Private Partners

by Gina Wilkins

  He sounded exhausted and…sad? “How is your father?”

  The faintest of exhales sounded through the very long distance between them, preparing her for his reply. “He didn’t make it, Annie. He died an hour before I arrived.”

  And Liam hadn’t had the chance to tell him goodbye.

  Her eyes filled. “Oh, Liam, I’m so sorry.”

  Liam’s relationship with his father, Duncan McCright, had been complicated, to say the least. He’d barely known the man who’d left the country when Liam was just a child. They had reconnected five years ago—not long after she and Liam had broken up in college and had kept in touch since.

  Liam had told her his father had expressed regrets at his actions after the divorce, and for the alcoholism that had separated him from his wife and his son and from everyone else who had cared about him. Duncan had been sober for ten years. He and Liam had seen each other several times during the past five and had healed a lot of old wounds. Their connection hadn’t been a close one, exactly, but had been growing more so.

  She’d met Duncan herself that summer before medical school when she and Liam had been together in London. Despite his flaws, she had liked Duncan very much, seeing in him many of the same qualities she’d always admired in Liam.

  If only there had been more time….

  The thought of losing her own dad so abruptly filled her with even greater sadness. “Are you all right? Is there anything I can do for you? Are you sure you don’t need me there?”

  “No, that’s still not necessary. But it still means a lot that you’ve offered.” His voice was husky with a mixture of emotion and weariness.

  “You’d do the same for me.”

  It bothered her that both times she had offered to join him, she had suspected he would turn her down. Had that made it easier for her to volunteer? Would she have dropped everything, risked falling behind in her classes to go with him? She wanted to believe she would.

  Did Liam have faith that she would have chosen his needs over her own, if she’d had to make the choice?

  Pushing those concerns aside, she asked quietly, “Do you want to talk?”

  “I will, later. Right now I just need to crash for a while—and you have to be in class in an hour. After I’ve had some rest, I’ll have to deal with Dad’s estate, not that there’s much to settle.”

  “Rest well, then. Call when you have time.”

  “I will. I love you, Annie.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “By the way—look under your bed when you have a minute. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He hung up before she could ask why he wanted her to look under the bed.

  Wiping tears from her cheek, and swallowing a sob she hadn’t wanted him to hear, she went into her bedroom and knelt to peer under the bed. She found a large white box there.

  Liam hadn’t forgotten Valentine’s Day after all, she realized, opening the box to find a large, pink envelope sitting on top of something wrapped in sheets of white tissue. Her name was written on the envelope. The card depicted a bouquet of roses. A sappy but sweet poem was printed inside. Beneath that, Liam had written his own Valentine’s Day greeting, signing it with love.

  A lump in her throat, she unfolded the tissue to reveal an exquisitely beautiful nightgown and robe set in the palest pink satin. Delicate lace decorated the bodice. She ran a fingertip along the intricate pattern, admiring the handiwork. It was a beautiful set, so very pretty that she knew she would never wear it unless he was there to admire her in it.

  She clutched the delicate garments to her breast and huddled over them, sobbing in earnest now. She cried for Liam, for his loss of the father he’d only just begun to know. And she cried because she was tired and confused, facing a future that seemed to hold only more stress and conflict and uncertainty.

  After several moments, she forced herself to stop crying and went into the bathroom to wash her face, leaving the gift on the bed. Despite her emotions, she had to go to class. Had to somehow hide her feelings from her friends and concentrate on her studies. That seemed to be the only productive action she could take just then.

  Chapter Seven

  Liam stood in a fine mist, making no effort to stay dry as he lingered in the little church cemetery, staring grimly down at the mound of dirt at his feet. A few flowers, already wilting around the edges, were arranged on the grave. The handful of mourners who had attended his father’s funeral had departed. Some would gather for a late lunch at the home of his father’s only sibling, Maura Magee. Liam had been invited to join them, but he’d asked for a little time alone first.

