Reconciled for Easter

by Noelle Adams

  She was absolutely incapable of shaving under her left arm.

  Thomas just stood there and cocked an obnoxious eyebrow at her.

  “Vindictive bastard,” Abigail said without any heat. She could still feel an arousal pulsing between her thighs but the distractions had helped push it into the back of her consciousness.

  “Did you need something?”

  “Will you please help me?” she gritted out.

  “Of course. Why didn’t you ask me before?”

  He quickly and carefully shaved her underarm, and Abigail let out a sigh of relief when it was over. “You could at least pretend not to enjoy my humiliation,” she muttered, half in jest.

  Thomas grew still. “Why would you be humiliated?”

  Abigail didn’t really have an answer to that. Or she did, when she remembered her conversation with Daniel. She was still connecting help with shame in her mind, and it was intensified when it involved Thomas, since she’d felt so not-good-enough with him for so many years.

  Instead of answering, Abigail just said, “Thanks for your help. I’m ready to get out now.”

  She had been vigilantly avoiding looking anywhere but at his face, after her first involuntary glance down at his groin. But, as Thomas carefully helped her step out of the shower, her eyes accidentally slipped down.

  She stiffened dramatically when she saw he had grown from partially hard to almost fully erect.

  Thomas grabbed a towel and quickly dried his face and hands before securing it around his waist. Then he took another towel and wrapped it around her.

  “See,” she mumbled, trying to pull the towel around her nakedness more closely, “I told you it would be weird.”

  “It’s an involuntary physical reaction. Nothing weird about it.”

  “But—”

  “Why are you acting so shy? Do you really think this is the first time it’s happened when I’m around you? My body likes how you look. A lot. It always has.”

  She couldn’t help the flush of pleasure. Her body had always liked how his looked too.

  But she said, “You’ve gotten rather obnoxious today.” When he just gave her a smug smile, she sniffed. “Must be the hard-on.”

  “Almost certainly.”

  ***

  Abigail had decided she would join the book club. The only reasons she wouldn’t have done so were because she felt awkward because they were Thomas’s friends. But he didn’t seem to mind, and it helped that they were getting along better. So, the next Friday the other women came to her house for their monthly book club, since it was easier for her than trying to get out to someone else’s house in her condition.

  The others had brought the food and drink, so she wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of preparing it.

  So far, the evening was going really well.

  “He’s definitely got the Duncan frown going on,” Alice said, holding an infant in her arms.

  Jessica laughed, reaching over to wipe a little spit off her son’s face with her fingertips. “I know! Sometimes he looks just like Daniel when he frowns.”

  Jessica’s baby, Nathan, was just two months old, and so he’d come to the book club with her, even though the other children—Mia and Ellie and Alice’s adopted daughter Cara were all staying with Gabe.

  “I was thinking it was Micah’s frown,” Alice said. She was pretty and quiet and a little shy, and Abigail didn’t know her as well as Jessica and Lydia. She was married to Daniel’s brother.

  “Micah never frowns,” Lydia said, leaning back in her chair with a glass of wine.

  “Oh, yes, he does.” Alice gave the baby a little hug. “And he looks just like Nathan when he does.”

  “It must run in the family.” That was Sophie Miller, the only woman in the book club that Abigail hadn’t met before this evening. “I bet if you trace back the history, there will be records going back for generations about the Duncan frown.”

  General laughter followed this comment, and Abigail was smiling as she went to get a bottle of wine from the kitchen to refill some glasses, which she was managing to do well with her one good arm.

  She was surprised that she felt so comfortable, that she was actually having a good time. They hadn’t yet talked about the book, but the socializing was casual and enjoyable.

  She’d missed this, she realized. Just hanging out with other women.

  Sophie had gotten up with, following her into the kitchen and then checking on the mini-quiches she’d put in the oven earlier. Sophie was tiny and dark-haired and really hard to get a good read on. She evidently managed the bookstore in Willow Park.

  The quiches were done, so they were working on moving them from the cookie sheet to a plate when Abigail heard Lydia laughing about what a time Gabe must be having with the three girls of different ages, to which Jessica replied he was sure to do a better job babysitting than Daniel, who would probably forget the girls were in the house and just start reading in his study.

  Uncorking another bottle of wine and listening to the affectionate dialogue about the other women’s husbands, Abigail suddenly felt heavy. Kind of sad.

  Because she still didn’t quite have that kind of relationship with her husband—one where you could laugh at the other’s foibles, while completely trusting in each other’s love.

  Sophie leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes. “Sometimes it sucks.”

  “What does?” Abigail straightened up, genuinely confused.

  “Hearing women talk about their husbands like that.”

  “Oh.” She suddenly realized that Sophie was feeling something of what she felt, although she had no idea why. She checked Sophie’s left hand and saw the engagement and wedding rings there.

  Sophie must have noticed her look. “I’m married. You haven’t heard, then?”

  “Heard what?”

  “My husband’s name is Mark Davenport.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Abigail couldn’t begin to pinpoint why. “I don’t—”

  “He was…is a journalist, working in the Middle East. He was kidnapped by Syrian rebels two years ago.”

