by Kristi Gold
Great. As much as she appreciated both her friends’ support, she truly didn’t want the woman handling the divorce to know what she was up to. Not that she couldn’t trust Savannah to be discreet. She was simply worried the entire process could come to a screeching halt.
As soon as Jess slid into the booth with Savannah taking her place beside her, Rachel leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Do you have it?”
“I brought three.” Jess rifled through her oversize zebra-print bag and pulled out a brown paper sack. But before she handed it off to Rachel, she surveyed the room like a practiced spy.
“For heaven’s sake, Jess,” Savannah said. “It’s pregnancy tests, not contraband. Just give them to her.”
Rachel and Jess shushed her simultaneously.
“Sorry,” Savannah muttered. “But there’s not a soul in this place who’s paying attention to us at the moment. In fact, there’s no one here aside from the teenager behind the counter, and she’s too busy texting to care.”
“You’re right,” Rachel admitted. “But I can’t afford for this to get back to Matt. That’s why I had Jess buy the tests. Which reminds me. What do I owe you?”
Jess slid the bag across the table. “An explanation. Why do you need these?”
Going into detail was the last thing she cared to do. “Because I was extremely stupid one night and had unprotected sex, that’s why.”
“I understand that, but with whom did you have unprotected sex?”
Savannah winked at Rachel. “With an appliance repairman. He came to make sure her oven was heating correctly and he ended up lighting her fire.”
Jess elbowed Savannah in the side. “Very funny, Savannah Leigh.”
“It was Matt,” Rachel interjected before the assumptions got out of hand. “The same evening we all met down at the pond.”
Now Jess looked insulted. “And you didn’t say anything to us about it?”
“She told me,” Savannah said. “But that was during a meeting about the divorce.”
“You’re not going through with the divorce now, right?” Jess asked.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” And she honestly didn’t. She did regret being so utterly foolish and wondered if perhaps she’d subconsciously wanted to become pregnant again.
“How late are you?” Savannah asked.
“At least a week. Maybe two. I haven’t paid much attention to my periods in the last few months.” She’d had little reason to pay attention.
Jess and Savannah exchanged a look before Jess said, “It could just be stress. But you won’t know until you take the test, so go do it.”
That had to be the most ludicrous suggestion her friend had ever made. “I’m not going to go into a public restroom and pee on a stick. I’ll wait until I get back to the guesthouse.”
“That’s up to you,” Savannah said. “But you have to let us know as soon as you know. And that brings me to one important question. With your previous problems, will you be considered high risk if you are pregnant?”
She had thought about that several times over the past twenty-four hours. Worried about it, even. “My doctor told me that there’s a chance the eclampsia could return in the next pregnancy. I’d definitely see a specialist so I could be prepared, in case it happens again.”
“And that leads us to another issue,” Jess added. “If the test turns out to be positive, when are you going to tell Matt?”
She hadn’t gotten that far in her planning. “I have no idea when I’d tell him or if I even should.”
“He has a right to know,” Savannah said. “You can’t go through this alone. Besides, I’m sure he’ll be over the moon if you are.”
If only she could believe that. “He doesn’t want children, and I realize now he never really has.”
“Did he say that?” Jess asked.
“Not in so many words, but it’s been implied through his actions. I just chose to ignore it.”
Savannah reached across the table and laid her hand on hers. “He might surprise you this time, Rachel.”
He might also break her heart again if he refused to accept responsibility for their child. “I truly don’t know what I’m going to do right now. And I may not have to do anything at all if the test is negative.”
“I hope it’s positive,” Jess added. “I’m going against popular opinion, but I think another baby could make a huge difference in healing your marriage.”
If only Matt had even hinted at wanting another child, she might actually believe he’d come around. She wouldn’t allow herself to get her hopes up. “The way things stand now, it would make it worse between us. Matt still hasn’t come to terms with losing Caleb, or that’s what I feel is going on with him. It’s hard to know, when he won’t open up to me.”
“He’s still not talking about it?” Savannah asked.
“No. He won’t provide any details about what happened after I gave birth, and he knows I was too out of it to remember much of anything except that brief glance of Caleb. I suspect he may have left the hospital and our son died in the presence of strangers.”
Jess sent her a sympathetic look. “I can’t imagine Matt would do that, Rachel.”
At one time she would never have considered it, either. “If he won’t talk to me, then I’m inclined to assume the worst.”
Jess sighed. “It’s really a shame the two of you can’t find some common ground. What if you went away together for a weekend?”
“Funny you should mention that,” Rachel said. “When I met with Matt yesterday, we decided to sell the cabin and split the proceeds. He then insisted we go together this weekend and divvy up the belongings before we put it on the market.”
Jess’s expression turned as bright as the overhead fluorescent light. “That’s great. You’ll have some time together to see if you want to go through with the divorce.”
“And time to tell him about the baby,” Savannah interjected. “Of course, that depends if you’re pregnant or not.”
Rachel knew only one thing for certain—spending a weekend with her husband could turn out badly. “I haven’t agreed to go with him yet.”
