara let him usher her from the car, feeling the loss of something she knew she shouldn’t even want.

  Chapter Nine

  Eyes closed, Del leaned his forehead against the elevator wall. Exhaustion dragged at him, despite the three cups of coffee he’d downed in the hospital cafeteria.

  The elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors hissed open after a hushed ding. He dropped the beeper off at the nurse’s station and went to Blake’s room.

  In the chair by the bed, Barbara dozed, her head tilted to one side. Even in sleep, a frown wrinkled her forehead. Del dropped to his haunches by the chair, his gaze locked on her face. His heart aching in his chest, he reached for her, stroking his thumb over her wrist.

  Barbara stirred with the sleepy smile he knew so well. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  She straightened, his hand falling from hers. With a yawn, she brushed her hair back. “What time is it?”

  “A little after twelve.” He rubbed his mouth. “You look worn-out.”

  “It’s been a long week and it’s not over,” she murmured, rolling her head in a slow circle. Stretching, she rotated her shoulders. She leaned forward, caressing the back of Blake’s fingers. “He’ll be all right, won’t he? Tell me he’ll be all right.”

  “He’s strong. He’ll be just fine.”

  Her gaze remained on their son and Del watched her, wishing he still had the right to touch her. He missed her, and tonight the need to have her close pounded in him. He pushed to his feet.

  “You should get some rest.” He eyed Blake’s monitors. His heart rate remained steady and strong. “I’ll sit with him. Why don’t you go to the waiting area and stretch out on one of the couches? You’d be more comfortable.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but I really don’t want to leave him.”

  “Whatever you want.” Del pulled up a chair and settled in to help her wait through the night, to help her watch over their son. He didn’t plan on leaving, either.

  *

  “Go home. Get something to eat. Take a nap.”

  Barbara stared up at Del, one of his arms blocking the door to Blake’s room. His face set in stubborn lines, he stared back at her. Lord, she hated that look—hated it on him as badly as she’d hated it on each of their children during their two-year-old years.

  She set her own jaw and pushed her words out between clenched teeth. “I am not leaving.”

  He smiled, the bright sales smile she hated even worse than his obstinate expression, and reached for her elbow. “Yes, you are.”

  “Del.” She adopted the same tone she employed with her students when they were less than cooperative. “I’m staying.”

  His eyebrows rose and a genuine grin curved his mouth. “You’re using your teacher voice on me?”

  Realizing he was ushering her toward the elevator, she pulled her arm free of his gentle hold. “I don’t want to go.”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Barb, he’s sleeping. You heard Jay. His vitals are good, there’s no sign of infection or bleeding and he’ll probably sleep most of the day. The nurses are checking him every fifteen minutes and those monitors are hooked up to computers at the desk. I’ll stay with him. Nothing’s going to happen in the time it takes you to run home and—”

  “What if it does?” She blinked away sudden tears. “Look what happened—”

  “Stop.” He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs caressing her cheekbones. “You’re not going to do him any good if you exhaust yourself and end up sick, too. Go home, Barb.”

  The idea of a long, hot shower did appeal. “What about you?”

  “I’ll wait until you get back
. Or if Mama comes by, which we both know she will, I might run out to Tick’s for a quick shower.” He frowned and dropped his hands. “I’ll have to come by and get my things.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, suppressing a pang at the idea of not having him in the house anymore. “If I’m not there, the extra key is—”

  “Under the fire extinguisher in the shed.”

  She smiled. “Right.”

  He leaned over her shoulder and pushed the elevator button. The maleness of him wafted around her, and her stomach tightened. Her lashes swept down and warmth whispered along her skin as he moved away. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her.

  He smoothed her hair back. “I’ll call you if anything does happen. I promise.”

  The elevator door opened. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Take your time.”

  Outside, the clear morning air wrapped her in a moist embrace. She glanced around the parking lot, looking for her 4-Runner, which Del’s younger brother Chuck had been kind enough to retrieve and drop off for her. The truck sat in a spot near the hospital entrance, and stifling a yawn, she hurried through the crosswalk to the parking lot.

