His eyes settled on hers. “I eat alone every night and I could share with you,” he said. “Because I eat alone every night.” He frowned and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“For what? Wanting to share your dinner is nice, Shane.”
Still shaking his head, he said, “I repeated myself.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled at him, holding on to his forearm this time. “I’d love to share your dinner, Shane. If you have enough, that is.”
“Mrs. Tandy always makes too much.”
“Probably so you’ll have leftovers for lunch.”
“I throw it away.”
“Why?”
He looked down again, shifting his feet, though he didn’t move the arm she held. “Too many notes.”
“Notes?”
“To keep track of how old things get.”
Because without notes there’d be no way for him to remember which night he’d eaten what.
Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the shed where the groundskeeping tools were stored. “You could date them,” she told him, already thinking up a system that would be clean and simple. A calendar by the refrigerator and stickers on the counter that he could easily affix each night. Or maybe he could just have Mrs. Tandy put stickers on the containers when she made dinner.
Shane put away his tools one at a time, seeming to know automatically where everything went. And then, still without a word, he retrieved the lock, slid it into the outside latch on the shed and squeezed it shut.
“You’re going to have dinner with me,” he said as he turned around and stood there, hands hanging at his sides, looking lost.
“Yes, I am.” Bonnie grinned, taking his hand. “And we’re going to set up a system for you to put dates on your leftovers,” she told him.
“That will be good.” Shane started to walk, pulling her with him. “Thank you.”
She’d planned to drive the short distance to Shane’s apartment, but when he strode off with her in tow, she didn’t have the heart to stop him.
Instead, hand in hand, she walked home with him.
“I DON’T KNOW about you, but I’m beat.” Martha sat back in the upholstered metal chair, a stack of recently closed folders on the round table in front of her.
“You’re incredible,” Keith said, trying hard not to notice how his employee’s nicely shaped breasts filled out the white sweater she was wearing.
Bonnie had had a sweater on that morning, too. The peach-colored one he’d bought her the previous Christmas.
“We’ve accomplished far more than I thought we would,” he continued. “This is great stuff.” Together, with the help of suggestions gathered from students, they had two hours of original children’s programming slotted daily, a couple of student-generated game shows, some interactive classes that would need FCC approval, plus a talk show hosted by Montford students to discuss world issues of importance to young adults. There’d also be a second talk show, hosted by members of Montford’s continuing-education program, discussing issues of interest to senior citizens. And—one of Keith’s favorites—they were hoping to have a coffeehouse, in the style of old New York coffeehouses. The set would look like an intimate club, and each week there’d be different artists performing everything from instrumental music to poetry readings. Anyone with talent to share would be welcome.
Their production students would be given opportunities to create impressive résumés that could help them break into the television production field.
And MUTV was going to be a station people wanted to watch.
“We might even win an award or two,” Martha said, standing, slowly gathering her things.
“I’m happy just to be able to air everything in English,” Keith told her, holding open the door of the conference room for her. He turned off the lights behind them.
Because it was dark and the parking lots mostly deserted, he walked Martha to her car.
“I hope you get home before your kids,” he said as he opened her car door.
Tim, her star pitcher was, as always, playing ball. The two middle girls were at a friend’s house planning a surprise party, and Ellen was working at Wal-Mart, which was why Martha had been able to stay late.
“Me, too,” she said, smiling in spite of the tired look in her eyes. “Otherwise I’m going to have to nag them to pick up everything they threw on the floor when they walked in, and I hate that.”
“Them throwing things on the floor?”
“That, too,” she said, placing her purse on the seat and turning to give him a quirky grin. “The nagging,” she said. “I hate having to be the bad guy all the time.” She shook her head. “That’s the dad’s job, you know?”
Laughing, Keith said, “No! I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well, it is.”
Thinking of Katie, he could have argued. “I never thought about that aspect of being a single parent,” he said, instead. “Not having anyone else around to play the bad guy now and then.”
She leaned back against the car. Keith rested his arms along the top of the opened door.
“I think, aside from the loneliness, it’s the part I hate most,” she said, sighing.
Keith couldn’t easily read her expression beneath the shadows cast by a parking lot light that should’ve been brighter. But he could see the glistening in her eyes.
“If there’s anything I can do…”
He had no idea what that would be, but he meant the words. Completely.
“Better watch out,” she murmured. “With four teenagers, I might just get desperate enough to take you up on that.”
“I hope you do.”
She stared up at him. Keith withstood the scrutiny. And then, apparently satisfied, she nodded.
Pleased with their mostly silent arrangement, he nodded back.
“So how are things with Bonnie?” she asked softly. Keith had assumed she’d just climb in her car and go.
“Okay.”
Her girls would be home soon.
“Just okay?”
He debated avoiding the question. And then wondered how he could expect her to lean on him and still retain self-respect if he didn’t let her give a little support in return.