“What’s holding you back?” Savannah asked.
Many things, the least of which was fear. “I’m just worried about being in such close quarters with him. He has this way of making me forget all our problems.”
“You mean he’s really good at wooing you with sex,” Jess said in a simple statement of fact. “Look at it this way—getting pregnant won’t be an issue if that happens.”
“Provided I’m pregnant.” Rachel sincerely wished her friend would get off the baby topic. “I still feel so vulnerable around him. I want to be stronger, but all he has to do is look at me a certain way, and all my strength flies out the window.”
Savannah squeezed her hand. “You have an opportunity to find out if you can work through your issues with Matt. Go with an open mind and heart, and you might be surprised.”
Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she could put Matt to the test and get him to open up to her. The cabin had always been the one place where they’d connected on a much deeper, emotional level. But still… “I’ll think about it tonight and decide tomorrow.”
“Don’t think about it,” Jess said. “Just do it. Take out your cell and call him right now before you have time to change your mind.”
She couldn’t fight them both. Besides, they could be right. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Jess and Savannah looked on expectantly while Rachel withdrew her phone from her bag and hit the speed dial for Matt’s cell.
After four rings, Rachel considered hanging up. And when she heard “Matt Boyd” in the familiar deep, masculine voice, she almost wished she had. She hesitated a few moments before she made a decision that could affect the course of her marriage—for better or for worse.
“Hi, Matt, it’s me. About the weekend trip to the cabin. I’ve decided to go.”
CHAPTER SIX
; MATT COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d agreed to go. He’d spent the entire day moving through the motions at work, waiting for another call to say she’d changed her mind. Luckily, that call hadn’t come. At least not yet.
In order to get an early start in the morning, he’d already packed a bag, gassed up the truck and made all the necessary arrangements at the clinic. Only one last task to handle. A task that wasn’t unexpected, just poorly timed and highly resented. Exactly why Matt found himself running an errand at 11:00 p.m. on a ten-mile drive he didn’t care to make. But after he’d been summoned a few minutes ago, like always, he’d dropped everything for the weekly parental rescue.
Anyone who didn’t know the back roads might miss the flat-roofed structure with peeling white paint and a sign that read Scruffy Mo’s Bar that hung at an angle above the red door. But he’d been there so many times, he could practically find his way to the place blindfolded. Unfortunately, so could his father.
After parking the truck near the entrance, he made his way into the dive, greeted by the suffocating smell of stale smoke and beer. Even if the place hadn’t been deserted, he wouldn’t have had a problem locating his dad. Ben Boyd had always been a barfly, and that’s where he sat, his head lowered on crossed arms.
The fortysomething mountain-of-a-man proprietor stood on the far side of the room, sweeping the floor as if a passed-out patron was a common occurrence. Probably because it was.
Barely clinging to his last scrap of composure, Matt approached Mo Bailey and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “How long has he been this way?”
Mo leaned the broom against the paneled wall, picked up a chair with one overly tattooed arm and turned it upside down on a table. “About an hour.”
“Why the hell didn’t you cut him off?”
He slicked a hand through his greasy blond hair. “He only had a couple of beers. My guess is he was drinking before he got here.”
Like that wasn’t a given. “From now on, if you even think he’s already had a few, don’t serve him.”
Mo puffed up like a rooster. “Hey, I’m not his keeper. You’re lucky I didn’t call the law.”
Yeah. Real lucky. “Help me get him up and out of here.” He walked to the bar and shook his father’s shoulder. “Wake up, Dad.”
Ben lifted his head and stared at him before recognition finally dawned. “Hi, son. You come to have a drink with your old man?”
“No. I’m here to take my old man home.”
“No fun at all,” he muttered as he slid off the stool and stumbled to one side.
Matt righted him and gripped his left arm, while Mo did the same with the right. Together they practically dragged Ben to the truck and hoisted him inside the cab.
After reluctantly thanking Mo for the help, he slid into the driver’s side and started the truck. He glanced at his dad to discover he was out cold again, the side of his head resting against the passenger window. He continued to sleep—and snore—all the way back to the house where Matt had spent his youth. The house that had once been a home but now served as his father’s self-imposed prison.
He managed to get his dad out of the truck with less effort than it had taken to get him in. But they’d both been there before. Many times. As always, Ben came to long enough for Matt to get him inside and into the bedroom. He helped him undress down to his boxers and undershirt and get into the bed. And the final step of their routine, a wasted father’s empty apology. “Sorry, son. Been a bad day.”
When wasn’t it a bad day? “Go to sleep.”
Ben flipped a hand toward the bedside table. “Set the alarm. Don’t want to be late to work.”
“You retired two years ago.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Matt stared down at the wilted white flower on the pillow that used to belong to his mother. He wondered for the millionth time how it had come to this. How his father had been so consumed by his grief that he could barely function without his wife. Then again, he could relate a little better now that Rachel was gone. But he hadn’t given up completely. “When are you going to stop this, Dad? When you drink yourself into an early grave?”
