The Husband Lesson

by Jeanie London

  Hot. The hottest. Details didn’t register. The punch to his gut did. Suddenly, all the tired vanished and his pulse pumped at warp speed. Blurry vision instantly saw with clarity as if he'd sharpened his sight on the edge of a scalpel. Only after he could breathe again did he notice details.

  Blonde. Lean. Tall. She barely looked real with that pale silky hair blowing around her face. A face as exquisitely feminine as the rest of her. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were lighter. Blue or gray, maybe.

  Then she smiled.

  That full pink mouth made him think about kissing.

  He had no idea who she was but even sleep deprived, he knew she was someone important. She walked with the college president, several of the deans and a woman he recognized from the jacket of the book he was selling—Dr. Nan Bryson. Then she disappeared backstage with her group and was gone.

  But not from Charles’s thoughts.

  He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head. He sold books, made change, but his brain replayed every detail he could remember, ached with trying to remember more. And the most important detail of all: who was she?

  He intended to find out.

  Once Dr. Bryson’s talk started, the book booth would quiet down and he could slip away to grab coffee. No one would miss him for ten minutes and he’d make a few calls on the way.

  When the president took the stage and announced the beginning of the program, the noise level on the quad dropped. Charles tucked the cash box under his arm and timed his exit. While listening to the president welcome their guest to Van Cortlandt, he slipped the cell phone from his pocket. Then the president introduced the person responsible for Dr. Bryson’s visit, the person privileged with introducing their speaker.

  The blonde walked onto the stage.

  She wore a blinding smile, seemed completely at ease in front of the crowd as she began the introduction in a honeyed voice that matched up with every sleek inch of her.

  Charles set the cash box on the table. He slipped the phone into his pocket.

  Karan Kowalski.

  Now, here she was again, two husbands later. Standing in New Hope’s reception area, which was exactly the last place on the planet she should be.

  And he had that same knot in his stomach. Only the years had turned anticipation into dread.

  “Charles?” Rhonda’s voice penetrated his brain. “Charles, are you all right?”

  Was she joking?

  He dragged his gaze from the observation panel, and found Rhonda watching him, seeing way too much with her trained psychotherapist gaze.

  “Are you going to be able to handle this?” she asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice.”

  “One that doesn’t involve abandoning my post and losing my shot to join the Catskill Center?”

  She shrugged, and he could tell she was fighting a smile. “We’ll have to figure that part out. I’m curious, though. Does your ex-wife know you’re affiliated with this program?”

  “I have no idea. I never see her.” He stopped short. “Correct that. I run into her at the hospital on occasion.”

  “Hmm. I just wondered. From what I understood from Chief Sloan, she had to agree to the alternative sentencing. I’m interested to know if she knew you’d be here.”

  Interested? There was only thing Charles wanted to know. “What are you planning to do with her?”

  “I have no idea until we talk and figure out what she can do.”

  “Good luck with that. We didn’t install a tanning bed, so I can’t imagine—”

  Rhonda stopped him with a raised hand. “No opinions please. I’m intrigued enough. I’d rather form my own impressions without yours coloring my professionalism. Your ex-wife has been ordered into counseling. I thought it made sense for me to treat her since she’s our trial run with alternative sentencing.”

  He nodded, still struggling to pull the pieces together to decide what he was going to do with this. Running into Karan each and every time he walked through the door wasn’t going to work. That much he did know.

  “Why is she in court-ordered community service and counseling?” he asked. “What in hell did she do?”

  “DUI? DWAI? One of them.” Rhonda twisted around and flipped open the folder on her desk. “Driving while ability impaired.”

  “Drugs?”

  She shook her head. “Alcohol.”

  “That’s about the last thing I would have expected.”

  Rhonda waved him off again. “Shh.”

  Karan didn’t drink. Never had. When other college students had been getting plowed during rush week, she’d made it her life’s quest to find other ways of unwinding and having fun. Picnics. Boating. Trips into the city for gallery showings.

  He remembered how much he’d once liked that about her.

  Karan’s dislike of alcohol was deep-rooted, physical and psychological, the result of a low blood sugar condition and an alcoholic mother. Throughout their marriage, she wouldn’t pick up the phone at night without screening the call. She’d never said why, but Charles had known she was avoiding her mother, who normally started drinking after the sun set.

  DWAI. That didn’t make sense for the woman he’d known. Then again, he hadn’t known Karan in a long time. He had heard she’d gotten divorced again, which was probably why she was back in Bluestone Mountain. Maybe the divorce had driven her to drink.

  Had she cared that much for husband number two?

  Charles couldn’t reconcile that with the woman he’d known. Karan didn’t care about anyone but herself. She used men then jettisoned them. Charles had come home from the hospital one day to find a key in an envelope and a storage facility filled with everything he owned. Jack Sloan hadn’t fared much better—only he’d been smart enough not to marry her, so he hadn’t had to retain an attorney and sign papers.

  But DWAI? Was it possible, by some miracle, Karan had actually cared for husband number two?

  The way she hadn’t cared for him.

