Marriage Matters (16 page)

Twenty-seven

M
ary Beth fell asleep at dinner. The restaurant they picked was a busy hamburger place and the food took forever. As they waited, Mary Beth scribbled on paper place mats with a packet of crayons and sipped at an apple juice. By the time her macaroni and cheese showed up, she took a couple bites then nodded off on the table.

“Being good can be very tiring,” Chloe said, rubbing the little girl’s back.

Once Mary Beth had nodded off, Chloe and Geoff spent the meal talking about intervention methods, so that she didn’t feel so guilty about missing her review. Chloe loved watching the way Geoff bit his lip and looked to the side, thinking hard about whatever question she asked him. The more she got to know him, she realized that the tweed jackets and ascots hid a shy, thoughtful man, not some scary powerhouse psychologist, like she’d once imagined.

After dinner, Geoff scooped his daughter into his arms with a fluid motion. “Would you like to come over for a little while?” he whispered.

Chloe thought of the stacks of work waiting for her at home. “I can’t. I still have so much to do . . .”

Geoff smiled, revealing three laugh lines in his left cheek. “That’s part of the fun. You can play hooky.” The wind rifled through his hair, making it—for a split second—as unkempt as Ben’s.

Chloe thought about going back to her apartment. There, she’d have to worry about whether or not she’d bump into Ben, since things were still so incredibly awkward between them. After such a relaxing afternoon, that prospect did not sound appealing at all. “Let’s do it.”

Geoff hailed a cab and it screeched to a halt. She admired the easy way he slid in with the weight of Mary Beth in his arms. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Thank you.” Geoff looked down at Mary Beth’s sleeping face and smiled. “I might need some help once in a while but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy being a father.”

Geoff’s building was all glass and metal and very sleek. The doorman was dressed in a gray uniform and smiled at Chloe as they walked in. As the elevator pinged to a stop on Geoff’s floor, Chloe noted the pale blue carpeting of the hallway and that, somehow, everything smelled like lavender.

“This is beautiful.” Geoff’s corner unit afforded a spectacular view of the city. “And so . . . clean.”

She had kind of expected his apartment to be in shambles, with toys and clothes thrown everywhere, but it was pristine. The decorations were very masculine, all black leather and silver accents. Chloe felt like she was in a high-end furniture display room, not the home of a four-year-old.

“I have a housekeeper.” Geoff headed toward the back hallway with Mary Beth draped over his arms. “She leaves food in the fridge, picks up after Mary Beth. She’s basically my surrogate wife.”

Chloe nodded, but inside she was floored. What would
that
feel like, to have someone do her cooking and cleaning for her? It dawned on her that, in some respects, she knew. Ben was more than happy to cook for her, whenever she wanted. It was only recently that all that had changed.

Geoff strolled back into the room. “What’s the frown for?”

“Not a thing.” Chloe gazed down at the lights of Navy Pier. The Ferris wheel was turning, leaving a trail of golden light in its wake.

“I was thinking about what you said about our families knowing one another.” Geoff got down on his knees and considered his wine cabinet. “I had the oddest feeling that I’d met you before, when I first saw your eyes.” Looking over his shoulder, he smiled. “They’re quite memorable.”

Geoff poured them some wine and sat on the couch, patting the seat next to him. Feeling like Whiskers, Chloe perched where he’d told her to sit. He handed her a glass of wine and undid his ascot.

Pointing at it, she grinned. “Can I ask?”

Geoff laughed. “My grandfather wore ascots, my father wears them and now, me. It’s tradition but it’s also a conversation piece. A great icebreaker at the office.”

Chloe was impressed. “I’ll have to think of something like that. When it’s my turn to open my place.
If
I ever open my place.”

“You will.” Geoff nodded. “With your ambition, you’ll go far.” Picking up his glass, he toyed with the stem. “I still feel guilty about that day in my office. I was intimidated by you, I think.”

Chloe laughed. “Come on. What a line.” The famed Dr. Gable was probably hoping to get her into bed. Remembering those green sweatpants, she blushed. The prospect was hardly unappealing.

“It’s not a line, it’s true.” He turned to her, his handsome face earnest. “You were brave enough to come to me and ask for an endorsement for an incredibly advanced grant. I was impressed.”

Chloe ran her hands over the stiff leather sofa. “Really?”