“She’s still distant.”
“With Katie, too?”
He wished he had an answer for that. “She’s a wonderful mother,” was all he could come up with. Because she was. And because he owed Bonnie some loyalty. “Bonnie was made for motherhood. She never seems to run out of patience or encouragement, no matter how many times she has to tell Katie something or show her how to do a task. She always seems happiest when she’s tending to her little ones.”
“Then maybe that’s your answer,” Martha said, leaning her head against the top of the door frame. “Suggest another baby.”
When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you want more children?”
“Yeah. One, at least.”
“There you go, then.”
Keith brushed at the gravel beneath his foot, the sound of the small pebbles against his shoe reminding him of a horse walking. On a hot summer day. With him in the saddle.
And Bonnie beside him.
With a picnic lunch—and a blanket to lie on—packed in the saddlebags.
“She doesn’t want another baby.”
“You’ve asked her?”
Keith tried to read Martha’s gaze in the darkness, wondering how far he could take this and not cross a very dangerous line. “Yes.”
Martha straightened, the door only partially between them. “She said no.”
“Not exactly.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his Dockers, staring down at ground he could hardly see. But that didn’t matter. His mind held a very clear vision he wasn’t going to escape from. That of his wife, wet and hot, digging into the toe of her high-heeled shoe. And worse, he couldn’t escape the memory of the sheer panic he’d seen on her face.
“She just won’t have unprotected sex.”
&
nbsp; He was glad of the darkness now. And the door that stood between them.
“So she has said no.”
He swallowed. Needing to share the pain that was draining him, trying to understand things he couldn’t make sense of. Things Martha might be able to help him understand.
“I think she wants to want another baby,” he said slowly. “Maybe part of her really does.” He looked up at Martha, who watched him silently, her mouth a straight line. “Or it’s just because she thinks I do.”
“Haven’t you ever talked about it before now?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice getting louder. “She’s always wanted a big family. She’s Shelter Valley through and through.”
And everyone cracked jokes about how big the families were in Shelter Valley.
“So maybe you’re just misunderstanding something….”
Keith felt a sudden anger inside him. Anger that had been building for months. Anger that made him clench his jaw and raise his chin a notch.
“Misunderstand that when I’m ready to make love to her, she runs for protection? That she’ll stop cold right in the middle to grab a condom?”
He was shocked when he heard the words. Regretted them immediately.
He had to hand it to Martha. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t seem offended, disappointed. Her expression, what he could see of it, seemed to be filled with encouragement. Understanding. Empathy.
“Oh.”
But Keith couldn’t just leave the situation hanging there, half-told, between them.
“It’s not that I want her to have a baby because I want one.” He didn’t think he was doing a very good job of explaining. “I mean I do, but only if she does.”
Martha nodded, grabbed the door, setting her hands next to his arms, resting her chin on her hands. “I understand.”
“I think what’s making me feel so threatened is that she’s always wanted more children, and the sudden change is confusing.”
“Maybe she’s just busy at work and doesn’t feel now is a good time.”
Maybe. He didn’t think so.
“Her inability to even try has pretty well convinced me that she doesn’t want to be that committed to me. Doesn’t want to be more tied to me than she already is.”
“You think she’s got the idea of leaving in the back of her mind.”
Keith wished he could read Martha’s expression, needed to see in her eyes the truth of her words.
“Yes.”
She stood, lifted a hand to his face. “I think she’s a woman who’s searching for the ground upon which her life is built, Keith.”
“But the ground didn’t shift.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean she realizes it.” Her hand dropping back to the car door, she continued, “And maybe the ground did shift,” she said, adding a new thread of fear to the dread that had become Keith’s constant companion. “Maybe something in Bonnie changed and she’s just finding her footing again. Give her time, Keith. Believe her when she tells you she loves you.”
He stared at her. “How do you know she tells me that?”
“Because if she wasn’t giving you something to hang on to, you wouldn’t still be there.”
Keith wanted to kiss her.
She got into her car and drove away.
CHAPTER TEN
SHANE DIDN’T SAY much on the way home. He walked the few blocks to his apartment, his movements definite and full of purpose. When he got there, he climbed the stairs and dropped her hand.
“This is nice,” Bonnie said, pleased to see a planter overflowing with some kind of purple flowers on his landing. There were no cobwebs or dust piles, and the building had a fresh coat of paint. “I didn’t realize you lived so close.”
Pulling a single-fold leather wallet out of his back pocket, he opened it, slid out a key and unlocked the door. He held it open an inch or so with the toe of his tennis shoe, and then, before going into the house, put the key back in the wallet and his wallet back in his pocket.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her, his palm flat against the slightly open door.
Bonnie blinked. “Just that I didn’t realize you live so close.”
