For the Girls' Sake (27 page)

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 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 outside 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."

* * *

H
OW 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 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 to love.

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. 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 groaned.

Who was he kidding? He’d held Lynn in his arms 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." 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, "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 him feel like someone special?

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. Him 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, beautiful, 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 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 wife.

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.

* * *

S
HE 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.

The boardwalk was deserted, the stores dark and closed. Laughter and voices drifted from a restaurant, but nobody sat outside the way they did in midsummer. She took the concrete stairs two at a time, wanting to lose herself on the dark beach, with only the moon and the surf for company.

She wished Adam had never been part of her life here. That they hadn’t raced across the beach with the girls shrieking in delight. That he hadn’t gotten wet rescuing the Japanese float for Shelly. Sat at the table every Saturday in her bookstore, reading contentedly. Bought her a new couch, cooked in her tiny kitchen, hung his toothbrush in the equally small bathroom.

Absorbed in memories, Lynn stubbed her toe on a half-buried boulder and fell painfully to her knees. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she shook them away, angry at herself.

I...care.

Couldn’t he have tried? she thought pitifully. Pretended, just a little bit?

Lied? she asked herself harshly. Was that what she wanted? Give him credit. At least he was too honest for that.

She pulled herself to her feet and kept walking. White fingers of foam led her to the water’s edge. Lynn walked parallel to the crashing surf, her way better lit now by moonlight. The wind bit through her wool sweater, stung her eyes, tangled her hair, but she reveled in the solitude and the cold, and the steady throb of the surf.

Hugging herself, Lynn kept thinking,
I could be home in Portland. Debating with Adam, laughing with him. Is this really better?

Couldn’t she have loved him in silence? He might have come to love her in turn, mightn’t he? Why had she given up hope that he would?

I...care.

Couldn’t that be enough? she begged herself. Was that so terrible? Didn’t the greatest of passions often age into something no more exciting? So what if he still thought about Jennifer. She was gone, and Lynn was here. With time, he would think about his first wife less.

She stopped and faced the breakers as wisps of cloud raced in front of the moon.
Why wasn’t I patient?
she thought miserably.
Why couldn’t I...settle?

Wasn’t having something better than nothing?

How could she convince Rose and Shelly that she’d made the right choice if she didn’t even believe it herself?

Lynn found a boulder to provide a windbreak and backrest. Huddled against the night and her own unhappiness, she remembered every moment of her married life, every word Adam had spoken, every touch. She tortured herself with full knowledge of what she had thrown away, and began to see that she was a coward.

She had been so terrified of losing Adam slowly, she had brought on a quick, clean break. She knew she’d be okay on her own. She’d done this before. What she had no idea how to do was coax a man into loving her, or how to endure his indifference when he made it plain.

Burying her cold face in the scratchy wool of the sweater sleeves, Lynn heard herself as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. She’d be okay on her own. She’d done this before.