He nodded. “I used to be like you, ready to take on the world. Then real life got in the way. You remind me of that time, that optimism.”

“I’m not optimistic,” she admitted. “I’m just overworked. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in . . .” Really, the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep was during those two days where she’d hidden in her bed, so worried that she’d told him off. “Well, in a long time.”

“Hopefully our relationship will invigorate you.” He touched her hand. “The way it’s invigorated me.”

Chloe swallowed hard. Relationship? She thought of Ben’s rude words at the club.

Yeah,
she wanted to tell him now.
Geoff
is
my boyfriend.
So there.

Biting her lower lip, she looked up at him. “I’m glad . . . we’re doing this.”

“Me, too.” Leaning forward, Geoff hesitated before touching his lips to hers. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she said. “But only if you never ask me that question again.”

A startled look crossed his face and then he smiled. The kiss was soft and warm, just like that night at the piano bar. But this time, it left her toes tingling.

Twenty-eight

K
ristine bolted awake at 6 a.m.

Italy, Italy, Italy!

The thought sang through her head like a favorite love song. Leaping out of bed, she raced for the shower. As the coconut-scented shampoo ran down her body, she mentally ran through the list of what she’d packed, wondering whether there was time to double-check it before the cab arrived.

Ethan was already at the airport when she got there, sprawled out in a lobby chair. Spotting her, he got to his feet. “You look . . .” He blinked. “Incredible.”

June had always insisted that it was critical to look good in three situations: on an airplane, at the doctor’s office and when getting hit by a cab. So, Kristine was decked out in a pair of fitted designer slacks and a soft-as-the-clouds cashmere sweater. The sweater clung to curves that she normally kept hidden. She’d even taken the time to blow out her hair and it fell in vibrant waves around her shoulders.

At Ethan’s obvious admiration, she flushed. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, dragging her enormous suitcase behind her. “I thought I lost my passport, the cab was late, traffic was ridiculous . . .”

Ethan put a warm hand on her shoulder. For the first time all day, Kristine felt herself relax.

“Buongiorno,”
he said.

At the word, Kristine’s heart practically burst with joy.
“Buongiorno!”

Ethan took the handle of her suitcase and lifted the carry-on bag off her shoulder. “Let’s check in.”

“Passport?” Ethan said, when it was their turn at the kiosk.

Handing it over, she admired how deftly he navigated the screen. Within moments, the machine had shot out their printed tickets. “Voilà. We might even have time for a snack in the lounge.”

As they headed toward security, Kristine glanced in the window of a gift shop. There were all those magazines Chloe loved, waiting in the window. A nearby headline screamed,
All Alone!

Embarrassed, Kristine looked at her boarding pass instead. “Oh, my gosh.” She stared at it in surprise. “Ethan, you must have written one heck of an essay. These are in first class!”

He gave her a sly smile. “Or upgraded our tickets.”

Kristine’s heart sunk. For years, she’d not only fantasized that she and Kevin would see the world together but that, thanks to his millions of airline miles, he would upgrade their seats. It was a blow to think that a man she barely knew had fulfilled this fantasy instead.

Off her stricken expression, Ethan said, “Kris, it didn’t cost a thing. I have so many frequent-flyer miles that I don’t know what to do with them.” He adjusted the worn leather satchel he’d tossed carelessly over one shoulder. “Besides, Italy’s much too romantic for coach. We can relax, have some champagne . . .”

“Thank you.” She shook her head. “I appreciate it. You really didn’t need to do this.”

“You deserve the best. Besides, I’m the one dragging you off to Rome in the first place, making you leave your husband for the week.”

Kristine’s mind flitted back to the reason Kevin wasn’t there. Apparently, her husband had no interest in going on a romantic trip with her to a foreign country. He would much prefer a hunting trip with the boys. Standing in the airport, the thought hurt her as deeply as when he had first said it.

“As you know, my husband was invited.” Kristine folded her boarding pass and placed it in her purse. “And as you know, he had other plans.”

Reaching forward, Ethan brushed a persistent strand of hair out of her eyes. “Well, I think it’s a good thing he didn’t come.” His dark eyes held hers, intent.

Kristine’s heart caught in her throat. “Why?”

“Because.” Ethan smiled. “He’d be sitting in coach.”

That made her laugh.

“Let’s hit security,” he said, placing his hand at the small of her back. “For some reason, I have a feeling you’ll want to spend time in the duty-free
shops.”

