Sandy: Vested Interest #7

by Melanie Moreland

  I dropped my keys in the bowl, suddenly tense and unsure. I had no idea what to say to him.

  He studied me for a moment. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You seem…distracted. Or upset.”

  I sighed. “A bit tired.” I lifted one shoulder, unsure how to explain the unease I was feeling. “Maybe a little sad the weekend is done. Back to reality now,” I added lightly.

  He stepped closer, sliding an arm around my waist. Before I could protest, he drew me close, enveloping me in his warmth. The clean scent of him filled my nose, and with a long breath, I relaxed into him, wondering why I had resisted his comfort earlier.

  “I think reality is a little different for each of us now,” he murmured. “At least, I hope you know that.” He pressed a kiss to my head. “Get some rest and I’ll call you later.”

  I nodded. He eased back, looking down at me. He bent and brushed a kiss to my cheek. “Call me if you need anything, all right?”

  “I will.”

  He paused before he walked out the door.

  “I’m not sure how I’ll sleep without you beside me tonight, Sandy.” He shook his head. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

  He walked out, pulling the door tight behind him.

  I stared after his retreating figure, the unease back. My stomach tightened, and my body became tense.

  That odd sensation crept over me, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

  Somehow, without Jordan beside me, I felt nervous, worried, and unsure.

  I picked up my bag, mentally giving myself a good shake.

  “Stop it, Sandy. You’re just tired.”

  That mantra repeated itself in my head for the next few hours.

  I was restless the remainder of the day. I unpacked, checking everything, reassuring myself I hadn’t forgotten anything of importance, yet the feeling lingered. For some reason, I carried all the things we had bought, including the lovely shawl, into the room I used as an office. It had always been my space, decorated with a feminine touch. Max rarely came in except to ask a question or, in our earlier years, to bring me a glass of wine or a cup of coffee. It had simply been a place I could go to on my own. I wasn’t sure why I brought the bags in here, but I felt better once I had.

  I did a few chores, made some toast I nibbled on, then paced the house in an endless loop. I couldn’t settle, no matter how I tried. My book held no interest for me, there was nothing on TV, and the music I had playing bothered more than soothed, so I shut it off.

  Jordan called in the early evening, his voice a welcome distraction.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I assured him. “Just having a quiet evening.”

  There was a pause, and I wondered if he was waiting for me to tell him I missed him. I wanted to, but somehow, the words stuck in my throat.

  “Any news from the real estate agent?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, she dropped by after I got home. The open house was a huge success, and she expects a lot of offers tomorrow.”

  “That is good news.”

  “Well, it will be interesting, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “Gina called as well. She wants to come in a few weeks to go through the boxes at the warehouse. She’s trying to coordinate her trip with Warren’s, so they come at the same time.” He paused. “I think they want to spare me going through things twice.”

  “That is thoughtful.”

  “Yes. I was thinking, perhaps we could all have dinner one night.”

  His words hung in the air. He wanted to introduce me to his children—officially. I had met them at the office on different occasions, but under vastly diverse circumstances. As a married coworker, not the woman he was having an affair with.

  Internally, I shook my head. I was more than that to Jordan. I knew that without a doubt—why had those words gone through my head? We weren’t having an affair. We were in a relationship.

  “Sandy?” Jordan’s worried voice prompted me.

  “Sorry,” I laughed, trying not to convey my sudden discomfort. “I was daydreaming.”

  “So, dinner?”

  “Yes, we’ll have to arrange that.”

  “Sandy, my darling, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Then why am I sensing a huge distance from you?”

  “I’m simply tired, Jordan. We had a busy weekend, and I’m exhausted.”

  “It was a wonderful weekend, I thought.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, although my tone was odd. “Wonderful.”

  “Sandy—”

  I cut him off, not liking the solicitous tone in his voice or the edge of hurt it contained. I hated knowing it was me who put that hurt there.

  “Jordan, I have to go. My tub will be overflowing. I’ll see you at the office.”

  Before he could reply, I hung up.

  I stared at the phone, fighting with myself. I wanted to pick it up and call him back. Tell him about the odd feeling I couldn’t shake. Ask him to come get me. He would sit with me and talk it through—help me make sense of the unease and worry I was feeling.

  Twice, I picked up the phone, then set it back in the charger.

  How could I explain it to Jordan, when I didn’t understand it myself?

  I ran a hand over my hair and stood. Maybe a bath was a good idea. Then I would head to bed and get a good night’s sleep. Things would look better in the morning.

  I tossed and turned, my sleep fractured and filled with dark, twisted dreams. My bedroom felt oppressive and hot. I flung off the covers and switched on the light, glancing at the clock. It was just after three. I should be asleep, but I felt twitchy and anxious.

  I got up and pulled on my robe. I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of ice water, needing to feel the cold. I sipped it, wandering around the house, switching on lights as I did. For some reason, I ended up in Max’s office. I rarely went in there, and I stood in the doorway, recalling all the times I had done the same thing—leaning on the doorframe, telling Max to come for dinner, or to leave his book and join me in the garden. Scold him for working too much.