  “Barb?”

  At the sound of Tori’s voice, the tense muscles in Barbara’s nape tightened further. Why couldn’t she have made it to the car before Tori saw her? The wish brought a spurt of shame with it. Tori was a genuinely good person, but her sister-in-law always seemed to be weighing her and finding her wanting.

  Barbara turned, a reluctant smile on her lips. “Good morning.”

  Tori approached, glossy walnut-brown hair bouncing against her bright pink blouse. “How’s Blake?”

  “He’s stable and doing well, according to Jay.” Barbara sent up a small prayer for that blessing. “He’s sleeping and I’m going to run home for a shower.”

  Tori glanced toward the hospital. “Is Del still here?”

  Barbara nodded. “He’s offered to stay with Blake while I ran home and then—”

  “Of course he did,” Tori said, her polite smile slipping.

  “Excuse me?”

  Sifting her fingers through her long tresses, Tori shook her head. “We’re talking about Del. Of course he offered to stay while you went home.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.” Barbara pulled her keys from her purse, blaming the fine tremors attacking her on exhaustion.

  Tori’s expression turned skeptical. “He’d do anything for you and his initial instinct is to always put you first.”

  She didn’t have the patience this morning. “Whatever. I’m going home.”

  “You really don’t see it, do you?” Tori’s voice gentled.

  Enough. Barbara turned back, hating the way her voice trembled when she spoke. “No, Tori, I really don’t see it. He left me, remember? Left our children. That was his instinct. And you call that putting us first?”

  “Did you ever stop to ask yourself, or him, why?”

  I don’t want a divorce. I never did.

  He claimed he’d gone because he believed she didn’t want him anymore. She’d begun to see the lack of communication between them, but could the gulf, the misunderstandings, have been that large?

  She brushed her bangs to the side and gave Tori a challenging look. “So tell me what you see.”

  Surprise flickered across Tori’s face. “I see him sacrificing his wants and needs for yours. I see him putting in God knows how many hours to make sure you and the children still have everything you need.”

  Like money could make up for his presence. Barbara narrowed her eyes. “Maybe he just really wanted out and he’s soothing his conscience.”

  Tori crossed her arms over her chest. “Which one of you has a college degree?”

  “What does that have to do with anything? He makes more than I do—”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Tori fixed her with a steady look. “Let me tell you what I see. He feels guilty because he thinks he ruined your life by getting you pregnant. He worked his tail off so you could stay home with the kids when they were little. When you wanted to go back to school and get your degree, he found a way to pay for it so y’all didn’t go into debt with student loans and he worked his schedule around so he could be with the kids when you were in class.”

  “You want me to feel guilty for getting an education?” Barbara asked. He’d wanted her to go back, had said how proud of her he was, talked about how her education would benefit all of them.

  “Of course not.” Tori rolled her eyes. “You asked what I saw, and I’m telling you. I see a man who put his own dreams on hold to make yours come true, and when he finally wanted to do something for himself, you were ready to divorce him.”

  Barbara couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “That is so untrue.”

  “Who saw a lawyer first?”

  “I did, but—”

  “Do you really think he wanted that job badly enough to end your marriage, Barb? Come on, you’re more intelligent than that. It’s just easier to blame him for what went wrong. Maybe you should ask yourself why you felt the need to file so quickly.”

  This time, she forced out a light laugh. “You really take the counselor stuff seriously, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Tori said, her voice quiet and holding an incredible gentleness now. “And I really wish the two of you had gotten counseling before you separated. Maybe if you had, there would have been a lot less hurt all the way around.”

  “Do you really wish that, Tori?” She was too tired to play games. “I thought you were thrilled to have me out of his life.”

  “You’re the mother of his children. You’ll never be out of his life.” Tori’s words held a wry note. “Besides, he’s crazy about you, and I want him to be happy. If you make him happy, more power to you.”

