“See?” Lynn spoke gently. “You can’t say it, can you? Or anything close.”
His mouth worked.
She laughed, but sadly. “I shouldn’t have even put you on the spot, should I? Love wasn’t part of our deal. You warned me. I thought that wouldn’t matter. I just didn’t know that I was already falling in love with you.”
“I…care.” God. Even he knew that was inadequate.
“I know you do,” she said with that same terrifying gentleness. “You’re such a good, loving father, and you’ve been so kind to me. So…caring. Reading books I liked. And listening to me. I appreciate that. Really I do.”
He had never felt so lumpish, even with Jennifer. He knew he needed to find the right thing to say, but he kept shying away from the obvious—I love you. Did he love her? Was that what he’d been feeling? Was that why he needed the words from her, the reassurance? Why he wanted her, thought about her constantly, missed her when she was on the coast? Why he’d begun imagining what a child who was his and hers together would be like?
Panic made his heart pound so hard he could hear the beats. Think! he told himself, his customary caution coming to his rescue. Be sure. Don’t spout off at the mouth and then be sorry.
Lynn squeezed her hands together in front of her, looking uncomfortably as if she were praying. “I thought I could live with you and be your wife, even if you were still mourning for Jennifer. But I can’t. No.” She stopped him before he could speak. “It’s not her. It’s the fact that you don’t love me. Someday you’ll get over her, and you’ll be ready to love again. You won’t want to be married to me.”
“I will never not want to be married to you.” This much he knew, with unshakable certainty.
Her tiny, grateful smile ripped at his heart. “You say things like that, and it weakens my resolve. But the truth is, we’re married only because I wouldn’t move from Otter Beach. Well, I’ve decided. I’ll sell the store and get a job and an apartment in this area. We can do some kind of joint custody thing. Maybe they can spend a week with me and then a week with you. Or if I can get days off during the week, I can have them then and you can have them on weekends. Or something. We’ll make it work. But we will not be married just because it’s the most convenient way to each have both girls.”
“We are married.”
Tears sprang into her eyes again. “It’s not necessary anymore.”
Anguish made his voice raw. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Tears ran down her cheeks now. “I’m not going far. Maybe…maybe we can be friends.”
“Friends?” Adam repeated incredulously. “Goddamn it, I don’t want to be friends!”
Lynn’s face crumpled like a small child’s. She whispered, “I’m sorry,” and fled.
Adam’s mouth formed the words I love you.
Too late.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EYES BLINDED BY TEARS, Lynn stumbled up the stairs. At the top she waited, listening, for a moment that stretched until a sob tore its way from her chest.
He wasn’t coming after her.
She ached to crawl into bed with the girls and hold their small warm selves close, but waking them would be selfish. Instead she slipped as quietly as she could into the spare bedroom. She wanted to disappear; she wanted him not to find her, if he decided from guilt to offer awkward apologies and excuses. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it and let her legs collapse.
In a small ball on the floor, she cried silently so that Adam wouldn’t hear her if he passed in the hall. His pity she couldn’t bear. Anything but that.
I…care. She heard his stiff voice again, the faint hesitation, as if even such a tepid word required thought.
When had she decided she couldn’t bear to go on living with a man who only “cared” for her, when she loved him desperately? The knowledge had crept up on her, though it terrified her. What would it mean to her daughters, who were so happy in a real family?
But they would be unhappy if their parents were, she convinced herself. Mommy and Daddy didn’t have to be married for them to feel secure and loved.
Tonight Lynn had looked around at Adam’s friends and their wives, heard mention of Jennifer, and thought, They all know he doesn’t love me. They know he married me for his daughter. They feel sorry for us. Perhaps for him especially.
She would have felt pity for someone in the same situation, once upon a time. Imagine, being married to a man you didn’t love! Putting up with his foibles, sharing housekeeping and memories, friends and family. Worse yet, accepting him into your bed.
