Kiss Me Awake (14 page)

“No, this is personal.” He glanced down at his jeans. Did he look like a delivery boy?

“Give me your name, and I’ll see if she’s in.”

Whoever he was, she sure had this one trained. “I’d rather not,” he said. He wouldn’t give her the opportunity to refuse.

Sandaled feet spread, and wearing a green tee shirt with a Ford logo on it, the man stood there looking torn between guarding the fort and playing host.

In an unexpected gesture, he held out his hand, catching Spencer by surprise. “I’m Auggie Garcia. Step inside, and I’ll see if she’s taking visitors.”

Spencer waited in the foyer he half owned and watched Garcia take the stairs two at a time.

He didn’t have to wait long. Jaida stood at the top of the staircase in a pale pink tea-length sundress. She had changed clothes.

He knew the moment she saw him. Heard her gasp, saw her eyes light with pleasure then watched dread leach the color from her cheeks, leaving her a sickly shade of white.

Auggie Garcia picked up on her distress. He gripped her elbow to keep her from going down the stairs. “Is this man trouble for you? Do you want me to show him out?”

Spencer met her gaze and held her with his eyes, waiting for his sentencing. After making it past the warden, would she have him thrown out?

“Why are you here, Spencer?” Her brow tensed, leaving lines of worry creasing the middle. She sounded breathless, almost hopeful and afraid at the same time. But what was it that she hoped for and what did she fear?

He straightened, glanced down at his feet then back up at her. “I’m here for our anniversary.”

L
ess than two minutes inside and Spencer had been branded bad news. And from the extended silence he was floundering in, it appeared Jaida wasn’t about to say anything to change that perception.

“You said you were here for your anniversary. Anniversary of what?” Garcia asked.

Spencer didn’t answer. He looked past him and settled his gaze on Jaida. “Can I speak with you privately?”

The woman who came with Garcia emerged from the downstairs hall. She followed his gaze up the stairs and noting the tension, made quick strides toward him. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“I’m Spencer. Spencer Gordon,” he said, his eyes never leaving Jaida. “And Jaida is my wife.”

The silence at his announcement was chilling. Garcia started down the stairs at a fast clip stopping just short of Spencer’s personal space. Jaida followed, but went no further than the foot of the stairs.

“I’ve known this girl a long time, and she is not married,” Garcia said.

“She is my wife, ask her.” Spencer looked beyond the bulky shoulder and saw Jaida with her hands balled into tight little fists, her body poised to strike, but she didn’t make a move. Did she hate him now for outing her?

“Look, I didn’t come here to cause problems for you.” Uncomfortable with this whole scene, he shifted and glanced at the door. He should leave, but before he could make his move, the woman insinuated herself between him and the front door.

“Don’t you mean ex-wife?” she asked.

Her eyes narrowed at the cross he wore around his neck. “You religious people don’t believe that divorce ends a marriage, but trust me it does. Besides, the law takes precedence over your beliefs.”

Spencer said, “I know quite well what I mean. She’s my wife, present tense; in the eyes of God
and
the law.”

Garcia looked stricken. “Is this true, chica? Are you really this man’s wife?”

She nodded, her eyes bright with tears.

The other woman threw her hands up in the air and laughed. “Oh, this is rich. What else don’t we know about you, Jaida?”

Garcia shot her a silencing glare. “Be quiet, Carina.”

Spencer pulled a card from his shirt pocket and tossed it along with the flowers on the couch.

“I’m sorry, man.” Garcia apologized. “Carina and I will get out of your hair and give you two some space.”

He wasn’t sure he’d be staying, but he welcomed the unexpected support. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia.”

“Just Auggie,” he said. “Do you have a card on you?”

Spencer pulled out his wallet and handed him one.

Auggie glanced at it before pocketing it then nudged the woman he called ‘Carina.’ “Let’s go.”

“You don’t speak for me. I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

Auggie ignored her protests then turned and said, “We’ll have to get together sometime.” He forced the arguing woman out ahead of him and closed the door.

They were alone.

He could hear himself swallow, hear Jaida breathe. Every sound was amplified in the brittle silence. Spencer turned, rocked back on his heels and studied her. She moved to sit on the arm of the couch, and he searched her face for a cue, for some direction as to what to say next.

“Jaida. Look at me.” Her chin shifted slightly, but she kept her gaze fixed on the hands folded in her lap.

“Please,” he said, his voice firm, unwilling to beg. Not this time. Not again.

When she didn’t look up, he closed the space between them, hesitated, then reached out and traced his fingers down her bare arm. She flinched at his touch. He heeded the message and backed away from her. Unless she invited it, he would keep his hands to himself.

What am I doing here?
He massaged his tightening brow, swallowed against the thickness in his throat. He couldn’t sever the ties himself. Wouldn’t, not yet anyway, but he was drowning while he waited for change to come. He’d wanted to back her into a corner, force her into a decision. Either come back and be his wife or call an attorney and legally end whatever it was they had going on.

“What more could I have done, Jaida? What is it you needed that I failed to give you? Haven’t I loved you well enough? Provided for you well enough?”

This was a conversation they should have had two years ago, but just like now she closed herself off, folding her arms over her
chest, effectively shutting him out. His anger welled at her silence. “Don’t I at least deserve an answer?”

She was trembling, her eyes still downcast. “Just leave, Spencer. I have nothing to offer you.”

