Tender Loving Care

by Susan Mallery

  “Then stay.”

  “No. I need more.”

  “Melissa…” He moved closer.

  “I need you to love me. I need you to trust.” She held up her hands. “Do you trust me?”

  His eyes met hers, then looked away. It was all the answer she needed. “I believe I’ve packed everything. If you find something I’ve forgotten—” she paused “—throw it in the trash.”

  For several minutes, Logan continued to stand in the center of the room. He listened to Melissa say her farewells to his daughter, then the front door closed and he heard the sound of her car engine. Finally there was silence.

  He sat on the bed and rested his forearms on his knees. The house seemed so empty, but not as vacant as the dark place inside himself. She’d left. He’d known she was going to, but the leaving was still a shock. What about her presumed love and commitment? In the end, they had all been meaningless words.

  Glancing up, he saw a small glass bottle resting on the dresser. Liquid filled the bottom quarter inch. Her perfume—she’d accidentally left it behind.

  He rose and picked up the container, then clutched it in his hand. Wendi stood in the hall. She looked at him.

  “What will you do now, Daddy?”

  He stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. “Not a damn thing.”

  It took Melissa less than a day to get everything settled in her apartment. A top-to-bottom cleaning took another two, and still the rest of her life loomed ahead.

  College would be starting soon; that would help to fill the time. And she had her challenge exams next month. She’d be busy. Surely the memories of Logan would begin to fade, if not this year, then soon after.

  At the end of the first week, Wendi called. Her sweet voice, laced with tears, made Melissa feel like the villain in a slasher movie.

  “But why won’t you come back?” the girl asked.

  “Wendi, please. Can’t we talk about you? How was school today? Have you talked to Mark since the dance?”

  “Yes. He called last night. A bunch of us are going to the movies on Friday. Mrs. Dupuis came back earlier, so that was kinda nice. My mom’s been over here a lot.”

  Melissa closed her eyes at the mention of Fiona. It was already starting. By the end of the month, the raven-haired beauty would have moved back into the house. She’d left just in time.

  “I’m glad you’re doing well,” she said, gripping the receiver.

  “Dad’s not. He’s grouchy all the time and isn’t eating. Mrs. Dupuis has been fixing all his favorites, but he says he’s not hungry.”

  Oh, Logan, what are you doing? she asked silently. Was this his way of making her feel guilty for leaving? It wouldn’t work. She’d done the only thing she could. The next move was his. He had to admit he loved her…and trusted her. She had a feeling it was going to be a long, cold winter.

  “I have to go, Wendi. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “Okay. Should I tell my dad you said hi?”

  “If you’d like. Goodbye.”

  Logan walked up to the front of his house and went to insert the key. The door was partially open. Stepping inside, he set his briefcase in the corner and slipped out of his suit jacket.

  “I’m home, Wendi,” he called.

  “I’m afraid she’s out with Mrs. Dupuis,” Fiona said as she stood in the entrance to the kitchen. “You’ll have to make do with me.” She smiled and winked.

  Logan froze in the act of undoing his tie. “Why the hell are you here?”

  “Logan.” Her red-stained lips pursed in an exaggerated pout. “That’s no way to talk to your wife.”

  “Ex-wife. And every day I thank God for that fact.”

  She flipped her dark hair over her shoulders. A bright pink T-shirt clung to her chest, clearly outlining her lack of an undergarment. Tiny shorts, more suited to Wendi than a thirty-something TV star outlined her trim hips. Bare feet, complete with red toenails, finished the star-at-home photo opportunity.

  “You’re such a kidder,” she said as she sashayed back into the kitchen. “If I didn’t know you’d had a terrible day, I’d be very hurt.”

  He walked over to the liquor cabinet in the living room and poured a tumbler half full of Scotch. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

  “To see you, of course. Come in and have some dinner.”

  “With you? I’d rather starve.”

  She stuck her head around the entrance. “You’re worse than Wendi. Come on.”

  “Did you cook?” He moved forward and glanced at the cartons of Chinese takeout. “Oh, you should have said you’d gone to all the trouble of preparing your speciality.”

  Fiona walked over and touched his arm. “Logan, I know you’re pleased to see me.”

  “Hardly.”

  “You still want me,” she whispered as she reached up to kiss his neck.

  The sensation of her hot breath against his skin made his stomach clench. He stepped away. “Stop it, Fiona. If you’re between men, call an escort service.”