  With a sigh, I went in, sitting in the wingback chair across from his desk. It was where I had always sat when I came in to see him. He would look up from whatever he was working on, his eyes twinkling, his gaze welcoming. His desk would be covered in reference books, files, papers, and notes. Often, his laptop sat on a precarious pile of papers, listing to one side, always in danger of ending up on the floor.

  “Hello, my girl,” was his standard greeting.

  Now, his desk was empty. His laptop shut and set to the side. There were no papers or files—I had spent days sorting and organizing them, sliding them into neat piles and storing them in file boxes. Colin had them since he was fascinated with Max’s work, his thoughts on the medical system, and his wealth of knowledge.

  I glanced around the room, wondering what had called me here in the middle of the night. I hadn’t moved or changed much about this room. It had always been Max’s haven, the same way my office had been my own personal space. It was the place we could simply be ourselves and enjoy our own endeavors without the other person.

  I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling a wave of emotion. Max was always careful never to stop me from pursuing my own interests. He supported me in everything I chose to do—from working for Bentley, doing some traveling on my own, even the odd hobby I would pick up then discard. He always was there, encouraging and supporting me. Max had been an amazing husband.

  A shiver of foreboding went through me. I stared at his desk as three words exploded in my head so clearly, it was as if they were shouted out loud in the room.

  You forgot me.

  I blinked at the sudden rush of tears, suddenly knowing the reason for my unease and my worry. For the first time since Max died, he hadn’t been on my mind. Instead, Jordan had filled my t
houghts and overtaken my feelings all weekend—even longer. The only time I’d thought of Max had been in comparison—the things Jordan did that Max hadn’t.

  How Jordan loved to travel. Enjoyed being on the water. The way he hummed and soothed me in the storm. The passion he had reawakened in me.

  Not once during the weekend had I thought of Max or our life together. I allowed Jordan to fill up that place of loneliness and replace it with laughter and joy.

  I covered my mouth with my hand as a sob escaped me.

  I had compared the two men and found my husband lacking.

  How could I have forgotten Max so easily? What kind of wife was I to have moved on so fast?

  What had I done?

  Betrayed Max. Betrayed our marriage. Had sex with another man. Spent the weekend with him and pushed aside all thoughts of the man I had spent over thirty years with.

  A man who was loving, kind, and wonderful. Who gave me a life filled with happiness.

  Who deserved to be remembered, not cast aside and forgotten.

  It was too soon. I wasn’t ready.

  And I had to put a stop to this.

  Jordan

  I sensed Sandy’s withdrawal from me on the flight home. The way she held herself back, the subtle shift when I tried to touch her. As if she no longer wanted to feel my hand on her skin.

  She was quiet in the car—tense and anxious. She allowed my embrace before I left, melting into me as if she needed it, and for a moment, I dismissed my notion of worry. She admitted she was tired, so I accepted it. Her pallor could be explained away with fatigue as well, so I convinced myself that was the cause.

  But her odd reactions on the phone worried me. The gap I felt between us which had never been there before—even prior to our budding relationship. There had always been an ease between us, but our conversation was stilted and awkward.

  I didn’t sleep well and went to the office with a heavy heart. Bentley had delayed the usual staff meeting until we returned today. I approached the boardroom apprehensively, unsure as to what I would find. How would Sandy act this morning?

  She was in her usual place, already writing in her notebook, Bentley in position at the head of the table. He spoke quickly, and she nodded, keeping up with him as he filled her in on what he required.

  He lifted his head as I went by. “Jordan, good morning.”

  I tilted my chin in acknowledgment. “Bentley.” I paused. “Sandy.”

  She glanced up with a smile. It was her cool, professional one, which I expected, but my chest ached at the signs of a sleepless night. She was paler than yesterday, weariness etched under her eyes.

  I sat down, hoping she would look at me, but she kept her eyes focused on the pad in front of her, her hand moving rapidly as Bentley began the meeting. She was still sitting when we filed out.

  It bothered me that she never once looked at me, and that even when she spoke, it seemed to me her voice was distant and removed. None of the warmth I associated with Sandy was present.

  Twice, I went past her desk, but she wasn’t there. I called to ask her about lunch, relaxing a little when she answered, breathless.

  “Jordan, I’m sorry. I was in Bentley’s office. He is crazy today.”

  I chuckled. “He must have missed you.”

  “If the pile of to-do’s on my desk is any indication, then yes.”

  She was swamped, which wasn’t a surprise. Bentley relied heavily on her. I was reading too much into this.

  “I was wondering about lunch. A sandwich in the park?”

  “I can’t. Bentley has three meetings this afternoon, and I need to attend all of them. We’re leaving in about ten minutes. Rain check?”

  “Of course. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hung up, and my unease returned. She hadn’t agreed to lunch tomorrow. She hadn’t taken a moment to say anything personal.

  I would call her this evening, and we would talk it through. Maybe go see her once I dealt with the real estate agent. Although I hadn’t said anything to Sandy, I was on edge about the house and the next steps. I would tell her that as well. I was sure she would listen and help me sort out my feelings.