  “Thanks.” Barbara shook her head, the dull pain of exhaustion at her temples getting worse. “If we’re finished here, I’m going home to freshen up.”

  “Go ahead. I’m just going to check in on Blake before I go to work.”

  Barbara was several parking spots away when Tori called after her. Turning, Barbara found the younger woman looking at her, one hand a shield against the early morning sun. “Barb, if it means anything, I want you to be happy, too.”

  *

  Hands wrapped around the cup, Del stared into his cold coffee. With a weary sigh, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The soft steady beep of Blake’s heart monitor seeped into his consciousness, soothing him.

  The chair next to him creaked and he jumped, glancing up as Tick dropped into the vinyl seat.

  “How is he?” Tick whispered. He still wore the same clothes as the night before and a thin layer of stubble shadowed his jaw and chin.

  “He should be okay.” Del leaned over and set the cup on the rolling tray table by the wall. “Unless there are complications, he’ll be here a week or so.”

  “That’s good.”

  Del frowned at the tension lines bracketing Tick’s mouth. “Bad call?”

  “You could say that.” Tick passed a hand over his nape. “Barbara around?”

  “Sent her home to shower and get some rest.”

  Tick nodded and pulled a plastic bag from his pocket. He handed it to Del. “Recognize that?”

  Del studied the pocketknife inside, a silver oval with the initials L.E.C. set into the worn wood sides. He turned it, remembering how many times he’d seen it between his father’s fingers, between his own, between Blake’s.

  “It’s Daddy’s. I gave it to Blake when he turned sixteen.” He slanted a quizzical look at his brother. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Found it in the weeds at the cemetery.”

  “I wonder if he even knows it’s gone.” His head jerked up. “You found it where?”

  “The cemetery.”

  “Which cemetery?”

  Tick glanced away. “The abandoned one on Bainbridge River Road, where somebody dumped the body of a fi
fteen-year-old girl.”

  Del looked at the plastic-encased knife in his hand again, finally noticing the yellow evidence label on the bag. “But why—”

  “What size shoe does Blake wear?”

  “I don’t know.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken his son shopping for shoes. That task was always one Barbara handled. He shrugged, confusion gripping his mind. “He can wear my shoes, but they’re a little big on him. Ten and a half maybe? You’d have to ask Barb.”

  Hands clasped together, Tick leaned forward, his face intent. “I need you to tell me everything he said about Monday night.”

  “He didn’t say anything. I can’t get—” He bit the words off, foreboding slamming into him. “Tick, what’s going on? What are you getting at?”

  Rubbing his jaw, Tick muttered a curse. “Look, Del, I have a body that’s been out there for two or three days. I have footprints all over the place. And I find that”—he shoved a finger at the bag—“on the scene. I need to talk to Blake.”

  The pieces merged into an ugly picture. Del watched his brother, choosing his words carefully. “As a witness. You think he knows something.”

  “Yeah, I think he knows something.” His thumbs moving in small circles together, Tick swallowed hard enough that Del could see his throat work. Nervous. His normally calm, unflappable brother was as nervous as a virgin in a roadside bar.

  Del suppressed a shudder. Tick was thinking like a cop, Del knew, and he was looking at Blake as more than a witness.

  He was looking at him as a suspect.

  *

  It’s just easier to blame him for what went wrong. Maybe you should ask yourself why you felt the need to file so quickly.

  Tori’s words stayed with Barbara on the drive home and during a long, luxuriously hot shower. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had cast herself in the victim’s role, with Del as the villain in their separation. He had left, he had moved on.

  What was her role in the breakup? Sticking her head beneath the spray to wash the shampoo from her hair, she dredged up the painful memory of that last morning and tried to look at it through his eyes. He’d brought up the investigations job again, something he’d wanted to talk about more and more. She’d been caught up in first-year teaching and she’d brushed off his interest as a passing fancy.