Lynn remembered the years of rooming with other women, the small irritations that added up to resentment despite an initial spirit of cooperation and friendship. How would she feel when she first saw Adam hide exasperation? When she first heard suppressed annoyance in his voice? When he didn’t reach for her at night? It was all inevitable. Even desire didn’t last, when it wasn’t founded in true emotion.
She had been determined not to make love with him tonight. Not when during dinner she had realized she would have to suggest a separation, have to let him out of a bargain he couldn’t have wanted to make. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. His fingers sliding down her spine had offered unbearable temptation. Just once more didn’t seem like too much to ask, did it? She wouldn’t let herself think about later, about morning, about never feeling his mouth against hers again, his big warm hands on her breasts, his body filling hers. Just once more, they could come together and she could know they were a whole.
A last memory. It would be her consolation. That, and the knowledge that at least she would never have to hide her tears when he didn’t want her anymore.
Now, curled on the floor, Lynn wiped at her wet cheeks and longed for a tissue to blow her nose. Bed, she thought. She would crawl into bed, and maybe find the oblivion of sleep.
She did creep between the crisp, cold sheets of the guest bed. As the night inched on, what fitful sleep she found came with dreams of grief and loss. The gray light of a rainy dawn awakened her to a pounding headache and a yawning chasm where her heart should be. Shivering, she wished for another blanket but made no move to get up and find one. Any other morning, she could have scooted closer to Adam, borrowed his warmth. But he was alone in their bed, and she was alone here, down the hall, all because she had followed him downstairs in the middle of the night and found him poring over photographs of his first wife.
Her shivers spreading, Lynn gazed sightlessly at the rain droplets running down the window. Had she made a terrible mistake? He did care, she knew he did. They were friends, closer all the time.
But not so close, she realized with a wrench of sadness, that he would talk about his Jenny with her. Oh, no. That part of his life stayed behind a barred door. She was not a real wife, who was entitled to admittance. They had a deal, and it didn’t include letting her know the real woman he had loved.
Lynn’s teeth chattered, but still she didn’t move. He had wanted her, she thought, but the comfort was too cold to help. He was a man, she was available. He found her “attractive,” he had said once. “Attractive” was as chilling as the knowledge that he “cared.”
She should go home, she thought. Take both girls, if Adam would let her, and heal in a place where she belonged. There she could plan the future. Advertise for a buyer, put out feelers for a job, talk to Shelly and Rose and hope she could make them understand. She needed some time before she could face Adam again.
Eventually she heard the shower down the hall. After the water stopped, she imagined him dressing. She had loved to watch the muscles in his broad, bare back flex as he bent to put on socks and shoes, as he rifled the contents of his closet in search of a favorite shirt. Then he would look so serious as he bent over to use the mirror to adjust his tie and impatiently rake a comb through his hair.
Had he slept easily? she wondered. Lynn tensed as the soft sound of his bedroom door closing came to her. Footsteps approached down the hall, paused outs
ide her room, and finally continued downstairs. She lay shivering in the cold bed she’d made for herself until she heard the purr of his car pulling out of the driveway.
At last she dragged herself out of bed and went to their—no, his bedroom—where she grabbed clothes and toiletries before returning to the guest bath. His presence wasn’t as strong here.
Warmer on the outside after a shower, she began packing as she waited for Shelly and Rose to wake up.
She was making breakfast for them an hour later when she found the note Adam had left propped against the counter backsplash.
Lynn, I meant what I said last night. I don’t want to lose you. We need to talk, but maybe we both have some thinking to do first. I assume you’re planning to go home this morning. Take Shelly and Rose if you’d like, or drop them at preschool. Let me know. I’ll be in touch.
Adam
To the point, offering her room to hope, if she’d been so inclined, and gracious. Typical of the man she loved.
Lynn crumpled the note in her hand, fought back tears, and turned to face their children.
“Girls, we’re going to Otter Beach today.”
