by Geri Krotow
“I know you do. You’ve been here. I remember.”
He had been, after his time in the war. He’d seen more action on the ground than Gwen had, purely a matter of circumstance and timing. It’d taken months to shake the constant sense that he needed to look over his shoulder or hit the ground or run to the nearest air-raid shelter. Gwen had conducted most of her wartime missions from the seat of a P-3. She’d had her share of scary events, but nothing like the ditch she’d executed, and the horrors in the bush. Horrors she’d had to deal with on her own.
“I was, but I did climb out of it after a month or so. Remember that part?”
“I don’t want to be feeling like this in a month.” One big tear rolled down her cheek and again he was relieved. If she could cry, that was good.
“You’re going to be okay, Gwen, but you do have to work with the docs, and believe them when they tell you to slow down and be patient with yourself. This is bigger than you, bigger than anything you ever trained for. It’s one thing to survive what you did and come back whole. Then add in the fact that you have to adjust to being home, plus you’re trying to adopt a child. That’s a lot.” He shut his mouth. She didn’t need him grilling her like a bad boss.
Or a controlling husband.
“Coming back here—it’s not what I expected would happen.”
“I’m sorry about that, Gwen. I hoped I’d be of more help to you....” He’d tried to keep his mental and emotional distance from her, but it hadn’t been enough.
“I’m not sorry about being here, Drew. This is the best place for me, I know that, as much as I fought it.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s not such a good deal for you, but I’m grateful for all you’ve done. I’m so sorry about what you’re going through at the clinic.”
“Gwen, we may have made a mess of our marriage, but I’d like to think we’ve kept a basic friendship. I’m proud of that, in fact.”
Her expression closed, and she pulled her hand from his as if she thought she’d made a mistake in letting him hold it. Damn it, wasn’t there anything he could say that wouldn’t upset her?
“This isn’t the time to worry about any of it, Gwen. I meant what I said. It hurts like hell, and it may do so for a while yet, but this too shall pass. Remember?”
“Yes.”
He stood up and immediately missed the warmth of her body next to his leg, even if it was under layers of blankets.
“If you need anything, I’m here. I do think a call to your doc is in order. You’re still taking the meds they gave you, right?”
“I’m not a fool, Drew. Of course I’m taking my prescription.”
He’d had to ask. They both knew that sometimes brain chemistry needed help, be it temporarily or for the rest of their lives. It didn’t matter either way. As long as her body got what it needed to heal.
Her eyes drifted shut. For that, he was grateful. Sleep was the best healer of all.
His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her whispered thanks.
* * *
“IT’S AWFULLY NICE of you to take her back in, Drew.” Brenda sipped her remaining wine. Brenda’s facial expression was so similar to Gwen’s. As hard as it was to imagine Gwen as anything but the younger woman she was now, he knew he was looking at a future image of her. Beautiful, classy, still sexy...
“I didn’t take her back in, Brenda. This is her home.”
“Legally.”
“Ever the lawyer.” He tilted his glass of water toward her in a mock toast. He needed sleep and a sharp mind more than staying up for aperitifs with Brenda and George.
“You know why I married Brenda, Drew? It was for that sharp look she’s throwing you right now.” George laughed and Drew couldn’t keep his lips from tugging into a grin.
“Stop making me out to be a bitch.” Brenda smiled at them both.
“Go easy, darling.” George was the smooth honey to Brenda’s molasses. Brenda represented one of the pharmaceutical giants, while George represented non-profit organizations. Both corporate attorneys, yet each had very different job descriptions and interests.
“Relax, George. Drew knows me well enough by now. I’m never going to stop being Gwen’s mom.”
And I’ve never stopped being her husband.
Sweat broke out on Drew’s forehead. The timing was a bitch. His emotions were roiling because of the terrible accident at his clinic.
Living with Gwen again wasn’t helping, either.
She needs me.
“I know what you mean, Brenda. Trust me—Gwen’s well-being is my top priority.”
“Mmm.” She took another sip. “How can it be when a client just died at your clinic?”
“I’m managing.”
He knew Brenda trusted him—for the most part. Yet the part of her that didn’t, the part that insinuated he’d use Gwen’s vulnerability for his own purposes, pissed him off. He’d never do anything to hurt Gwen.
The fact that he’d made love to her weighed heavily on his conscience. His pure selfishness appalled him.
None of that, however, was Brenda’s concern.
“I’ve got an early start in the morning. You know where everything is, so please make yourselves at home. I’ll take the dog out and be on my way to bed.” He stopped by Rosie’s cage and took a minute to scratch the bird’s neck before he put her on her perch and covered her cage with its custom blanket that had ROSIE embroidered on the front.
“That bird’s been awfully quiet since we got here. Remember when she used to talk up a storm, George?”
“Sure do. She still have Gwen’s laugh?”
“Yes, she does.” And Rosie still liked to scream out like Gwen did when she came, a sound she’d learned as a baby bird when they first adopted her. They’d made love in their living room one too many times, and Rosie had stealthily listened to each sound and perfected it.