He nodded. “I don’t drive.”
She’d wondered. And wondered, too, if they were going inside.
“Maybe someday,” he added, and it took Bonnie a moment to figure out he was talking about driving.
“The doctor thinks you’ll be able to drive again?” she asked, relieved.
“Around Shelter Valley.”
Turning back, Shane pushed the door open. Looking to either side, he left her standing there while he turned on a lamp in the living room. And then went to the stereo, pushing buttons without seeming to even notice them. A Phoenix jazz station came on.
“Excuse me.” He passed her, heading back outside. She heard his footsteps on the wooden stairs.
Was she supposed to follow him? Feeling uncomfortable, Bonnie waited just inside the opened doorway.
Shane’s heavy step was on the stair, coming closer. He stumbled once. And when he entered her line of vision, she frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
He was sweating. His brows were raised and drawn, as though he’d been frightened.
“I forgot the mail,” he said, going back inside, a couple of white envelopes clutched in his fist. “I can’t come upstairs without getting the mail.”
“Okay.”
“I have to close the door now.”
Bonnie wondered if he thought she had to leave before he could do that. Her presence, or something, was obviously throwing him.
“Should I go?”
“You didn’t eat dinner yet.”
“I know, Shane, but if you need me to leave, I can get something to eat at home. It’s what I was going to do, anyway.”
“No. You said you were having dinner here.”
Okay. So apparently he wanted her to stay.
She moved farther into the room, hoping he’d close the door.
He did.
“Was there something bad in the mail?”
“No.”
Shane went to the lamp he’d switched on earlier, reached as though to turn it on, then seemed to realize he already had. He moved on to the stereo, nodding his head a couple of times before walking to a desk in the corner, where he carefully separated the envelopes and slid them into folders neatly labeled on a rack.
His shoulders were less taut as he turned. Bonnie smiled at him—and tried not to stare at the wall behind his desk. There must have been more than a hundred Post-it notes, all covered with Shane’s strong, masculine writing.
“I’m sorry.”
Coming still farther into the room, Bonnie cocked her head. “For what?”
“I was nervous with you.”
“I didn’t notice,” she said, fingers of one hand crossed behind her back to excuse the half-truth. She’d known he was tense, but not that it was directed at her. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.” He stood beside the desk, watching her.
As far as she could tell, he hadn’t once glanced around his room, reacquainting himself with home as she always did when she came in after being gone all day.
Fighting an urge to cradle him in her arms, she murmured, “What upset you?”
“I came upstairs without the mail.”
She didn’t understand the problem, although she was trying her damnedest. She assumed it had to do with his need for routine.
Hands at his sides, Shane stood there looking gorgeous in jeans that fit his athletic hips and legs to perfection. His broad, muscled shoulders and chest were impressive, too, even hidden behind the loose flannel shirt.
“But you have it now,” she told this man who was so perfect in appearance, yet so damaged beneath the surface.
“Because I cannot remember,” he said slowly, obviously speaking with difficulty, “I have to learn habits.”
He paused. Bonnie
could see from the concentrated look on his face that he was trying to formulate thoughts. She remained completely still. Quiet.
She hurt for him and the effort such a simple function cost him.
“Before I could live alone,” he continued, sounding more like the intelligent man and less like the lost little boy, “I had to learn habits to keep my life on track.” Despite his relatively articulate remark, he spoke with painful slowness.
He grimaced. Now that she’d spent more time with him, Bonnie was beginning to discern patterns. He didn’t like it when he repeated himself.
That he knew, and cared, she found astonishing. It meant that the man he’d once been was still in there someplace. Didn’t it?
“The habits ensure that I take care of myself.” Eyes lowered, he turned slightly away from her.
“If I don’t get the mail on my way up, I’ll forget. And then I don’t pay my bills.”
“You pay your own bills?”
Shane’s shoulders stiffened again, his back straightening as he faced her. “I am not completely imbecilic,” he said.
She could have slapped herself for her insensitivity.
But in spite of everything, Bonnie grinned. That was the old Shane talking. And God, she’d once adored that man.
“I know you’re not, hotshot,” she said, reverting without thought to the nickname she’d once used so naturally.
Shane grinned back, his brown eyes meeting hers. For an instant, they were sharing the same thought, the same memory.
And it was good.
“How about that dinner you promised me?” she asked him, gazing around the room, appreciating the methodical neatness, if not the starkness of the decor. A nice couch, hunter-green leather, a couple of matching chairs that were big enough to swallow her, and an expensive-looking three-piece oak table set.
There was nothing on the walls.
No area rugs to give life to the sterile beige carpet.
No implements on the tiled fireplace hearth.
Here was something she could do. Add color and warmth to his home. Already her mind was spinning with decorating ideas, little things like plants—no, wait, he’d have to remember to water them…
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