HOW COULD HE NOT HAVE KNOWN he was in love with his wife?
Feeling like death after a sleepless night, Adam asked himself the same question over and over without getting a complete answer. Yeah, he felt guilty because Jennifer was dead and he wasn’t. He’d felt like a scumbag because his love wasn’t going to last for all eternity, because he could apparently transfer his affections in the blink of an eye. Maybe he’d been bothered because loving Lynn was so damned convenient he didn’t believe his own feelings.
And maybe, it had just happened so gradually, he hadn’t noticed the moment he slipped from liking and lust to love and a deeper kind of passion.
Midmorning, he checked his voice mail and heard Lynn’s voice say unemotionally, “Adam, I’m taking both girls with me. I guess we do need to discuss a visitation schedule, but they’ll be fine with me until this weekend. I’ll call then.”
Click.
He stabbed number one on his phone and listened again. She didn’t sound distressed, sad, angry, hurt. Nothing. Back to square one. He’d pick up the girls, drop them off. Lynn would be pleasant, remote, well organized. He and she would have a relationship as cozy as the one he had with Ann. Post-it notes passing in the night.
“No!” The sound of his own voice, feral, hoarse, shocked him. He shot to his feet and paced.
He wouldn’t have it.
She loved him. He’d heard her say the words I love you.
No, Adam had no intention of letting his wife get away. He’d go after her.
As soon as he could figure out why he had been so slow on the uptake, and why she was so ready and eager to run.
Had his determination to give her and Shelly everything left Lynn feeling bought and paid for? He tried to remember the expression on her face when she told him the silk dress had gone on his credit card, but all he could see was how glorious she looked. Hell, maybe she’d sounded a little rueful, but not resentful. He’d swear she hadn’t.
Was it because he’d pressured her to sell the store and move to Portland? But if that was the problem, why was she now agreeing to do just that? No. It didn’t equate.
He stared out the window at the rhododendrons budding for spring and swore under his breath.
Who was he kidding? He’d made passionate love to Lynn and then sneaked downstairs to moon over photos of his first wife. What woman wouldn’t be deeply hurt? If he’d said his goodbyes to Jennifer, not left his loss festering, Lynn wouldn’t have walked out.
He hoped.
“Mr. Landry…” his secretary said behind him.
“What?” he snapped as he turned, then scrubbed a hand over his face and said repentantly, “Sorry, Lydia. I’m running on empty today.”
“Your three-o’clock appointment canceled.” His middle-aged secretary eyed him warily. “I could reschedule the four-o’clock appointment. I thought perhaps…”
“That the office would be better off without me?”
She smiled faintly. “That you might like to leave early.”
“Yeah.” Damn, his eyes felt dry and gritty. “I would. Thanks.”
When she left and quietly shut the door behind her, Adam tugged his tie loose. He had the afternoon free. He could head for Otter Beach.
And what? Hand Lynn a dozen roses, say, “Gosh, the words just wouldn’t come fast enough last night, but I do love you?” and expect her to invite him in?
He was still incredulous at the discovery he had made last night, long after Lynn gave him a last look so full of hurt he’d never forget it and walked out of the room with dignity.
His lips had formed the words I love you before his brain caught up. He loved her? This pretty, quiet woman he had once believed he would never have noticed if they met casually? The woman who frowned in fierce concentration as she read about investing money she didn’t have, who asked earnest questions so she would be able to understand his life? The woman who loved both girls effortlessly, had endless patience with them, who could play dress-up as if she were still three years old herself?
The woman who kissed him with incredible innocence and sweetness, who could still blush though she’d been married and divorced, who made love generously and lovingly?
He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. How could he not have known?
He left the office without any desire to go home. An hour of aimless driving brought him where he’d probably intended to go in the first place: the cemetery where Jennifer had been buried in a gleaming mahogany casket. He shuddered at the memory of the casket. He would rather be cremated, himself, than be shut into a satin-lined box for eternity, but he’d let Jennifer’s parents make the decisions. They were the ones having trouble dealing with their daughter’s death, he had thought. He knew she was gone.
