Home for Christmas (Willow Park #5)

by Noelle Adams

Determined to do anything that would make him look at her like that some more, she steeled her courage and carried the saw over to the tree. There was a decent length trunk at the bottom, but the branches were so wide it was hard to get to.

  She had to fully extend her arms and crouch over to get the saw into place. She ran it across a few times and managed to cut about a centimeter into the bark.

  Laughing, Mark came over and put his arms around her to hold the saw more securely. He was very close. His body was warm and big and strong behind her. She felt a thrill of pleasure at the feel of him against her, at how close he was, even in the presence of another person.

  Together, they managed to cut into the trunk, but eventually Sophie just couldn’t do it. She let go of the saw and let Mark take over, and soon he had the tree all the way down.

  As they loaded up the tree, Harry told Mark, “Your little wife is a tough customer, isn’t she?”

  Sophie was ridiculously flattered by the words, and even more so when Mark put his arms around her, pulling her against him in a quick hug. “She sure is.”

  Sophie decided then and there that they were going to come here to get their Christmas tree every year for the rest of their lives.

  ***

  When they’d gotten back and tied the tree securely onto their car, they went to look around in the holiday shop.

  About half the store was made up of Christmas items—some of them handmade and adorable—but the rest of the shop covered other holidays of the year.

  Sophie picked out some Christmas tree ornaments and a wreath for their door while Mark was talking to Harry. She was looking through an assortment of stockings when an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a familiar, lean body.

  She smiled up at Mark. “Look at how cute these are.”

  He leaned over, nuzzling her ear before he said, “Adorable.”

  She wondered if he was thinking about sex. It certainly felt that way from the way he was touching her. For the last few days, they’d had sex more than once a day. He couldn’t seem to get enough. She liked that he wanted her so much, and she had no complaints about having a lot of sex. But it felt kind of like they were having more sex than they were actually talking, and she wanted their relationship to be more than that.

  She liked that he was affectionate right now, but she would have preferred to have a good conversation.

  This wasn’t the time to say anything, though, so she gave him a teasing smile. “I hope you’re not expecting anything to happen way out here.”

  “What do you think I’m expecting to happen?” One of his hands was on her belly, and she could feel the hard line of his body against her back.

  “I don’t know. But, since we’re forty-five minutes from our apartment, I hope you’re not getting too excited about it. There’s a limit, after all, to the amount of sex a girl can handle.”

  “What makes you think I’m thinking about sex?”

  She thought she caught an odd note in his tone, but when she looked up at his face, it was relaxed and amused. “I know how to spot the signs.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong this time.”

  She laughed. “Well, good. Because soon I might pass out from exhaustion.” She turned around, planning to pull him down into a quick kiss, but Daisy came out from the back of the store just then, so Sophie gently pulled out of his embrace.

  She took her items up to the cashier to pay for them, and Mark went to wait outside.

  “I hope everything’s all right with your fella,” Daisy said with a smile, neatly folding the stockings into a bag.

  Sophie widened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I just sensed something. He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He’s fine.”

  “You two aren’t fighting, are you?”

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open slightly, she was so surprised. How could Daisy possibly think they were fighting, when Mark had had his hands all over her just the minute before? “No. We’re not.”

  Daisy’s eyes were focused on Mark, who was standing outside but visible through the window on the door.

  “Nothing is wrong,” Sophie said, feeling a little defensive, since Daisy seemed so committed to the idea that something was bothering him.

  “I’m sure there’s not,” Daisy said with a smile. “I just have a knack for helping couples find themselves again. They often end up here at the inn or the farm. It’s some sort of gift from God, I think. But I’m probably so used to it that I imagine it occasionally.”

  Sophie sighed in relief at this explanation. “I’m sure that must be it. We haven’t had it easy, but we’re doing…doing really well.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that to the other woman. Just that Daisy seemed to trigger spontaneous admissions.

  “I’m really glad to hear it. If later on, you decide you need some time out or R&R, you all come on back here. Sometimes, a couple just needs to get away for a while, in order to see things clearly. You know?”

  “I’m sure we will,” Sophie replied, with a genuine smile. Despite the presumption, it was impossible not to take Daisy’s words in the goodwill with each they were offered. “Thank you.”

  When Sophie got her bag of loot, she went outside to find Mark. He’d moved away from the door, and she had to walk around before she found him standing over near the lake.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, coming to stand beside him and taking his hand.

  “Yeah.”

  She shot her eyes up to his face and saw to her surprise and disappointment that he looked closed off. He hadn’t looked that way all day, and only a few times since the Bible study earlier in the week.

  What on earth could have happened to bring his guard up like that?

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

  He gently pulled out of her grip. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

  She stiffened her shoulders, feeling an automatic wash of frustration that she tried very hard to suppress. “You know what I mean. You were in a good mood earlier, and now something has happened.”

  “Nothing has happened.”

  She swallowed hard. “Well, something has happened. Did I do something?”