  Her emerald eyes flashed fire. “Admit it. I’m quite a temptation.”

  He stared down at her. There was nothing except a longing for another woman and a vague sense of disgust with himself. How could he have ever thought he loved Fiona?

  “You’re making a fool of yourself,” he said quietly. “I’m still not interested.”

  She looked him in the face. “My God, what’s wrong with you? How dare you turn me away! Damn you to hell, Logan Phillips. It’s that Melissa person, isn’t it?”

  “If you’re that hard up for a guy, I understand the personal columns can be very successful.” He sipped his drink.

  “Bastard.” She grabbed her purse and shoes in one hand. “Don’t think you can come crawling back to me ever again.”

  “I never crawled to you in the first place, Fiona. You’re the one with the dirty belly.”

  She glanced around the room. “If things are so wonderful, why isn’t she here?”

  Her question hung in the air, but he didn’t have an answer. Long after Fiona had left, he stood staring out the window. The night grew dark and still the truth eluded him.

  The first day of the third week dawned clear and warm. Logan drove north on the freeway, then east across the valley. When he reached the church, he parked his car and walked around to the back.

  Only the sounds of the children playing in a nearby schoolyard indicated that summer had slipped into fall. In the garden, the flowers still bloomed, although the vegetable garden had been harvested. A few pale pumpkins sat like fat kings awaiting their festival.

  The olive tree stood in the center and beneath it was the stone bench. He sat down in the spot where he’d rested before and remembered the pleasure of Melissa’s company. It was here he had confessed his darkest secret. It was here her tears had washed away the last traces of his anger and bitterness. It was here she’d begun to make a place for herself in his heart.

  For three weeks, he’d struggled to forget her. Every room in the house contained fragments of her essence. There were still frozen meals in the freezer. A couple of his shirts had been ironed by her hands. Mrs. Dupuis continued Melissa’s practice of leaving fresh flowers in the rooms.

  Sometimes, when he was tired, he’d turn suddenly and expect to see her standing beside him. He missed her most when she wasn’t there waiting for him after a long day. The attempts to forget were wearing him down physically, and he was no closer to eliminating her from his mind than he had been the day she’d left. This visit to the church garden was a last-ditch effort to find some peace.

  The silence was broken by conversations from the past. “I was meant for more than just one man,” Fiona’s voice taunted.

  “I gave you everything…including my heart,” Melissa echoed.

  Staring at the ground, he pictured his ex-wife. From a purely aesthetic standpoint, she was perfect. But her attractiveness formed a thin layer over a core of selfis
h ugliness. Melissa’s beauty ran true and clear all the way to her soul. He’d understood that when he’d first met her, long before the bandages had been removed from his eyes.

  He picked up an olive from the bench. The green fruit was smooth as he rolled it in his hand. In Greece, the tree was considered a gift from the gods. No part was wasted. It provided oil and food. When it was too old to bear a life-giving crop, the branches and trunk offered warmth and shelter. It asked for nothing in return, except water and sunshine.

  When the original church had burned, many on the building committee had wanted to tear the tree down. It was old, they said. Ugly. It dropped olives, attracted too many birds. At the time, Logan hadn’t cared about the argument. He’d been more interested in the structure than the surroundings. But the monsignor had insisted it be spared. The giving of life, he had said, was more important than physical appearance.

  Logan stood up and turned to stare at the gnarled trunk and thick, twisted branches. He’d never really looked at the tree before today. But then there were many things he’d been blind to.

  It was all Melissa, he thought with dawning understanding. She had taught him to see past the surface flaws to the perfection hidden below—that beauty indeed came from within. She’d made him search for the truth in the world and inside himself.

  There were two kinds of people: those who gave and received in a complex dance of caring and trust, and those who took without ever giving back. He’d always thought of himself as one of the former, but now—as he reviewed the details of the past summer—he realized the enormity of his deception. He’d instinctively recognized the giving nature of Melissa’s heart, and he’d taken all that she’d offered without a thought for her feelings. He’d allowed her to hope for a future he had no intention of sharing…he’d used her. In his effort to turn away from the horror of his ex-wife, he’d allowed himself to become as greedy and grasping as the one person he despised.

  He’d been such a fool. Melissa hadn’t left…he’d pushed her away. He’d drawn everything from her, then cast her aside, empty and broken.