After shopping, they only had a short wait before pre-boarding began. Kristine loved walking up the special, first-class carpet. As the steward pushed back the curtains and led them to their seats, she looked around in shock. “This is ridiculously nice.”

The area was spacious and the tan leather chairs absolutely pristine. A complicated-looking control could actually transform the chair into a bed. As she studied the control, a steward said, “Enjoy your flight, Kristine,” and handed her a flute of ice-cold champagne.

“Maybe they’ll throw my luggage in the ocean and have a set of Louis Vuitton waiting for me at baggage claim,” she murmured.

Ethan smiled. “Sign me up.”

They laughed and clinked glasses.

Kristine was having so much fun, but couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang she wasn’t experiencing this with Kevin. It would be nice to hold hands with her husband when the plane took off but . . . She sighed, making a conscious decision to keep disappointment out of her head. Looking around, she knew full well that the only thing she should feel was lucky.

Ethan was busy checking his email about a potential assignment, so she flipped through the
Time Out Rome
guide.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the steward’s voice crackled over the PA system. “There will be a small delay.”

The passengers on the plane groaned. Kristine and Ethan just looked at each other and smiled. Maybe it was the champagne, sitting in first class or the fact that she was finally going to Rome, but Kristine felt perfectly happy to be patient.

“Since we have time . . .” Ethan leaned over and put his arm around her. As his body shifted close to hers, her eyes widened. Time for what? With a start, she realized that he was pointing his camera phone at them. “Smile.”

Relieved, she teased, “You’re not going to use your fancy camera?” The worn leather bag filled with costly equipment was safely stowed somewhere above their heads.

Ethan pulled her even closer. “Nope. This is a spontaneous shot.”

Kristine leaned her face against his and smiled, a big, cheesy, happy-to-be-going-to-Italy-and-sitting-in-first-class grin.

“Perfect.” Ethan uploaded the picture to a site. “Valiant wanted me to do a few social media posts, so this is our first one. The essay contest winners, living a life of luxury out on the tarmac.”

“I love it,” Kristine said.

Ethan went back to checking his email and she to reading. Eventually, the cabin got a little too warm and Kristine felt sleepy. She let out a yawn.

“Get comfortable,” Ethan said. “We’ve got plenty of time until Rome.”

After snuggling up with her travel blanket and pillow set, courtesy of The Places You’ll Go,
Kristine dozed off with the fans whirring overhead. Eventually, the plane started to taxi toward the runway, rocking like a big ship. By the time the wheels lifted off, she was fast asleep.

Twenty-nine

J
une was sitting at the wrought-iron table in her garden, just finishing up a piece of toast with raspberry preserves, when Charley’s back door slid open. Before such late evenings with Rose, the man had been in his garden every morning at eight o’clock on the dot. Today, it was nearly nine.

Not that she was paying attention.

As June took a sip of tea, she heard a sudden clank of metal.

“Ahhh,” Charley cried. “Help. Help!”

For heaven’s sake, what had happened? June leapt up and rushed over to the fence. Charley was lying on his bricked patio in a crumpled heap.

The blood drained from her face. “Charley,” she cried. “Are you alright?”

At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head. June practically collapsed against the fence with relief.

“I tripped over that darn rake.” He pointed at the very same rake she had knocked over the night before, when she’d crept into his garden to spy on him and Rose. “I can’t believe it.”

In an effort to not look as guilty as she felt, June stuttered, “Well, why . . . why on earth do you keep a rake lying across your patio anyway?”

“I don’t.” His face was etched with pain. “Squirrels must have knocked it over.” Gingerly, Charley pressed his hand against the top of his white socks. “Ooph.” He flinched. “I think I might have twisted my ankle.”

“Stay right there,” she clucked. “I’ll be right over.”

Gathering up her breakfast plates, June rushed inside. She dumped everything on the counter, grabbed her keys and rushed out the front door. She practically sprinted (a feat she had not accomplished in years) down the front steps.

“Hold on, Charley,” she shouted. “I’m on my way.”

June ducked into the alley along the far side of the house, where he kept his garbage and recycle bins. The alley was rocky and cool and led to a rusted wrought-iron gate. She had to shove hard against some overgrown ivy, but eventually the gate opened right into his backyard.