Now he laughed hollowly. None of them had known she was gone. He least of all.
It was the way of her going, Adam thought, that had made goodbyes hard. Jennifer was dead, they told him, but she lay there in that hospital bed for another four weeks looking as if she’d open her eyes any moment and smile. Dead, but she was breathing, her heart beating, a life growing in her womb. He still had trouble understanding: how could she give life, when she was dead? So when had she died? When was he supposed to understand and accept that his wife was gone?
He parked on the shoulder of the asphalt drive that wound through the cemetery, and walked across the springy grass to the flat marker with Jennifer’s name and dates of birth and death. He was ashamed to have to hunt. The fragrant paperwhites in a pot must have been left here by her parents. Gestures like that would be important to them. Adam didn’t often come. His laughing Jenny wasn’t here, only the casket that held her earthly remains.
Perhaps, Adam thought slowly, he had known she was dead. The only place she still lived was in his memory. Those memories he had edited, he saw now. His young wife was charming, funny, sexy, good-hearted, but also spoiled and a little selfish. He had made her a saint and dared anyone—Lynn—to touch her place in his heart.
He finally let himself admit what part of him had known for a long time. The truth was, his feelings for Lynn went deeper, were based on more than youthful sexual attraction. Lynn was shy but gutsy. He admired her brains, her warmth, her taste. He loved her as a mother, a woman, a friend and a lover.
Maybe what he and Jennifer felt for each other would have matured into something similar.
Maybe not. Maybe they’d be divorced, like some of his friends. Maybe they would live in brittle silence, because she wasn’t really interested in him.
He would never know. She was gone, and he would always remember her with love and sadness for what she’d lost. Not what he had lost.
“Goodbye, Jenny,” he said softly, but she was no more here to answer than she had ever been.
Adam turned and strode across the grass with new energy and purpose. He had
to see his wife. This time, he’d find the right words.
If only she would listen.
SHE HAD EXPECTED HOME to be a haven. Lynn walked through the dark bookstore, finding her way between tall bookshelves and the dark bulk of chairs and tables by familiarity and with the help of the night-light left on in back.
She’d tucked the girls into bed an hour ago. Their whispers and giggles didn’t last long. Impulse had drawn her down here, where her dream had come to life. The dream she was about to give up.
Tonight, she found only wood furniture and books without color and life. A business. Not very important, compared to the people she loved.
In the grip of a terrible restlessness, she gave in to another impulse and picked up the phone behind the counter.
“Hi, Frances,” she greeted her teenage baby-sitter’s mother. “Any chance Alicia could come over for an hour or two? Rose and Shelly are asleep. I’m desperate to go out for a little while. Maybe just for a walk.”
“Of course she can come. All she’s doing is watching Titanic for the thirtieth time. Just a moment.” Lynn heard her muffled voice; she must have covered the phone. Then, “She’s finding her shoes. She’ll be over in a minute. Are you okay, Lynn? Is something wrong?”
“No, I…it’s just been one of those days.”
“I can remember a few when I thought I’d scream if I didn’t get away from the kids, and I had a husband to take over once in a while,” her friend said indulgently. “Alicia can stay all night, if you need her. But, if you’re going out by yourself, be careful, won’t you?”
The teenager lived only a block away. Lynn met her at the top of the back staircase. Hearing the TV go on quietly behind her, she pulled on a heavy wool sweater that had been Brian’s—she would have been lost inside it if she hadn’t rolled the sleeves up several times—and hurried down the stairs and across the street, toward the rhythmic boom of the sea.
She’d left the rain behind in Portland, an unusual circumstance. Here at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, torn bits of cloud drifted across the face of the full moon and a wind with the bite of winter whipped her hair back from her face.
Whose Baby? Page 22