  “So how does this work in your field, Rhonda?” He did not want to be thinking about Karan, feelings he didn’t know he still had being dredged up without permission. So what if she cared for her second husband? “Do we have conflict of interest?”

  With any luck they could get out of this whole alternative sentence thing. Let Jack handle Karan and her grief instead of dumping the problem onto New Hope. Charles had done his time. He’d earned a break from Karan and her drama. For the rest of his life.

  “I don’t see conflict, but there’s only one ethical thing to do.” Depressing a button on the intercom, Rhonda said, “Lori, you can show my appointment in now.”

  “Damn it.” He couldn’t get away without running into Karan in the outer office.

  Rhonda shrugged. “Nothing left to do but deal with her.”

  Deal with Karan…wasn’t he supposed to be fishing?

  CHAPTER THREE

  KARAN FLIPPED PAGE AFTER PAGE of the celebrity magazine, trying to interest herself in the current state of high-profile marriages and who had or hadn’t been invited to the latest A-list playgroup outing. But she couldn’t seem to get past the fact that she was inside the childhood home of the woman who’d managed to get Jack down the aisle.

  Frankie Cesarini. Ugh. The very thought of her was enough to make Karan twitch. Fortunately, they’d had only limited contact since Frankie had come back to town.

  Of course, Karan could have gotten Jack down the aisle years ago, if she’d wanted to be a cop’s wife. No, thank you. Still, to her knowledge, Jack hadn’t even come close to marriage in all the years since Karan had dumped him. The man obviously had never gotten over losing her. Who could blame him? They’d been so good together. With her by his side, he could have been running for senate himself by now.

  What admittedly surprised her was who had finally gotten a ring on his finger—a woman who’d once been the antithesis of everything Karan considered relevant. No
family. No money. No friends. No chic whatsoever.

  Nowadays Susanna worked for Jack’s new wife and swore the woman resembled nothing of the girl who’d once been nothing more than bad hair and a smart mouth. Karan had trouble believing that and would have dismissed the possibility as nonsense from any other source. But she couldn’t dismiss the reality of this house. Or the fact that she was inside it and would be for another three hundred and fifty-nine hours and forty-six minutes.

  From what she understood, the entire structure had been extensively renovated, which meant she couldn’t blame the generic furnishings on Jack’s new wife. The outside wasn’t bad. The house itself was a three-story Victorian with lots of windows and gingerbread trim. Fresh paint, new windows and proper landscaping had only brought out the character. Karan did wonder if there had been conflict involved with the hamlet of Bluestone Mountain purchasing the police chief’s wife’s childhood home.

  Wouldn’t surprise her in the least. Also wouldn’t surprise her to learn there hadn’t been a cop in town willing to drag the police chief before a judge. As if that would have done any good with a judge like Wannabe Jenny. She, like the rest of the girls at Ashokan High, had thought the sun rose and set on the former football star.

  How could Karan have forgotten how much she hated this town?

  A door cracked open and a woman close to her age appeared. “Dr. Camden will see you now if you’ll follow me.”

  Only fifteen minutes late. Any other doctor and Karan would have waited closer to an hour, so no complaints here. She cautioned herself to start finding reasons to smile through this nightmare, no matter how small. Guaranteed there would be precious few in the weeks ahead.

  Tossing the magazine onto a table, she started her trek into hell bravely, glancing at the woman’s name badge.

  “You’re a volunteer,” she said. “Is your job greeting the visitors?” Playing hostess for the duration of her sentence might not be too terrible. She could deal with people.

  The woman smiled. “That among other things. Switch board detail and lots of administrative duties for the counselors.”

  “I see.” Karan wasn’t interested.

  They entered a smaller reception area and the woman went straight to the door marked Director, tapped lightly and pushed it open. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Karan smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, she moved past the woman and into the office, ready to deal with this situation head-on.

  The sooner she started the sooner she’d finish.

  Karan noticed the blonde woman standing behind the desk, but it was the man in front of the desk who stopped her cold.

  “Charles?”

  He looked the way he always did. So handsome that the very sight of him startled her. There was just something about his chiseled features, the way his dark eyes contrasted with his lighter hair. Not blond, but not quite brown, either. A sandy in between. His closely trimmed beard and mustache only emphasized the maleness of his face.

  His expression was the same, too. So arrogant that she crashed right back to reality.

  Dr. Disdain, she’d once called him. At least that had been his attitude toward her.

  “Karan.” He didn’t even have the grace to utter any social niceties. No “Pleased to see you.” No “You look well.”

  Of course not. The man stood there looking as if he was above everyone and everything and wished he was anywhere in the world rather than facing her.

  Karan’s feelings might have been hurt had she not been so surprised to see him. And had she cared what he thought about her. She didn’t.

  Of course, she wasn’t rude. “I’m surprised to see you. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m Dr. Camden, Karan. Please call me Rhonda.” The blonde behind the desk extended her hand. “Turns out we have an unexpected situation.”

  She shook the doctor’s hand. Rhonda wasn’t a natural blonde like Karan herself, but Karan did approve of the highlighting job. Skillfully done to look natural. Not like so many of the streaky chicken-yellow horrors on the streets nowadays.