  Abigail gasped, so shocked it felt like a slap. It was so far out of her world and experience. “Oh, no. I remember hearing about him on the news, I think. He’s your husband?”

  “Yeah. I use my maiden now, and I moved back here to run my grandfather’s bookstore. We were in DC before, but I couldn’t stay there. It’s just too much…” She shook her head. “We were only married six months when he left to go over there.”

  Feeling almost sick with sympathy, Abigail murmured, “He’s alive?”

  “He’s supposed to be. They keep saying they’re working on his release. But these things go on for a really long time.”

  “Shit. How do you even…I mean, what do you do?”

  “What can you do? Wait. Pray. Pray a lot.”

  Abigail was suddenly hit like a sledgehammer with the realization of how she would feel if something like that happened to Thomas, if he was torn away from her somehow.

  Because no matter what else existed between them, they were still connected, together, part of each other’s lives. Having him torn away from her would be like losing a part of her body.

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Sophie added with a smile. “It just seemed like you might have felt…I don’t know. And I wanted you to know that I understand.”

  Without thinking, completely spontaneously, Abigail pulled the other woman into a hug.

  “It’s got to be hard,” Sophie said, when they’d pulled apart. “In your situation.”

  “Not nearly as hard as yours.”

  The other woman gave a little shrug. “Yeah. But at least other people are supportive for my situation. I bet it’s not nearly that simple for you.”

  Abigail swallowed over a tightness in her throat. “Some people haven’t understood. My family…” She cleared her throat. “But a lot of people have been very kind. At first, I thought eve
ryone was judging me, but I really think that most people don’t really know what to do. They’re used to people divorcing or people staying together—but this in between is harder to…to respond to. I’d probably be the same way, if it was someone else.”

  “That’s a great attitude. I’d probably resent all the raised eyebrows. How are things going?”

  “Okay, I think. Better than before.” Lately, she’d been feeling closer to Thomas, but it hadn’t always felt like such hard work. It would be so nice if the endless work could finally be over, if they could just be healed.

  That old exhaustion—the feeling of always struggling with no reward—was still lurking in the back of her mind.

  “I’m glad.” After a moment’s silence, Sophie murmured, as if she were talking to herself. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll even know Mark when he comes back. I’m so afraid it will be like there’s a stranger in my bed.”

  “Sometimes, with Thomas now, I think I’m looking at a stranger too.”

  “A better one?”

  “Yeah. But I think it’s because I’m a better one too.”

  Seven

  Abigail felt like doing a jig.

  She didn’t, although for the first time in three weeks she felt like she might actually be able to perform one. Instead, she just slid into the passenger’s seat of Thomas’s car.

  She smiled at him and said, “Thanks for going to the doctor with me. You really didn’t have to.”

  He gave a half-shrug. “No big deal.”

  “But it must have been inconvenient. I mean, you had to leave the hospital early.”

  Abigail had taken the afternoon off from work, so she could go to her follow-up with the doctor. She’d started back to work at the beginning of the week, having taken two weeks off on sick leave after the accident. Although she was definitely more functional now, she’d been absolutely exhausted every evening after work. So she was really grateful that Thomas had remained living in their little house. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to care for Mia and the daily chores on top of getting adjusted to working again.

  But her follow-up visit had been heartening. The doctor declared her ribs in great shape¸ and he’d taken away the restrictions on physical activities—except those that would hurt her arm. She still had to wear the cast for a few more weeks, but otherwise she was considered in normal health.

  “Not a problem,” Thomas said.

  “Well,” she began, staring at his composed face and wondering what he was thinking, “I hope it wasn’t a problem. I really appreciate your staying with us these three weeks. I don’t know how we would have gotten by without you. I know you’ve had a lot of maneuvering to do at work. You can brush it off all you want¸ but I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

  Thomas met her eyes with a quiet, level look. “I was happy to do it.”

  His responses kept making her uncomfortable. “Well, thank you. I mean it. And, now that all that’s left is my arm, you can go back to your place whenever you want.”

  She’d offered for him to leave last weekend, after the initial two weeks. He’d refused, saying she would still need extra help.

  The last few weeks had seemed almost foreign to Abigail, separated and cut-off from her real life. She felt close to Thomas in a way she hadn’t felt in ages. She’d grown to depend on him—for assistance, for support, and for companionship. Even if it was partly a result of the unnatural situation, but she knew it would be hard for her when he left.

  She would miss his companionship, his understated humor, his considerate support. She would miss being able to take care of him too.

  She’d also been lusting after him for the last two weeks, but that was an entirely different issue.

  “All right,” Thomas said simply, responding to her offer for him to move back to his place.

  Abigail swallowed, a little surprised by his easy acquiescence. But obviously he couldn’t stick around forever. It would be better for all of them once things could get back to normal.

  They still had two more months before their break was over and they went back to marriage counseling.

  “So how do you feel?” Thomas asked, clearly changing the subject on purpose.