He moved to stand in front of her. “I saw you today with Lance Palermo.” She raised her head, surprise on her face, and for one brief moment he held her undivided attention.

“Did you know that he paid me a visit?”

Guess not.
Not with the flash of anger he saw cross her face. She wanted to say something, he could see it, but she fought against her own will and looked away again.

He ached at the chilling chasm that filled the space between them. Her body cast off a slight shiver, and her palms clamped tighter on her arms. She felt it too. The oneness, the intimacy they once knew was dead.

Was this why he was supposed to come? To see firsthand that it was over, that it was time for him to let go? There was so much he wanted to say, but she wasn’t ready to hear any of it. Maybe she never would be.

“Your friend, Auggie, it sounds like he looks out for you.”
Something I should be doing.

She said nothing. She wasn’t going to engage him.  He’d worn out what little welcome there was. Spencer gripped her fingers that had fallen limp and brushed a light kiss across her warm forehead. “Happy anniversary, Jaida.” 

He pressed a business card in her palm and squeezed her hand. “In case you ever need me.”

Even if it isn’t what I want.
It was with deep regret that Spencer recalled his prayerful concession. Not that it would have changed the outcome.

He slammed the car door. The sound ricocheted off the bare white walls and concrete floor of the garage. Failure. Regret. Defeat.  He owned them all.

He picked up the hammer and screwdriver he’d left lay on the workbench and hung them on the pegboard above it. He’d been prepared for a fight with her. He knew how to handle that. But how could he win against indifference?

He went inside the house, the door banging closed behind him. The curtains were drawn, the rooms dark. He hadn’t opened them in days. He needed to snap out of this.

Jaida had his card. Not that she couldn’t find him without it, but with him personally handing it to her there would be no mind battles, no reason to doubt when her call never came.

But God’s call
had
come, and Spencer reluctantly answered. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He dropped to his knees in the center of the living room floor and lifted his hands in a weak attempt at surrender; rebellion still lingering, weighing down on his arms like lead.

The sacrifice came grudgingly. It was a feeble offering of praise that floated from his lips, the flow building little by little until it became genuine and the faith behind it grew.

Jaida was created for him alone. A point no one could argue with him and win, but he was done, past the point of weary. He was tired of loving a woman who didn’t love him back. A woman who despised and rejected all that he was.

He wanted to terminate the relationship, end the crushing attachment. For his own sake he needed to quit loving her.
Help me to quit loving her, God.

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify her…”

Hadn’t he already been doing that? Spencer dropped his head and wept. The question was: Would his love be enough?

                                       *

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Spencer was the sound of finality. It was finished. She should be relieved. Strange that she wasn’t.

Jaida scooped up the roses and stood, squeezing her fingers around the business card in her hand. Her legs went weak, and she reached for the back of the couch to steady herself.

Why did he show up like that, out of the blue, with no warning for her to prepare or to guard her heart? And why did she push him away when she wanted to hold onto him, shut him out when she wanted to let him in?

But she already knew why. She just didn’t know why it couldn’t be different. Why
she
couldn’t be different.

His hair, the color of golden wheat was cut shorter than the last time she’d seen him. Not close-cropped, but a stylish short. His complexion was paler than normal, the hint of shadow under his eyes darkening the sage green of his irises to a dull gray.

He probably spent his days locked away in that high-rise growing the empire that paid for this house, the car…everything she owned. She was plagued by the shame. But why? She hadn’t asked for any of it. He was the one who had insisted.

She gazed down at the bouquet in her arms then pressed her face into the perfectly formed rosebuds, breathing in the scent. Long-stemmed and absent thorns, these roses were red. True red.

Spencer was everything Lance was not. Offered what Lance did not. He was faithful, longsuffering, patient, kind; he was perfect. He was perfect, and she was flawed.

Jaida set the bouquet on the kitchen counter, unfolded the card, and worked her thumb over the crease that ran down the middle. Did he know she wouldn’t call? Couldn’t call?

She was still trying to wrap her mind around what happened. She managed to keep her life private, and in a matter of seconds, Spencer had ruined it. And the worst of it was, he’d already won Auggie over. A two-minute conversation and they were instantly buddies.

She picked up the flip-flops she’d left by the front door and set them on the third step, then straightened the afghan so that it was centered on the back of the couch.

Spencer had been the reason for everything she’d done today, from the food she ordered at the ramshackle stand where they’d had their first date, to the secluded botanical gardens where they were married. And to see him standing there in the flesh—so real, so vulnerable—it was the best and the worst moment of her life.

She couldn’t bear to look at him; couldn’t meet his gaze. She’d been master over her shame. She had tamed it, prevented it from rising to the surface, but not today; the reins she’d kept in a firm grasp had slipped from her fingers, and she was suddenly helpless, falling prey to its reproach.

He remembered their anniversary of all things.
Remembered her with roses and a card.
The card!
How could she have
forgotten? She rushed to the couch where he had discarded it. It was wedged between the cushion and the arm. She picked it up and tore it open.

Love never fails.

Her eyes stung and she sniffed.
Why?
Why did he have to show up? Why did he have to remind her? Jaida swung her hand and flung the porcelain figurine from the table sending it flying across the room. The molded piece spiraled into the air, arced then came crashing down on the tile, severing the head from the body and shattering the remains. The lopped-off head spun across the floor and rolled under a chair.