  Perhaps we could address hers as well.

  My plan was good—except, I never spoke to Sandy that night. My agent showed up at six, a folder filled with offers, and I spent the next several hours going back and forth with one buyer who was determined to buy the property. By midnight, the deal was done, the papers signed, and I was both elated and relieved. I picked up the phone to call Sandy, then glanced at the clock and hung up.

  I stared at the phone. If this had been last week, I was certain I would have called her, regardless of the time. She would have been welcoming and pleased to hear my news, sharing in my happiness of the offer and understanding my relief it was done so quickly. But tonight, I was hesitant because I wasn’t sure of her reaction. I worried about disturbing her and afraid if she was dismissive or uncaring of my news that I wasn’t sure how I would handle it. I decided to wait until I saw her in the morning.

  Once again, my sleep was broken and fragmented.

  Jordan

  I found her in the kitchen making coffee in the morning. I entered the room, determined to speak to her. She glanced up from pouring water into the coffeemaker.

  “Good morning,” I greeted her.

  “Morning,” she replied, pushing the button. “Coffee will be ready in a moment.”

  “Great, but I didn’t come for that.”

  She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. She looked casual, but her body was tense. Her tone was cordial, but I preferred it when she spoke to me in that low, breathless voice. “I expected to hear from you last night,” she remarked.

  I mimicked her stance. “It was past midnight when we finished. I texted you a couple of times, but you didn’t respond.”

  “I was sorting some drawers in Max’s office. I forgot my phone in the kitchen.”

  “I see.”

  “How did the offers go?”

  I sighed and loosened my arms. It felt as if I was talking to a polite stranger, not the woman I spent the weekend with. “I accepted the highest offer. He came in at thirty grand over asking. He wanted a two-week closing, but I got it pushed back to a month. He had no conditions other than the two weeks, so we bartered back and forth for a bit. He was pretty set on it, and I wanted six weeks, but we compromised in the end.”

  She smiled, a real, genuine Sandy smile. Stepping forward, she laid her hand on my arm. “Jordan, that is wonderful. Congratulations. I’ll make sure Bentley knows you need the condo in a month.”

  I laid my hand over hers, meeting her gaze. What I saw bothered me. Her eyes were dull, and the pain and worry in them made me ache.

  “Sandy,” I murmured. “Talk to me.”

  She pulled away. “I am.”

  I grabbed at her hand, holding it tight. “Something is wrong. I feel it. Talk to me,” I repeated.

  She didn’t try to deny it. “Not here.”

  “Lunch?”

  She paused, then nodded. I felt a flash of relief. If she talked to me, I could help her sort out whatever was going on in her head.

  “Okay, I’ll pick us up a sandwich.”

  “All right.”

  The air around us was tense. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I lifted my cup. “I’ll take that coffee if you’re still offering.”

  Smiling, she held out her hand for my mug. “Of course.”

  But her eyes remained troubled, and I fought down the feeling that lunch was only going to make things worse.

  She waited for me on the bench we often had sat on in the past when we would share lunch. During those earlier days, when we were simply two people drawing comfort from each other. I studied her as I grew close, once again noting her pallor and the anxious set to her shoulders. One of Sandy’s greatest gifts had always been that of repose. She rarely fidgeted or squirmed. She didn’t p
lay with her hair or drum her fingers restlessly. She was calm, never resorting to theatrics or displays of temper.

  Today, her leg swung as she waited, and her fingers drummed on her knee. I knew how high her anxiety was as I approached. I sat beside her, offering her the sandwich and iced tea I had brought her.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said. “The deli was busy.”

  “I can’t go with you to Van’s wedding,” she blurted out.

  I paused in unwrapping my sandwich. That wasn’t what I had expected her to say—but it was as good a place to start as anywhere, I supposed. I put the sandwich back in the bag, my appetite gone.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me, yes.”

  “I can’t have people thinking we’re a couple. I don’t want to disappoint Van, so I will attend, at least for the ceremony, but I’ll be going on my own.”

  Disappointment flooded my chest, but something in her voice made me pause. She sounded regretful, as if the decision caused her pain. I needed her to open up to me. We could work this out together.

  I turned to face her fully, ready to battle this out with her. “Odd, I thought we were a couple. You certainly acted that way this past weekend.”

  “This weekend was wonderful, but it can’t happen again.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m don’t want…this.” She waved her hand between us, the gesture dismissive and upsetting.

  “What are you talking about? We had an amazing time being together. What changed?” I asked, mystified.

  “I’m not ready to be a couple again.”

  “We felt like a couple on the weekend,” I repeated. “Very much so.” I angled my head to the side, watching her closely, my voice rough as my anger built. Her eyes were blank, the spark I liked so much missing again. “Or is that it, Sandy? We’re a couple only when you decide we are? Was this weekend just a little side trip from real life? Scratching an itch, so to speak?”

  If possible, her skin became paler—almost a sickly white. “No, it wasn’t like that. You know me better than that.”