  “Of course, you didn’t do anything.”

  “Then why are you all distant now, when you weren’t just a few minutes ago.”

  “I’m not distant. I’m perfectly normal. You’re imagining things.”

  “I am not imagining things. Do you think I don’t know you well enough to tell? It’s fine if you’re upset or…or…”

  “I’m not upset.” He sounded curt. Very curt.

  She tried to hide how much it hurt her. “Well, something is wrong. What did I do?”

  He made a sound like a growl. “I just told you that you didn’t do anything.”

  “But I don’t believe you. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, then how can I know what I did? How can I fix it?”

  “There’s nothing to fix. Would you just drop it?” He turned on his heel and walked away from her, toward the car.

  Sophie followed him, trying to get her emotions under control. She’d been so happy just a few minutes ago. She’d thought the day was perfect. Now it had fallen apart, and she had no idea why.

  Daisy had been right after all. She’d sensed something in Mark that Sophie had totally missed.

  As she walked toward the car, where Mark was waiting behind the steering wheel, Sophie saw Daisy and Harry standing together in the doorway of the shop, watching them.

  Daisy gave her a slight smile and a little wave.

  Distractedly, Sophie waved back, hurrying up to join Mark in the car.

  He was sitting in the seat, staring in front of him, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

  “Mark,” she said, her voice breaking as she was so upset by his abrupt change in mood. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I already told you—”

  “I know you’re s
aying nothing is wrong, but you must know that I can tell it’s a lie. I thought we were going to try to be real with each other.”

  He sat and breathed for a minute before he finally muttered, “This is as real as I get.”

  “No, it’s not. I know it’s not. We’re supposed to be married. We’ve got to open up to each other as well as have sex. How I can help you if you don’t open up to me? You never really open up to me.” The realization that this was true—that he’d only opened up to her in the smallest of ways since he’d return—hurt so much she almost started to cry.

  She had to turn away and hide her face so she could regain control.

  “I told you I can’t. I’m not ready yet.”

  She swallowed hard. “Okay. When will you be ready?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you will…you will be ready eventually?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Then he finally said, “I don’t know.”

  She turned away again to hide another, deeper wave of grief and fear. “How can I help you, if I don’t know what’s hurting you. I just want to help you. You understand that, don’t you?”

  He made a strange, helpless sound in his throat and put the car into drive. He hadn’t driven much at all since he’d come to Willow Park. She had no idea why he’d decided to drive now.

  Then she forgot everything else when he said, “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t always want for you to help me. I don’t always want your help.”

  There was nothing she could say to that. If she said anything at all, she would burst into tears, and she couldn’t bear to do that to Mark.

  He didn’t need a sobbing wife, on top of everything else.

  She had no idea what it was he needed.

  ***

  They didn’t talk on the way back—just listened to the Christmas music Sophie had turned on.

  When they got back to the apartment, Mark said he was going out for a run, so Sophie changed clothes and got on the treadmill to power walk.

  She prayed the whole time she was on it, but she didn’t feel any more peaceful when she got off.

  It was hard to trust God to save a marriage that felt like it no longer had a real foundation.

  Mark was back to his casual friendliness when he returned—the way he’d acted when he’d first shown up in Willow Park, the façade that was hiding whatever he was really feeling. Sophie was too scared to ask him what was wrong again. Even the distant friendliness was better than his anger and cutting words.

  Maybe she’d been pushing him too hard, trying to do as he asked and help him be his old self again. Maybe she needed to take a step back and let him try to deal with things on his own.

  It didn’t feel right to her, but what did she know? She’d never been through anything like he’d gone through.

  She’d learned all about PTSD in her sessions during the first week after his return, and she kept watching for the signs like a hawk. His distant attitude and mood changes might fit to a certain extent, but nothing else really did. It didn’t really feel like he was working through a trauma. She would have been more than happy to help him through anything. He didn’t feel like he needed her much at all, though. Sometimes it felt more like he was putting up with her.

  So they made small talk over supper, and then they watched television in bed.

  Mark didn’t try to make a move on her, and she didn’t make any advances herself. So they didn’t make love at all that day.

  She missed it. Not because she needed an orgasm, but because sex had been the only time she’d really felt close to Mark since he’d returned, other than the morning chats.

  If she didn’t have that, then maybe she didn’t have him at all.

  Eight

  The next morning, Sophie woke up at just after five, and she rolled over toward Mark.

  She waited for him to reach out and hold her, the way he always did. When he didn’t, she shifted a little, hoping to wake him up enough for him to pull her into his arms.

  He muttered under his breath, but he didn’t wrap an arm around her the way he normally did.

  The loss felt like a wound. It almost choked her.

  Something had happened yesterday—something she didn’t understand—and it had evidently taken away the small ways she’d felt close to Mark, leaving nothing left.

  She waited for a couple of minutes, but when he didn’t reach out to hold her, she rolled away from him again. Since she was too emotional, she rolled all the way out of bed and hurried to the shower.