On cue, the tears began to form in his father’s weary, bloodshot blue eyes. “I miss her, Mattie.”
He hated being called by his childhood name. Hated that he’d assumed the role of his father’s parent during his childhood and it still continued to this day. “I miss her, too, Dad. But she wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself. Not when she fought so hard to live.”
His words fell on deaf ears, he realized when Ben rolled to his side, facing the opposite wall, one arm thrown across the empty space beside him, the sound of his steady breathing echoing in the silent room.
On his way to the bedroom door, Matt paused to survey the shrine set out on the dresser. The whole room could be mired in dust, but not the photographs lined neatly in a row along the marred wooden surface. His mother’s bridal portrait, alongside pictures of their wedding day. Photos of him as a baby in his mother’s arms, before she’d been too weak to hold him. Photos of her during holidays and birthdays and those taken for no reason at all. Harsh reminders that she’d once been able to smile, before the pain had taken her joy away.
After turning off the light and closing the door behind him, Matt made his way into the kitchen to straighten up. He washed the few dishes in the sink, bagged up all the trash and put the plastic sack on the porch to carry off when he left. He tossed in a load of laundry and made a mental note to buy some groceries first thing in the morning, before he set out for Tennessee.
Hell, he might as well stay there and sleep on the sofa, if he could even sleep at all. Not only was he anxious about taking the trip with his wife, everything about his surroundings served as a solid reminder of his childhood. The same old woven rugs still covered the hardwood floors. The same rose wallpaper still hung in the outdated kitchen. A few years back, Rachel had offered to help fix up the place, but his dad would have none of that. He liked things the way they were, so nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.
Before he settled in for the night, Matt had one last remaining task to undertake. He opened the top cupboard above the refrigerator and took down the half-full bottle of cheap vodka. Apparently his dad had given up rotgut whiskey for something a little less obvious. Like anyone would be fooled enough not to know he’d been drinking.
He uncapped the bottle and started to pour it down the drain, but reconsidered. Vodka, straight up, the night before a seven-hour drive, might not be a banner idea, but he needed something to take off the edge. Something to calm him enough to get some rest. After tonight, no more booze, at least for the next few days. He had to convince Rachel he wasn’t heading down his father’s path.
He filled an oversize plastic cup to the brim, set the bottle aside and headed for the living room. After he kicked back on the blue striped sofa, he took a solid swig of the booze. It burned as it slid down his throat, but not as badly as the sudden onslaught of memories when he centered his attention on his mother’s favorite chair. He recalled her constant struggles with multiple sclerosis. Remembered how she’d never complained, even when the pain had been so unbearable, sometimes she hadn’t gotten out of bed for days.
At times he’d wanted to hang out with his friends, but he’d never begrudged helping her when she hadn’t been able to help herself. He’d done all the household chores when she’d been too weak and too tired. He’d served as her legs when she’d become wheelchair-bound for good. He’d been her eyes when her double vision had been so bad, she couldn’t read her favorite poetry.
She’d called him her “tough little guy,” and he’d tried to live up to that. Still, for nights on end he’d buried his face in his pillow and cried. The crying stopped the day of her funeral. In the eighteen years since, he hadn’t shed a tear, not even when he’d lost his son. And his wife still hated him for that.
With his mind racing, Matt set the cup on the coffee table, pulled off his boots, stretched out on the
couch and hoped he could get to sleep without having more to drink. But when he closed his eyes, he could see only Rachel. The familiar ache and overwhelming urge to talk to her sent him upright and reaching for the phone on the end table.
On afterthought, he checked the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Half past midnight. Most likely she was already asleep. Then again, she was inclined to be a night owl, especially when it came to her habit of reading in bed. But she might have turned in early because of the trip. Or she could still be awake, worrying about the trip. If he made the call, three things could happen. She’d ignore him, she’d talk to him or she’d hang up on him. Regardless, he wouldn’t get any rest if he didn’t at least try to get in touch with her.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he dialed her cell. After only one ring, Rachel answered with a breathless “Hello,” as if she’d either been jogging or waiting for his call. Or a call from someone else. That prospect conjured up all sorts of possibilities he didn’t care to consider.
“You’re still up.” Nothing like stating the obvious.
“Yes. I was actually thinking about calling you.”
He suspected that might not be a good thing. “You’ve changed your mind about going.”
“Not at all. In fact, I just finished packing. What are you doing at your dad’s house?”
Damn caller ID. If he told her the entire truth, she might decide to unpack. “Just taking care of a few things for him before we leave tomorrow. What did you need from me?” He could think of one need he’d gladly tend to regardless of the time. Wishful thinking at its best.
“You go first.”
He didn’t know if it was the effect of the booze or the high from hearing her voice, but he couldn’t resist playing with her a little. Too bad it wasn’t literal playing. “What are you wearing?”
“We’re not going there, Matthew.”
He smiled over her taking the bait. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I was inquiring about your attire for the trip.”
“I don’t know. Probably jeans and a T-shirt. Why?”