  “I’m bracing myself.” Karan meant it. Bracing herself for the shock of yet another unexpected situation. Bracing herself to be standing two feet away from this man.

  And darned if her heartbeat hadn’t already kicked up a few notches. He’d always had that effect on her. He was too attractive. Tall with that baseball player’s body. A perfect blend of athletic and muscular. And darned, too, if she didn’t remember exactly what the terrain beneath his lightweight black sweater and gray pants looked like.

  Far too attractive for her good.

  Rhonda’s mouth quirked. “I wasn’t aware of your history with our director when I agreed to participate in the alternative sentencing program.”

  “You’re the director?” she asked Charles, surprised. “Not spending every waking moment in surgery anymore?”

  Where he’d spent the majority of their marriage.

  “Codirector, actually,” he replied in that deep voice she remembered so well. He inclined his head at Rhonda. “We’re partners in crime around here.”

  Karan bristled, unsure exactly what he meant by that. Was he taking a jab at her legal trouble? Or referring to something personal between him and his codirector?

  “So you didn’t know Charles was involved with New Hope, either?” Rhonda asked.

  As if Karan would want him to witness her humiliation. The woman must be as crazy as her patients. Karan managed to say politely, “No. I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  Charles and Rhonda exchanged a glance.

  Personal, definitely.

  “Okay then,” Rhonda said. “We need to decide how to proceed.”

  “Conflict of interest,” Charles offered, pointedly ignoring Karan.

  Rude man.

  Rhonda ignored him, which pleased Karan to no end. “Karan, how do you feel about all this? What are your thoughts about volunteering at New Hope now you know Charles is on staff?”

  Any possibility of getting a gun? She wasn’t sure yet whether she’d shoot herself or him. “I can’t answer that until I know how he might impact my…work.”

  As good a way as any to phrase it, she supposed.

  Rhonda folded her arms over her chest. “I’m in charge of the program, so you’ll report to me. But Charles is often around. There’s no question about whether you’ll run into him.”

  “Any idea how often?” Karan pointedly avoided looking at him. Two could play this game.

  “I’m not sure how we can put your skills to use yet, so I can’t say if you’ll run into each other a lot or a little. Depends on where you’ll be. He’s kind of everywhere.”

  “Conflict of interest,” Charles repeated.

  Rhonda scribbled something on the outside of a file folder with Karan’s name. “I still don’t think so. Not if all parties are aware of the situation and are consenting. But I can always check with the police chief to be sure.”

  “The police chief is the one who suggested the alternative sentence, remember?” Charles was positively scowling. The man obviously didn’t care if he hurt her feelings.

  Rhonda only shrugged. “The judge then.”

  “I’d rather not if you don’t mind.” The last thing Karan needed was Wannabe Jenny taking another stab at her. She’d already had to beg permission to drive her car to New Hope.

  Rhonda shifted her gaze between Karan and Charles. “Then what’s it going to be, people? We need all hands on deck. Are we up to working together for the benefit of families in crisis or would we rather cut our losses now?”

  If nothing else, Karan appreciated the woman’s frankness. And the fact that she’d hadn’t mentioned the mandated therapy sessions. Karan’s sentence wasn’t governed by state privacy acts or confidentiality. Anyone could visit the sheriff’s website and get a good chuckle at her expense.

  Charles didn’t reply.

  Neither did Karan. The therapy part of the alternative sentence was contingent upon a
facility offering the services, which was precisely why Wannabe Jenny had waived the three-hour substance abuse class. She didn’t have too many choices that didn’t involve wearing orange.

  “So, Charles and Karan,” Rhonda said brightly. “Does silence mean we all agree to play nice?”

  Karan almost smiled. She wasn’t sure why. The playground metaphor, maybe. With every fiber of her being she knew Charles wanted her to agree there was a conflict of interest to save him from forcing the issue. He’d been here first.

  Unfortunately for him, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. If he wanted her off his turf so badly he could help her get time off for good behavior.

  “I’d like this nightmare over with,” she told them. “If that means dealing with Charles Steinberg for three hundred and fifty-nine hours and—” she glanced at her watch “—thirty-one minutes then so be it.”

  Rhonda inclined her head in approval. “Charles?”

  He nodded, still refusing to look at her. Honestly. How juvenile could a grown man be?

  “You’re done with me, Dr. Camden?” he asked.

  “I am, Dr. Steinberg. Thanks for making the time.”

  “No problem at all.”

  Charles meant what he said. Karan could tell he liked Rhonda. The sentiment appeared to be mutual, which made Karan wonder again if these two were involved in more than work. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?

  But she didn’t care about Charles’s love life. No way could she have possibly kept up with him. Not according to the Bluestone grapevine. Apparently, he dated anything that moved, and Karan couldn’t exactly say she was surprised. He’d have to look far and wide to replace the wife he’d thrown away.

  Why should she care what the man did with his life? She didn’t. She also couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked with dark smudges beneath his eyes. The way he used to look when he was operating on little or no sleep for too many days running.