  She smiled again. “I feel great. I can actually bend over without it hurting.” To demonstrate, she leaned forward in the seat of the car to touch her foot with her good arm. “All that’s left is to get this stupid cast off.”

  Mulling over her good-fortune, Abigail was inspired by a delicious idea. “Oh, I know what I’m going to do when we get home. I’ve been dying to do this for the last three weeks.”

  “What’s that?” Thomas asked with a slight smolder in his eyes.

  Abigail swallowed hard, forcing her mind away from another thing she’d been dying to do for three weeks. “I’m going to take a bath!”

  ***

  Abigail did take a bath.

  Lydia had picked up Mia from school, so Abigail had to catch up on her daughter’s day and everything she’d played with Ellie, and then Abigail went to take a bath before dinner. It would probably make more sense to wait until the evening, but she was too excited about finally being allowed to do so, and she’d been so tired lately she’d been going to bed as soon as Mia turned off her lights.

  So Abigail drew hot water into the tub, lit candles, and dumped in some lavender and honey scented bubble bath.

  Then she sank into the tub and had a delicious soak.

  Tried not to think about how nice it would be to have sex.

  Since Thomas had been around so often, she’d been slammed with ridiculous urges, sometimes at highly inappropriate times. She wanted to touch him. Wanted him to touch her. Wanted to jump him in the kitchen or in the car or on her living room couch. It had been easier to control the feelings when he wasn’t around all the time. But he had been around lately, and she couldn’t forget the fact that she and Thomas were married.

  They were still married.

  But acting on the desire would be foolish, since things were going so well during their six month break. Thomas would probably turn her down, anyway, the way he had one mortifying evening the last year they’d been together, when she’d dressed up all sexy in lace-top stockings and lingerie, trying to lure him out of his study and feeling like an entirely new woman than she’d been when she’d met him. She wanted to enjoy being this more confident person. She’d wanted Thomas to appreciate it.

  He hadn’t. He’d been surprised—astonished really—and then he’d been wary and distanced. Eventually, he’d told her he was busy right now but they could have sex later that night, if she wanted.

  She’d been crushed and humiliated and deeply ashamed, as not-good-enough as she’d ever felt. She’d thrown out the lingerie the next day and had gone back to her modest pajamas and nightgowns, since even at that point she’d let Thomas’s responses change her back into the old Abigail he’d obviously preferred.

  But that evening had been very close to the end.

  She burned from the memory of that night again, as she soaked in the tub. Then she imagined what might have happened if he’d actually responded to her, if he’d liked her to be sexy and confident, how things might have been different.

  Her body seemed to be starved for an orgasm, and she was tempted to just rub herself off in the hot water. She didn’t, though.

  The worst punishment she’d ever gotten as a child was when her mother had caught her trying to masturbate at twelve years old and then told her father. Even now, even with all the ways she’d grown and changed, she just couldn’t get over that feeling.

  She cleared her mind of all of that so she could enjoy the rest of her soak.

  After she’d gotten out of the tub, Abigail pulled on a robe and brushed out her hair. She stared at herself in the mirror, thinking she looked better than she had for a long time.

  That morning, she’d managed to blow her hair dry one-handed, for the first time in three weeks. And at her doctor’s appointment she’d lear
ned that she’d actually lost five pounds since the accident.

  At first, she’d felt too bad to eat very much, and then she’d just been too distracted.

  She rubbed lotion on her face and, on a whim, added mascara and gloss. She smiled at herself, liking how she looked. Then, following through on the random inspiration, she opened her closet and pulled out one of her favorite dresses.

  It was simply cut with three-quarters-length sleeves and a heart-shaped neckline, with a fitted shape that flared out in a pretty drape. The soft fabric was a silvery blue that almost perfectly matched her eyes. She hadn’t worn the dress in years, since it had gotten a little snug. But now, as she carefully pulled it on over her cast and it settled over her curves, she felt a silly thrill as she saw that it fit her again.

  She twirled in the mirror, feeling like she’d been starting to feel the last year she’d been with Thomas, when she’d realized that she could have a sincere faith and devotion to God and still enjoy things like pretty clothes and nice hair-cuts. It had been a real revelation to her, as ridiculous as it might sound to someone who hadn’t been raised the way she’d been.

  There was a tap on the door to her bedroom and then a little voice called, “Mommy?”

  “Yes, Mia, you can come in.”

  Mia edged open the door and peered in. “Did you have a good bath?”

  “Yes. It was very good. Thank you.”

  “Ooh!” Mia said, stepping into the room and getting a better look at Abigail. “You look beautiful!”

  “Thank you,” Abigail replied, flushing a little at being caught in her silliness, even by her own daughter. “I just felt like putting it on.”

  “It’s like a princess. That’s the dress you had on in my picture--the one of me when I was little with you and Daddy.”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten I was wearing this then.” Abigail felt a little poignant pull in her heart at the memory of that evening they’d all dressed up to go to a play, when she’d still held out hope for their marriage.

  When she looked back over to the door, Mia had disappeared.

  Abigail frowned in confusion, wondering where Mia had run off to and why she’d left so abruptly. She was about to go and find her when the girl came running back into the room.