The Husband Lesson

by Jeanie London

  Just the thought of it makes me smile.

  Susanna hated the thing. But she didn’t say one word and let him hang it because it had made him so happy. She hadn’t been thinking of herself, but him. That fish will grace the wall forever, a treasured memory of the sweet man she’d loved with all her heart.

  There aren’t memories in my living room.

  No, I created a showcase like my mother’s house. And I purged these rooms of anything that remotely reminded me of Charles and all those dreams we had for our life together.

  Charles had wanted a beach house on the west coast of Florida, so we’d have a place to stay while visiting his family. I wanted an apartment in the city—for the culture as much for the world-class hospitals. But this house would be home base.

  We wanted our children to grow up appreciating the beauty of all three places. And we wanted children—three to be exact. Charles wanted two sons because he couldn’t imagine life without his brother, and I wanted a daughter.

  Idealistic young dreams.

  So if I wanted to eliminate all traces of that marriage, why haven’t I sold this house?

  I have nicer homes. Keeping this place in Bluestone never really mattered. But I have kept it, even though Patrick and I rarely spent time here. He never liked the town and didn’t feel comfortable here. Because this was the house I shared with Charles?

  I don’t know because I never bothered to ask.

  But Patrick had known I didn’t like staying with my mother when we came to visit, so he’d graciously compromised.

  He’d been thinking about my wants, not his own.

  Wow. That’s a sobering thought.

  No wonder the theme of me keeps pouring out of this pen. What else do I have to write about except me?

  Is that why I’ve been feeling so restless and bored with life lately—restless and bored enough to get careless with the champagne to make it through Brent’s party?

  I’ve been blaming my issues on my divorce from Patrick, on being between husbands, but I suspect the problem runs deeper.

  Now here is something juicy to discuss with Rhonda. I hadn’t even realized how I’ve been distancing myself from life until tonight when Charles looked at me and said, “We’re okay.”

  And I felt okay.

  Charles, who’d been willing to put aside his unhappiness about seeing me to stop making the situation more difficult than it needs to be. He’d told me to do what I need to do.

  And I think I actually know what that is.

  I need to help.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT KARAN wants?” Charles asked Rhonda after tracking her down inside the triage station.

  She shrugged and said to Tammy, “Thanks for getting this report to me. I’m glad they’re settling in okay.”

  Charles acknowledged the nurse then followed Rhonda.

  “I know Karan hasn’t logged any hours since the night Amy and the boys left. But she did drop by once.”

  He’d missed that visit. “Is she allowed to do that?”

  “She’s required to fulfill three hundred and sixty hours. The judge is allowing her to serve them however she chooses. To my knowledge the only requirement is that she fulfill the terms within a year.”

  As they stepped into the waiting area, he glanced around with surprise. There was no missing the new additions of a brightly colored plastic toy chest, a rack filled with children’s books, a child-size picnic table and one of those wooden beaded things to develop toddler motor skills that were standard in any physician’s office that dealt with children. “This is new. Did I miss an addendum to the week’s expenses?”

  Rhonda glanced around with a smile. “You did not.”

  “A donation?”

  “From Karan. She dropped them off the other day. I wasn’t here, but Tammy was.”

  He remembered what Tammy had told him about Karan helping out the night the Sanchez family had arrived.

  “That was generous. Guess she must have seen a need.”

  “Guess so.” Rhonda agreed as they made their way to the administrative offices.

  “So Karan’s sentence is all about how long she wants to be inconvenienced with driving restrictions.”

  “Wondering again?”

  No sense lying to a psychotherapist who obviously thought she could see right through him. “It matters.”

  “Then I suppose you could say that. Or maybe the judge understands this is a pilot program. Since we’re breaking new ground, flexibility is important because each court-appointed volunteer will have to be placed on an individual basis.”

  “I suppose you could say that, too.”

  Rhonda settled behind their desk. “I’m curious what Karan has for us.”

  He glanced at his watch. “You said seven, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then you won’t have to wonder long. It’s three minutes till. Karan’s prompt. At least, she used to be.”

  Sinking onto the office sofa, he was glad to be off his feet after one extremely long day. But he wasn’t complaining. He’d made rounds tonight to find every one of his patients progressing satisfactorily. No complaints whatsoever.

  Until Rhonda had called about this impromptu meeting.

  But Charles was determined to reserve opinion. He didn’t have to control himself long, either, because as the minute hand moved to seven, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” Rhonda said.

  The door opened and Karan slipped inside.

  Rhonda smiled. “Well, howdy, stranger.”

  Trouble was Karan didn’t look like a stranger. She waltzed in as graceful as ever, wearing a summery dress made of some clingy fabric that treated him to the sight of every lean curve. The hemline certainly wasn’t what he’d call short, but it left an incredible length of shapely legs exposed. She carried a folder tucked under one bare arm… Way too much glowing skin happening in this office for his peace of mind.

