A Passion Denied (46 page)

He walked over and pulled the cover up to her chin, then reached down to press a soft kiss to her lips. She moaned and turned on her side, the little puffs commencing once again. He turned out her light, then shuffled to his side of the bed and slipped under the sheet with a heavy sigh. Life with Charity was never boring. Even if he didn’t get much sleep.

The crash of shattering glass sounded from the open bathroom down the hall, and Faith glanced up, hairbrush halted in hand and still cleaving to her scalp. A hiss that sounded dangerously close to a swear word reached her ears. She chewed on her lip. “Oh, goodness, I didn’t leave my lilac water on the back of the commode again, did I?” she called loudly, knowing full well that she had.

She heard another questionable phrase followed by the clinking of glass in the wastebasket before her husband appeared in the door, towel tied at his waist and fisting a soggy rag. The sweet scent of lilacs floated into the room, belying the heat in his eyes. And not the usual heat she saw when he came to their bed.

“Collin, I am sooo sorry! I know it belongs in the closet, but the hot bath seems to rob me of every thought in my head.”
Charity, help me,
she thought, gnawing on her lip again. She gave him a half smile, then made a poor attempt at batting her eyes. “Every thought but you, that is.”

He stood in an aura of lilacs, muscles tight and slick from his bath while little rivulets of water dribbled from his dark head. The strain in his face was as tight as the towel clenched low on his hips, a sure sign she didn’t have Charity’s skill.

His eyes narrowed. “Knock it off, Faith. I married you, not Charity. Although I may question that decision if I see that blasted lilac water one more time.”

She placed the brush on her vanity and rushed to his side, tugging at the noxious rag in his hand. “I won’t do it again, I promise. Let me clean it up, please.”

His lips flattened. “Already did. Although God knows it doesn’t smell like it. You might want to buy another fragrance. This one is losing its effect . . . fast.”

She smiled and scooped an arm around his waist, pressing a soft kiss to his moist chest. “I will, Collin, I promise. Now hurry and get ready for bed so I can make it up to you.”

He stroked her cheek, but his tone was flat. “Not tonight, Little Bit, please. I’m not in the mood.”

She faltered back. “Not in the mood?” She stared, unable to believe Collin McGuire had even uttered the words. “I didn’t think that phrase was in your vocabulary.”

No smile, no smirk, no nothing. “Sorry, Faith, but all I want to do is sleep.” He kissed her head. “You go to bed, okay? I’ll be in shortly.” He turned and disappeared into the bathroom once again, this time shutting the door behind him.

Faith shuffled to their bed in a near stupor and turned out the light. He’d told her about moods like this in his past, moods where he’d wrestled with bouts of depression, but she had never seen them in almost three years of marriage. Unless they were embroiled in a rare fight, Collin was always up, always ready to tease, always ready to . . .

She slipped under the covers with a shiver, reflecting on his behavior, wondering when the malaise had set in. She’d noticed he’d been quiet all night, but he’d been fine this morning before he’d left for work, and great over the weekend, especially with the new hire working out so well. Sunday night dinner with the family had been good, although he had seemed a bit edgy on the way home. She rolled on her side and closed her eyes, deep in thought. All at once her lids popped open and she caught her breath. Lizzie and Michael—of course! The engagement. That had to be it. His mood had shifted right after dinner, with Lizzie’s visit.

Faith sat up and pushed the hair from her eyes. The news had shocked everyone, of course, although it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. Lizzie was tired of pining over Brady, she’d made no bones about that. And Michael’s intentions had certainly become clear over the last month, his focus on both God and Lizzie escalated considerably. Faith leaned back against the headboard and chewed on her thumbnail. She just hoped it was for real. She liked Michael well enough, but none of them had known him for more than a few months. She sighed. At least they would have six months to pray about it and get to know him better.

She heard the bathroom door squeal open in a shaft of light that immediately went to black. Collin padded to the bed and got in, ignoring Faith as she sat up in the shadows.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes and stretched the length of the bed.

“Couldn’t sleep. Not when I know something is bothering you.”

“Go to bed, Faith. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I’ve never seen you like this. Depressed. Withdrawn. Talk to me Collin, please.”

“Nothing to talk about. I’m just in a mood.”

“You’re upset about Lizzie, aren’t you? About the engagement.”

He turned on his side, his back to her as he adjusted his head on the pillow. “I’m tired and I don’t want to talk. I love you. Go to bed.”

She slithered down under the covers and nestled up against him, circling his waist with her arm. “I love you too, Collin, which is why we need to talk. If not to air your frustration, then at least to pray.”

She felt the swell of his chest as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Pray, then.”

“Are you worried about Brady?”

“Faith!”

“Sorry! Dear Lord, we come before you tonight to lift up my husband and this upset that he is obviously experiencing. Help him to trust you and find your peace in the midst of whatever is bothering him tonight. Give him sweet sleep, Lord, as you promise in your Word—”

“Pray for Brady.” His whisper was harsh in the dark.

She hesitated. “Collin, he’ll be fine—”

“Pray!”
he rasped, the tension of his command tightening his stomach beneath her hand.