  She prayed and gave herself a pep talk in the shower, and she was feeling better when she came out to the bedroom to get dressed. Mark’s eyes were open, and she knew he was watching her as she pulled on her corduroy pants and sweater.

  “You’re up early,” he said, after a few minutes.

  “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” She gave him a bright smile. “I’m going to make pancakes for breakfast, if you want any.”

  He blinked, and she had no idea what he was thinking. “Sure. Thanks.”

  She was taking the first pancakes off the griddle when he came into the kitchen, wearing a sweatshirt with his pajama pants. “Here you go,” she said cheerfully, setting the plate on the bar for him.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the stool. He looked rumpled and sleepy and still kind of distant, like his real self was very far away.

  Telling herself that things would only get better when he felt more like his old self, she asked, “Have you talked to Roger about jobs yet?”

  He frowned over a bite of pancake. “You know I have.”

  “I meant recently.”

  “Oh. No. That one in New York is the only thing they’ve got going right now.”

  “I guess that would be okay.” She didn’t want to move to New York—not at all—but she wasn’t about to complain about anything that would do him good. “I guess maybe you’re ready to get back into things.”

  “I don’t know.” He gave her a close look. “Is there some hurry?”

  “Of course not! You can’t do anything until after New Year’s anyway. I was just wondering.” She felt bad, like she’d made some sort of mistake she didn’t understand. She could understand if thoughts of his old job were still raw—of course they would be—but they had to eventually talk about the future.

  Didn’t they?

  “I’ll get back to work as soon as I can,” he muttered, staring down at her plate.

  “There’s no hurry,” she said quickly. “Take all the time you need. I can work at the bookstore for as long as you need me to.”

  She’d hoped that would be comforting, take some of the pressure off, but it didn’t appear to be so. He finished his pancakes without speaking and silently got off the stool and went back to the bedroom.

  ***

  “So how are you feeling?” Sophie asked, looking across the table at Abigail. They’d come to one of the few restaurants in Willow Park, a little “home cooking” place two blocks down from the bookstore, and the server had shown them to three different tables before they’d found one where Abigail could fit comfortably.

  “I feel awful,” Abigail admitted. “Like I’m ready to yank this baby out of me. I don’t remember being so incredibly uncomfortable with Mia.”

  Sophie smiled sympathetically. “Maybe you just blocked it out.”

  “Yeah. Actually, I probably was too distracted to think much about it. I was so stressed out about Thomas back then.”

  Sophie knew Abigail and Thomas had had a lot of marital problems, but she had never heard the whole history. “What were you stressed about?”

  “Oh, everything. That he didn’t really love me, that he didn’t want to have Mia.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to have Mia?”

  “She was a surprise, and I was sure he would be upset about the disruption of his plans. He was planning to have a big career back then and…” Abigail sighed. “It seems silly now, since I know how much he loves us—both me an
d Mia—but I was constantly stressed out about it then.”

  Sophie might not have been in that exact situation, but she knew precisely how that particular brand of stress felt. For the last seven weeks, ever since Mark had returned to the States, she’d been in the same state of stress, constantly worrying, constantly angsting, constantly wondering if she was doing everything wrong.

  After the initial progress they’d made, they seemed to have gone in the wrong direction in the past week. They’d only had sex twice—both times Sophie had initiated it—and Mark didn’t want to talk about anything serious. She hadn’t pushed him—mostly because she was terrified of pushing him so hard that he’d break.

  She’d been happy with small steps forward, but going backwards was very discouraging—and she just didn’t know how to change it.

  “What did you do?” Sophie asked, wishing desperately that she was as happy and comfortable in her relationship as Abigail was.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Abigail admitted. “I mean, I tried. I really tried. We even went to counseling. But I was so caught up in not being who I’d been before that I couldn’t see that Thomas wasn’t either. We’d both changed—and we’d both changed for the better—but I couldn’t really see how he’d changed, and he couldn’t really hear what I kept trying to say, and so we ended up getting nowhere. I don’t know if we would ever have figured it out if I hadn’t had that car accident. I think being helpless and having to depend on him changed my perspective. Do you remember that? That’s right around the time that we met earlier this year.

  “Yes. I remember. But even then, it was clear that Thomas is so crazy in love with you he could barely keep his head on. Even I could see it.”

  Abigail gave her a wry look. “Thanks a lot. I’ll admit to being blind, but I had our whole history together that was blurring my vision.” She looked at Sophie thoughtfully. “Maybe you can kind of understand that.”

  “What do you mean?” The server came then with their drinks, and they ordered their salads and fried chicken. Then, when they were alone again, Sophie asked, “What did you mean by me understanding?”

  “I just mean you must always be comparing the way you and Mark acted before with the way you’re acting now. It’s got to be…I don’t know…distracting. Maybe it would get in the way of seeing what’s happening between you right now.”