  “Hi, Rhonda.” Karan glanced his way, smiled with such practiced cordiality the past might have never happened between them. “Charles. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”

  “We’re wondering,” Rhonda said.

  That made him smile.

  “I want to run something by you two.” Karan sat on a chair before the desk, a mere foot away from him. Hooking trim ankles beneath her, she opened the folder in her lap.

  “Okay, here goes.” She cast another glance between them, excitement radiating off her. Something else, too. He could see it in her shallow breaths, the posture that was a little too erect. Even more, he could sense it. He knew this woman so well. Still. Despite her poker face he sensed nerves.

  “We’ve been struggling to find something useful for me to do around here. I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought and I think I’ve come up with something.”

  “Great,” Rhonda said, ever the optimist. “Let’s see it.”

  Karan was instantly on her feet, setting the open folder on the desk. She leaned over enough that the hem of that dress crept up the back of her thighs, treating him to some more skin.

  How was it even possible that after all they’d been through she still had the ability to get him to notice her?

  “Here we go.” She arranged some papers side by side across the desk.

  He knew he should join the party, take a look at what she was presenting. But the view from here seemed to have rendered him stupid. With every motion that clingy hem swayed, molding the curve of her backside until he had the striking memory of exactly what her bottom had felt like when he’d slipped his hands down her back, over her hips, down, down.

  He stood suddenly. And he had news for Dr. Camden. Not all avoidance was a bad thing. It could be a perfectly legitimate coping skill.

  “Oh. My. Goodness.” Rhonda stared at what appeared to be promotional materials for various events.

  He went to stand beside her and forced his gaze onto the display, grateful for the desk betwee
n him and his ex-wife.

  There was a flyer for a breakfast sponsored by the town council, several blue chip businesses with local plants and Bluestone’s VFW Post.

  There was a brochure detailing a series of presentations that would inform the community about domestic violence and explore ways they could help. Each presentation was to be hosted in a location that targeted a different demographic, such as the drive to collect basic goods at Ashokan High School, which would raise awareness about date violence and the realities of teen pregnancy. Or the sessions at St. Joseph’s Hospital, which might recruit skilled volunteers who could expand New Hope’s outreach programs.

  There was a fashion show to be held at the elite Mill Hill Resort and Spa, featuring the fall collections of several designers, sponsored by local women’s organizations.

  And a showing at a gallery in Kingston, featuring work from a Manhattan-based photographer and the art of Project Return, the not-for-profit that had supplied paintings for the suites.

  Proceeds of each of these events would benefit New Hope of Bluestone Mountain, Inc. To kick off this ambitious schedule, a Fourth of July picnic in Bluestone Mountain Park was slated.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re proposing all these events at these places on these dates?”

  Karan nodded. “The schedule is tentative, of course, but everything’s in place if I can get an okay from you.”

  Rhonda was still sorting through the promotional materials, clearly speechless, so no help there.

  He frowned. “Karan, how can you get a booth in Bluestone Mountain Park on the Fourth? It’s barely three weeks away.”

  “There’s not a venue on this planet that doesn’t reserve space for last-minute participants. Our park is no different.”

  “You’ve spoken with them? They have this space and are willing to give it to us?”

  “Mayor Trant and his wife are friends,” she explained, sliding more papers from her folder and placed a spreadsheet onto the desk. “Here are the numbers. The projected costs and the revenue we should generate, taking into account the not-for-profit tax status. With any luck we’ll spark some consciences and get some generous people to donate even more. That will be a bonus, though. This is the bottom line.”

  He wasn’t surprised, not by the meticulous research or the top-notch full-color printing or the professional graphic design. Karan never did anything halfway.

  She was an intelligent woman, determined when she set her mind to something. A woman who didn’t recognize limitations, and never had. Even as an undergrad, she’d been able to accomplish things the deans of an Ivy League University hadn’t simply by being creative. That she didn’t put her abilities to better use was an absolute waste.

  But wasn’t that exactly what she was trying to do right now? And if her tentative excitement and almost vulnerable air were any indications, these proposed fundraisers meant something to her.

  “I’m amazed.” Rhonda shook her head. “I was impressed by your letters, but they’re nothing compared to this.”

  “Writing them is what gave me the idea,” Karan said. “I was looking through those event brochures, and Charles keeps talking about budgetary concerns. I can buy all the microwaves and toys I want but that will never cover ongoing expenses. No one person can do that. I want to help, and this is something I can do. I know lots of people so I’ll call in favors to get them on board.”

  Charles couldn’t argue her point. Karan had connections and coordinating social events came as naturally to her as breathing. If she said she could pull off these events, he’d be the last person to doubt her. She might not have put her degrees in public relations to conventional use, but she had used her talents.

  Charles remembered the photo spread a prominent medical magazine had done on Karan’s second husband—more accurately, the remodeling of his offices under Karan’s guidance. Patrick Reece was a high-profile oncologist based out of Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center and Karan had been photographed sitting in the reception area, in an exam room, in front of a computer. In her husband’s well-appointed office.