He and Gwen used to laugh whenever the bird mimicked Gwen’s lusty words.
It broke Drew’s heart when Rosie did that.
* * *
“DO YOUR BUSINESS, Nappie.” Drew looked up at the stars while the dog sniffed the lawn. There was no rushing Nappie; she marched to her own beat.
The lights from the living room glowed out from the sliding doors upstairs on the deck. He used to enjoy Brenda and George’s company, but tonight his hackles were up.
You’re too damned protective of Gwen.
But Gwen had come back. She wasn’t his Amelia Earhart, after all. She didn’t come back for you.
“Nappie, come on, get it done, gal.” The dog kept sniffing. Drew wondered if she was starting to go deaf. She’d passed her prime a while ago, but still bounced around like a younger dog when motivated.
Between Gwen’s return and Dottie’s death, Drew’s world had imploded in a matter of days. No wonder his heart was raw. It was natural for him to seek comfort with the one woman, hell, the only woman, who’d ever soothed him as much as she’d driven him to the limits of his sanity.
Drew looked up toward their bedroom window. Her window now, he reminded himself once again. It wasn’t their room, hadn’t been for half a decade. He stared at the curtains, lit from behind, until she turned off the light. If things had played out differently at his clinic, he might have been tempted to join her in the darkened room.
* * *
THE DAY AFTER Brenda and George left, the cloud-covered island was windy, typical of this time of year. Instead of the mountains Gwen noticed the whitecaps on the surface of Puget Sound as she drove down the road into town.
It was too easy to stay in their house as a way to protect herself from the inevitable anxiety triggered by a trip into the real world. Brenda had told her to get out more, and she was right.
When she’d driven to Drew’s clinic on the day of Dottie’s de
ath she’d been able to look past her own fears and get there with little fuss. Today was different; it was the first time she was venturing out on her own, for no reason other than to browse in a department store. She’d promised to meet Ro for coffee later so that she wouldn’t be tempted to stay home.
She didn’t tell Drew she was going out when he left for work. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why he was bothering to go in at this point. His stress was evident in the droop of his shoulders and the gray tint of his skin.
Gwen turned off the main route into town and pulled into the large shopping area. She passed the coffee shop where she’d meet Ro later and headed straight for the big-store parking lot. Her target was the garden center. She’d found comfort in her flowers and vegetables in the past and had decided to buy supplies for the window boxes that decorated the front of the house. Drew had helped her install them when they’d bought the house nine years ago.
Staying in the garden center was imperative; she couldn’t bear to see baby toys or clothes. Not without Pax in her arms.
The remembered scent of his hair rushed at her, and she halted midaisle between the weed killer and the grass seed. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths and said a silent prayer. There was nothing she could do about Pax until she heard from the adoption agency that was handling it, together with the State Department. The State Department councilor handling the case said she’d call when they were closer to resolution. In the meantime, Gwen had received emails and a couple of written updates via FedEx.
The plastic handle of the shopping cart was cool and solid beneath her clenched hands. Combined with the harsh smells of garden chemicals, that sensation grounded her in the present. In the here and now, where she could hope that Pax would eventually come home to her.
“Gwen?”
She opened her eyes and inwardly groaned.
“Hi, Opal.” She forced a smile and a relaxed stance. How did the woman always manage to show up at the worst times?
“I’m taking a long lunch break.” Opal smiled in response. “I’m so sorry to hear what’s happening in Drew’s clinic. It’s been all over the paper and the TV news.”
“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate hearing it from you.”
“Oh, I already told him.” Opal swiped at her blond bangs. “He drives through for his coffee every morning and confides in me.” Opal peered at Gwen as though Gwen was a gnat. “How’s it been going for you?” she went on. “It can’t be very comfortable to be back under the same roof as your ex-husband, especially when he has such big problems of his own.”
“You may be right.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business. I totally trust Drew.”
“Oh?” Trusted Drew about what? Gwen wanted to be anywhere but here, having a conversation with a woman who was so hot for Drew she leaked pheromones at the mere mention of his name.
“Well, Drew and I are definitely friends.” Opal’s tone insinuated more.
“Hmm.”
“I don’t mean to be intrusive, Gwen, but how long do you think you’ll be in the house? Don’t get me wrong—” Opal covered her chest with her hand “—I don’t want to interfere with your adjustment back to regular life.”
“I haven’t come up with a definite schedule yet, but as soon as I do, I’ll let you know.” It was Gwen’s turn to smile, even though she inexplicably wanted to grab one of the hand rakes and claw out Opal’s eyes with it.
It wasn’t as if Drew’s relationships with other women were any of her business.
Opal didn’t take the hint. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Nothing in particular. Just browsing.”
“I wish I had time in my schedule to do that. I’m here on a quick run to get some extra supplies for my business. I ran out of napkins this morning. I need to get back before the afternoon rush.”
“Oh, well, I’d better let you go, then. See you.” Gwen pushed her cart around the end of the aisle and stared down at her hands. She was clenching the handle again, this time to keep her hands from shaking, from betraying her anger.