  Oh, he’d cared, but caring wasn’t enough. It hadn’t filled the hole left behind when she’d given him her heart. It would take trust and love to do that. He wasn’t sure he had enough of either.

  She deserved so much. If riches were measured in gifts of the heart, then she was Midas and he was a pauper.

  He removed the small cut-glass bottle from his jeans pocket. For three weeks, he’d kept it on his dresser as a symbol of all he’d lost. After pulling out the stopper, he inhaled her scent. Sweet, spicy magnolia drifted up to greet him. The fragrance gave him hope, the pain in his gut from missing her, determination.

  He loved her. He loved the changes she’d made in Wendi and in himself. She provided the purpose and beauty in his life. He only hoped it wasn’t too late to convince her to come back.

  Melissa pulled the books out of the front seat of her car. Whoever wrote these lengthy psychology texts should seriously consider how much they weighed, she thought as she balanced them on her hip and tried to find the right key.

  Her notepad slipped out of the pile and fell. She turned to reach for it and bumped into a warm male body.

  “Logan?” Her books and purse tumbled to the ground.

  “Melissa.” He took her hands in his.

  Her gaze hungrily searched his face, noting the deep lines around his eyes and lips and the weary shadows marring his perfect features.

  “Is e-everything all right?” she asked. Her heart began to flutter foolishly against her ribs. Was this visit about Wendi or…did she dare allow herself to hope?

  “You’ll have to tell me.” His husky voice rubbed against her skin. The flecks of gold glowed with an unearthly light, almost blinding her with brilliance. “You have no reason to believe me, but I love you with my heart and soul. I know I’ve been a fool to throw away the most precious part of my life. I can only hope you have enough love left to give me another chance.”

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Do you trust me?”

  His eyes met and held hers. One by one, the shutters fell away and she could see into his heart. The need there made her catch her breath.

  “With my soul,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her lips. The contact was painfully familiar. “Melissa VanFleet, will you marry me?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and grinned. “Convince me.”

  He looked around the driveway. “Right here, in front of God and the neighbors?”

  “You have a point there. Yes, I’ll marry you, Logan Phillips. Now carry me inside and show me I made the right decision.”

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  “I’m still in shock,” Logan said as he sat on the edge of his wife’s hospital bed.

  Melissa adjusted the blanket-wrapped baby in her arms. “The doctor did warn us.”

  “I know, but I thought he was kidding.”

  She giggled. “You’d better get a good night’s rest because it’ll be the last one for a long, long time.”

  “What I need is a stiff drink.” Logan touched his index finger to the newborn baby’s cheek.

  “Jeez, Dad, twins isn’t so bad.” Wendi carried the other infant over to the bed. “I think it’s great.”

  “And you got a son,” Melissa reminded him.

  “I would have been as happy with all girls.”

  “Just think.” Wendi grinned down at her half sister. “Two of everything. Two cribs, two playpens.”

  Melissa took up the list. “Two birthdays, two teethings.”

  “Two college educations.” Logan shook his head. “Good thing I received a raise when I made senior partner.”

  “Speaking of college, I have an announcement.” Wendi walked closer to the window. “The twins will barely be three years old when it’s time for me to go to college.”

  Melissa shared a tender look with her husband. Wendi’s announcements were legendary. What would this one be?

  “And?” she prompted.

  “I’m not going away. I want to go to the local school and watch my new brother and sister grow up.”

  “That’ll last until the first diaper change,” Logan said.

  “Oh, Dad. I’m very mature for my age.”

  Melissa started to laugh, then groaned as she shifted on the bed.

  Logan took her free hand. “Can I get you anything.”

  “No. I need some rest, too. Between graduating with my master’s last week and the twelve hours of labor today, I feel like I went ten rounds with the heavyweight champion of the world.”

  “I’m proud of you for both accomplishments.” He kissed her gently on the mouth. “You’re always gorgeous to me.”

  “I know. That’s one of the reasons I love you.”

  “And what are some of the others?”

  She glanced over at Wendi, then whispered. “I’ll tell you when we’re alone.”

  “I’ll count the hours.” His eyes held hers, the love there flickering in the tawny depths.

  Even now, it was difficult to believe she’d won her handsome prince. But the proof of his love lay in the two sleeping bundles only a few precious hours old. It was true what they said, she thought contentedly. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4381-5

  TENDER LOVING CARE

  Copyright© 1992 by Susan Macias Redmond.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the
same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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