  She was as much of a prop in the photo spread as any piece of equipment or stick of furniture. Charles remembered his annoyance that an otherwise reputable magazine had wasted space on such nonsense and capitalized on Karan’s appearance.

  Now, as much as it galled him to admit it, Karan’s second husband had been a lot smarter in utilizing her talents than Charles ever had. Reece had increased his profile with that little piece that showed how advanced his equipment was and how comfortable patients and family members would be. And, Charles was pretty sure, it was all Karan’s doing.

  “Wow.” Rhonda continued to shuffle through the promotional materials with enthusiasm. There was no missing that she was genuinely pleased. There was also no missing that Karan was pleased Rhonda was pleased.

  “You think you can get people to pay money to attend these functions?” Rhonda asked. “Like Charles said, the Fourth of July is barely three weeks away.”

  “It’ll take a concerted effort to get the word out, but I don’t see a problem,” Karan explained. “I’ll just have to be creative. The senator has already promised me an appearance between two and four. Once word gets out, he’ll be our draw. I know it’s tight, but people will be around for the festivities, so I hated to miss the opportunity.”

  Rhonda sat back in the chair. “The senator?”

  Karan nodded. “He’ll sacrifice his family pinochle game if you want to have this event. I know you’ll need time to review everything to make a decision, but I’d like to confirm with him as soon as possible.”

  “Where have you been all my life?” Rhonda let loose laughter that sounded suspiciously like giggling. “You’re the dream of anyone in social work.”

  “I hope that proves to be the case, otherwise I’ll be back in your kitchen for another three-hundred plus hours.”

  “Margaret would quit,” he said.

  “Charles.” Rhonda pointed at the door. “That’s where you can go if you plan to start pissing in my cereal.”

  Karan met his gaze over Rhonda’s head, and a soft smile played around her mouth. “I’ll leave everything with you. Any questions before I go? For the record I’ll cover the expense of the picnic. If all goes well, we’ll have some capital to fund the next events. Hopefully things will snowball and keep us going. Just let me know when you decide.”

  “That’s very generous.” Rhonda motioned Karan to sit. “You logged the hours you spent working up this proposal?”

  Karan nodded.

  “Good girl.” Rhonda shot him a what’s-there-to-discuss look. “Do you have any questions for Karan? I don’t see much to lose here. Minimal risk for the possibility of a lot of gain. Think of the exposure.”

  Charles’s knee-jerk response was to not touch this, to not get in any deeper with Karan. But the simple fact was his emotions were in the way. He might manage to avoid some obvious truths, but he couldn’t deny them. He’d been critical of Karan for her self-indulgence, yet here she was trying to accomplish something to benefit others. Didn’t he owe it to New Hope to support her attempt? And her, as well?

  “Okay.” He met Karan’s gaze and the expectation he saw in those sparkly depths hit him low in the stomach. “I’m game.”

  Everything about her beautiful face transformed. She hadn’t expected his support. Why should she have? When had he ever been supportive of her? Another revelation that bothered him.

  “I’ll get busy and keep you up-to-date,” she said.

  “Sounds great.” Rhonda obviously had the utmost confidence in Karan’s abilities.

  Charles had a great deal of faith in her ability to plan parties. That was a place to start. “Good luck.”

  Karan exhaled a shallow breath. “Now for the tough part. I’m going to need one of you to check out the venues with me. I assume there are procedures in place since these events will represent New Hope.”

  “There ar
e.” Rhonda frowned. “But nothing out of the ordinary. This might be problematic for me. Sometimes I can sneak away from the crisis center for lunch, but this week is impossible.” She glanced at him. “Any chance you can make time between the hospital and your office?”

  He nodded, knowing he was involving himself with Karan, yet committing to the course anyway.

  “There,” Rhonda said. “Tough part all solved.”

  “Not entirely.” Karan gave a sheepish shrug and met his gaze. “I’m going to need a ride. Would you mind picking me up?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE SITUATION WAS SO ridiculous Karan might have laughed, would have had anyone else been standing in the living room, running back and forth to the window to see if he’d arrived.

  But she was the one standing here, jumpy and nervous. Why? She refused to speculate, but if that wasn’t bad enough, the feeling was distinctly familiar.

  Her first date with Charles had involved Karan’s entire sorority. He’d been the gorgeous upperclassman—a medical student. The minute everyone had found out he’d invited her to spend the day at a music festival in Woodstock, her sorority sisters had taken over from determining what she should wear to interrogating her afterward for every precious detail.

  Of course, Susanna had egged everyone on by telling them how excited Karan was.

  That in itself had been singular. She was selective. Once Jack had taken a left turn from law into law enforcement, she hadn’t been impressed enough by any of the guys who asked her out. She knew what she was looking for and wasn’t interested in spending time with anyone who didn’t fit the profile.

  Charles had been different. She’d known it the instant he’d shown up backstage at a talk she’d arranged for the college. Not only did he fit the profile, but he did something no other male ever had—he made Karan react.