She hated having to face her deepest fears.
Her heart had made a fatal mistake, misjudging Drew’s natural inclination toward kindness as an indication that they might become more than friends again. More than confidants.
It’s just the PTSD, the reentry anxiety.
Searching for an escape from her thoughts, Gwen shoved her cart into the outdoor area of the nursery. Row upon row of blooming flowers greeted her. She grabbed containers of primroses, gerbera daisies and dianthus. Then she tossed in a couple of contrasting low-growing grasses, and found two more window boxes to add to the house. As she bent to lift a bag of potting soil onto the bottom of the cart, she heard a woman’s voice carry over the aisle partition.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I understand. It’ll take time. You’re going through so much. I’ll wait.” Opal’s voice was distinct as she obviously talked on her cell phone.
Goose bumps broke out on Gwen’s forearms.
She straightened and carefully brushed her hands free of the dirt.
So what if Opal and Drew were seeing each other? She had flowers to plant.
* * *
DREW STARED UNSEEING at his computer screen. It was pointless to try to get any work done in his office. Yet since the accident, he’d needed to be here more than ever.
Out of respect for Dottie, he’d canceled his appointments for a week after her death.
He didn’t expect any of his clients to come back once they heard. Most of them had tried to make new appointments, but then his insurance had backed out, with no indication of reinstatement.
It’d been three weeks since Dottie Forsyth had died in his clinic. Three weeks and two days since Gwen had returned home.
To the house.
Drew knew more than ever that Gwen, of all people, wasn’t the one he should be leaning on to get through this ordeal.
She wasn’t out of the woods herself, between healing from six months of deprivation and survival existence and her PTSD. He heard her cry out at night and waited in the hallway outside her door until she fell back asleep. He fought the urge to go in and comfort her every time. She’d be embarrassed if she knew he’d heard her nightmares.
Damn his stupid emotions. He’d allowed hope to light a flame when she’d asked him to help her with the adoption—to prove she was mentally stable.
Full reconciliation with Gwen wasn’t an option—at least not right now. Neither of them was on solid enough ground in their individual lives, so remarriage was another complication. A huge one. But he’d been optimistic about the possibilities of a solid friendship.
Who was he kidding?
None of it mattered anymore. The tiniest sliver of hope for building a bridge of friendship, one that might even lead to future reconciliation, vanished the moment Serena found Dottie in the aquatracker.
He’d never drag Gwen into this mess. She needed to heal.
Yet all day his thoughts went back to the past weeks when she’d sat by him as he’d soaked in the hot tub or joined him at the dining-room table. She made breakfast and dinner, the first meals she’d cooked for him since their marriage ended.
He shut down the computer and headed home.
* * *
SHE WAS SITTING in his chair, the comfy recliner she’d despised and begged him to throw to the curb for years. He’d never told her, but he didn’t want to get rid of it because he had memories of some of the best sex of his life in that chair.
Sex with Gwen.
God, he missed those days. He could blame it on the stress he was going through with the Forsyth case, but he knew that wasn’t fair. He’d never stopped wanting Gwen, even when they’d despised each other.
<
br /> “Hey.” She looked up briefly. He registered a ball of yarn and long, pointy needles but it was her expression that caught his attention.
Trusting. She trusted that she could heal in this house, trusted he’d be willing to help her adopt the kid.
“Hi.”
“Another bad day, huh?” Her eyes were wide with concern and she’d dropped her yarn on her lap.
“There won’t be any other kind from now on.” He went into the kitchen, grabbed a highball glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice.
“Are you hungry?” Her soft voice and the warmth of her nearness startled him. He jerked his hand back from the automatic ice dispenser and ice spewed across the kitchen floor.
“Shit, Gwen.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She backed up and leaned against the granite counter.
“You didn’t scare me.” Anger and frustration melded with pure need. Even now, during some of the worst days of his life, he was still aware of her.
He wanted to take her on the kitchen floor. No matter what happened between them—or, more likely, didn’t—she’d always be the most attractive woman he’d ever known. He sighed. “I’m on edge all the time, waiting for a lawyer representing the Forsyth family to serve me papers.” He bent down and started to pick up the ice cubes before they melted. Nappie had come into the kitchen and was scooping up cubes as quickly as she could, crunching the frozen treats.
“Here, let me do that.” Gwen knelt down and her hair fell over her face.
“Helloooo!” Rosie yelled from the family area. She hated when people were home but out of sight.
“Hey, Nappie, cut it out,” Gwen shouldered the dog out of her way as she picked up the last ice cube. Nappie licked Gwen’s face and tried to take the cube from her hand before she tossed it in the sink. Gwen laughed and allowed herself to get knocked onto her bottom, Nappie’s face in hers, tail wagging furiously.
Gwen’s yoga pants were snug in all the right places. Despite the weight she’d lost, it was obvious that she still had all her curvy woman parts.
Drew stood up, intending to get the hell out of the kitchen.