“Huh,” he grunted. With every step, her boots squished in the dew of the grass. “I should’ve known that you would know how to break into my garden. I haven’t used that gate in years.”

“Break into your garden?” June echoed. “Why—” She had half a mind to leave the man for dead, until she saw the rake lying next to his injured ankle. Eyeing it, she said, “Squirrels knocked this over? Are you sure it wasn’t a raccoon? It looks pretty heavy.”

In the mystery novels she read, it was not uncommon for the criminal to return to the scene of the crime. With a flash of glee, she suddenly understood why. There was something very satisfying about committing a crime and not getting caught.

Charley shook his head. “I’m not so sure about all that. My bucket’s missing, too.”

“Oh.” Her glee faded. “Well, that’s unusual.”

The night before, June had set the smashed bucket next to her trash can. Kristine grabbed it, saying, “You at least have to make an effort to hide the evidence.” She then shoved it in her trunk, like a body.

Pressing a hand against the brick patio, Charley attempted to get to his feet. He groaned, sinking back down to the ground.

Considering June had been the cause of his accident, it was within her best interest to ensure he made it indoors alive. Petty theft was one thing but murder? Quite another. “Grab my shoulder,” she instructed, bending down. “Can you do that?”

Awkwardly, Charley wrapped his arm around her shoulder. June was startled to feel how strong it was. Even though she had seen his arms in those light blue gardening shirts he wore, she didn’t realize they’d feel so . . . well, thick.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Now, don’t dillydally. Let’s go.”

Charley gave a grunt and got to his feet. He limped to the back door. As they walked into his home, June was hit by the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon toast.

The kitchen window had a perfect view of the very table where she’d been sitting. June wondered if Charley ever watched her, the way she watched him. According to Kristine, not everyone was as nosy as June but with this type of view, it would be insulting if he hadn’t taken notice of her once or twice.

“Shall we call the doctor?” she asked, since Charley was not giving her an ounce of direction.

He shook his head. “Not much can be done for a sprain. I think I’ll just sit for a while.”

June helped Charley limp into a dark room at the front of the house. It smelled like firewood and black licorice. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that the walls of this room were made of a dark cherry and the built-in shelves were simply crammed full of books.

“You read mysteries?” June was surprised. He’d said it, that day on her front stoop, but she hadn’t believed him. Charley Montgomery seemed like a war history type of man.

“All the time.” Easing onto a chaise lounge covered in faded gold velvet, he wiggled his foot and winced. “I think it’s a good real-life mystery that our neighborhood might have a crime ring.”

“One missing bucket does not constitute a crime ring,” June informed him.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I might just call the authorities.”

June’s heart skipped a beat. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She attempted to adopt an imperious tone, but her hands started to sweat. “I . . .” She cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t report a thing.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Charley eyed his ankle. “This was not how I expected to start my day.”

“No one ever plans for an accident,” she said. “That’s why they’re called accidents.”

Giving her a look, Charley reached behind his back and pulled out a few feather throw pillows. He made a move to put them under his feet.

“Stop right there,” June cried. “Charley Montgomery, you take off your shoes this instant!”

Even though this was not her home, she hated to see the man soil such a beautiful chair with muddy feet. If his wife were still alive, she would most certainly feel the same.

“Now, let’s just lift your foot up on these pillows,” she said once he’d removed his shoes.

When Charley struggled, June reached out and grasped his leg just above the ankle. She had not felt a man’s leg since Eugene’s and the sensation was quite strange. Charley’s skin felt warm beneath her touch, his wiry leg hair brushing against her hand. Quickly, she dropped his foot onto the pillow.

“I’m going to get you some ice,” June said, her voice strained. Walking toward the kitchen, she turned and shook her finger at him. “And don’t you move. If you need something to read, I’ll get it for you.”

“June . . .” Charley shook his head. “Has anyone ever told you that you are downright bossy?”

June opened her mouth to argue but then stopped. “Yes.” She smiled. “All the time.”

In the kitchen, she filled a bag with ice and wrapped it in a kitchen towel. “Put this on your ankle,” she instructed him. “I have to go run some errands. Will you be alright?”

Charley leaned back against the chaise lounge. “I’ll be just fine. June, thank you.” He smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to take care of me.”

“Well.” June hesitated, her hand resting against the wood of the wall. Knocking the wood twice, she said, “Don’t get used to it.”