“And, God, we pray for Brady. We know this news will come as a shock, but help him to get past it and to be happy for Lizzie and his brother—”

He whirled around, the whites of his eyes expanded in anger. “No! Pray for strength, not to get past it, but to . . .” He stopped. The anger slowly faded from his face. He dropped back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

She grabbed his arm. “Collin, what’s wrong? Why are you acting like this? And how are we supposed to pray for Brady? To do what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

He mauled his face with the palms of his hands, fingers sweeping up into his wet hair. “I promised.”

Faith sat up, flecks of irritation prickling her tone. “You’ve broken promises before, Collin. It’s not your strong suit, you know.”

His eyes blazed open, glinting with anger. “I swore to him, all right? Is that good enough for you?”

“Collin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I’m just worried about you. But whatever this is, I’d like to be specific when I pray. I won’t tell Lizzie, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“I said
no
! Just pray, Faith—
now
—for strength for Brady to do the right thing. Or I will. Then, please, just let me go to sleep.”

She stared for several seconds, then slowly lay down beside him, cradling his chest with her arm. “Lord God, your Word says you have not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and love and a sound mind. We ask right now that you cast fear out of both my husband and John Brady, and give them peace. Give Brady the power, the love, and the sound mind to do what you want him to do. Strengthen him in this situation, Lord, and see him through. Your Word says all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. That’s John Brady to the letter, Lord, so please, work this out for his good. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

She felt the tension siphon from her husband’s body. She closed her eyes and gently stroked his chest. His heart was pounding beneath the heat of her hand. “Good night, Collin,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“Good night, Faith. I love you too.”

The closer they got to Forest Hills, the farther up his throat his breakfast seemed to climb. Or maybe it was bile. Either way, Brady didn’t have a good taste in his mouth, but then shame had always left a bitter bite on his tongue. He stared straight ahead as they drove, stiff and tense as Michael’s Packard glided along curving cobblestone streets lined with stately trees, manicured parks, and picture-perfect squares. He remembered all too well the home of his youth, with its lush landscaping and wrought-iron streetlamps resembling old English lanterns. Fancy brick mansions with regal towers and imposing spires, resplendent with ivy that gleamed in the sun. All carefully designed to reflect the elegance and charm of the finest garden communities of England. Beautiful on the outside, deadly on the inside. At least in his case. A shiver traveled his spine. Whited sepulchers, full of dead men’s bones.

He stole a glance at Michael out of the corner of his eye. His brother was dressed to the nines in a gray Norfolk suit with belted waist and matching driving cap, one arm draped casually over his door while he steered his cherry-red roadster with the other. Not a strand of his hair, carefully slicked back in the Valentino style of the day, ruffled in the cool breeze. Unlike Brady’s longer cut, which flapped in the wind, void of all hair cream.

Brady squinted. Michael was a good-looking man, he supposed, but the thought shocked him in terms of himself, the spitting image of his brother. He had never considered himself handsome, although people had often told him so. But then his mind hadn’t focused on what he saw in the mirror. Only what he saw in his soul.

They’d actually spent the first few hours talking about their childhood—summer vacations in the Hamptons and treks to Europe. Idle chitchat that had escalated into a near argument when Michael had broached the forbidden subject. At the time, his glance had been casual but his tone subdued, veering from one conversation to the other as smoothly as the Packard changed lanes.

“Yeah, those were good times,” he had said, his gaze flicking to Brady. “Unfortunately overshadowed by bad.” He paused. “What happened that night anyway, John? The night you went away. I never really knew.”

The question, spoken so quietly, so innocently, had sucked the air from Brady’s lungs. Every muscle in his body tensed, sending his heart rate accelerating. He looked away, his eyes riveted on the passing scenery. “I don’t remember.”

“It altered your life, and you don’t remember?”

His hand fisted on the seat. “That’s right.”

“I always thought lying was a sin.”

Brady spun to face him, his eyes itching with fury. “Go to the devil, Michael! I told you I don’t remember.”

“Don’t get riled, I just think you need to get it out, that’s all. Talk about it.”

Brady glared, his tone less than kind. “With you?”

“Yeah, with me. Who else but your own flesh and blood, the brother who knows your past but loves you anyway. ”

“I told you. I don’t remember.”

“Selective memory, I suppose.”

Brady stared straight ahead, his tone hard. “No, blind drunk. Are you satisfied?”

Michael gave him a sideways glance. “You were drunk? You really don’t remember?”

Brady closed his eyes, remembering certain details with perfect clarity—the scent of Lucille’s perfume, the burn of whiskey on his tongue, the sinful touch of rumpled silk sheets. He could remember it all, painful memories cloaked in shame. A boy defiled, a woman scorned, the pelting rain on the roof overhead. Guilt whirling and walls spinning as he’d stumbled to his room. Lightning and thunder . . . and Lucille in a rage. While Helena wept in her arms.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the air thin in his lungs. The memories stopped there, drowned like his innocence in a sea of cheap bourbon and costly regret.

Michael’s voice was quiet. “John, I can see you don’t want to talk about this now, but sometime soon, we need to—you, me, and Helena. For your sake and for hers. So we can be a family again. Like old times.”

Old times. A shiver traveled Brady’s spine. They had never been a family. Not since Lucille had come to call. Acid churned in his stomach as he stared out his side window, barely seeing the West Side Tennis Club as it zipped by in a blur.