  He didn’t know his father’s family very well. He’d hardly known his dad. His feelings for the man were still so complicated he could barely understand them himself. Had he loved his father? Maybe, in a vague, obligatory manner. Had he liked him? Yes. More with passing time, as he’d come to better understand the demons that had driven Duncan from his home, from his family. From his son.

  Duncan had been reluctant to talk much about his past, but he’d confessed to Liam a few years ago that he’d grown up with an angry, abusive, alcoholic father, that he’d been tormented by childhood classmates, that he’d escaped his problems by running away. First to another country, and then into the bottom of a bottle—many bottles. When his drinking had destroyed his marriage to the only woman he’d ever loved—Liam’s mother—he’d run away again, traveling aimlessly from place to place until he’d ended up back where he’d begun. Only then had he begun to face his past, with the help of his sister and a few old friends who had still cared about him.

  It had been too late to make amends with his wife, but he’d still had a chance with his son, he’d told Liam tearfully. Perhaps they could learn to be friends, if not the sort of father-son relationship he would have liked. Liam supposed they had been friends at the end.

  He wished he’d had time to bid his father goodbye. To tell him that, though the old pain of abandonment was still raw, Liam had tried to understand and to forgive.

  He’d missed that opportunity by one hour, he thought bleakly. One measly hour, damn it.

  “Sorry, Da,” he murmured, kneeling to lay the white flower in his hand on the freshly turned dirt. “I tried to be here. I hope you knew that.”

  He felt very much alone when he straightened. Alone in the cemetery. Alone in the world, somehow. Which was ridiculous, of course, considering he’d never had a close relationship with his father. He had more friends and business associates than he could even count. He had a wife.

  Yet none of them were with him now. None of them would be there when he walked into his rarely occupied apartment back in New York.

  He’d told himself he was the luckiest guy on Earth. That he had the best of both worlds. He was a footloose bachelor with a great wife. He’d had family, but loosely enough that he didn’t have to worry about pleasing them or compromising for them. He had a home, but he’d been free to travel the world on a whim. He had a job most people only dreamed of, yet enough free time to pursue other dreams, like his writing. He even had a deal pending for his first book, once he got past whatever block was keeping him from tackling those revisions. What more could he want?

  Pushing his hands into his pockets, he turned away from the grave, reminding himself that nothing in his life had really changed all that much. He was still a lucky guy. He could go to New York, call up some friends, spend an evening out on the town. Or he could head back to Little Rock and spend several quiet, private evenings with Anne. The best of both worlds.

  He should probably go back to New York. His presence had obviously been a distraction to Anne, though she was too generous to complain. He knew she’d been worried her family would find out about him, which wasn’t something he wanted just now, either. And it wasn’t as if he’d gotten anything done at her place, anyway. He and Anne could get together later, after she’d finished her classes for the semester, after she’d taken the dreaded Step 1 exam in June. That was o
nly four months away; they would both be fine on their own until they had a chance to snatch a few precious days together.

  So, he would go back to New York. To his nice, small, very empty apartment there.

  Yet he had the depressing feeling that making that choice would be acknowledging defeat in his marriage.

  Pushing a hand through his short, damp hair, he left the cemetery with a heavy void in his chest he didn’t want to contemplate too closely. He had to make a decision before he left Ireland, and he didn’t have a clue what the best choice would be.

  Anne parked in her apartment lot at almost eleven Thursday night after a long and exhausting study session. The group had all agreed that this cycle’s material was particularly evil—so much to learn, so little time to do so. They’d barely gotten started on the information that would be on next week’s test, and already she wondered how she would ever remember it all.

  She glanced up at her apartment. Only one light burned in the window, the lamp she left on a timer so she didn’t have to enter a dark room when she came home late. The bedroom window was dark, as she expected. Most of the apartments around hers were also dark, considering the late hour.

  She’d heard from Liam only once since he’d called Monday morning. He’d called Wednesday morning to reassure her that he was fine, and still in the process of taking care of his father’s affairs. He wasn’t sure when he’d get back to the States, nor had he decided at that time where he would go when he returned. Though she had assured him he was welcome to come back to her apartment to continue working on his revisions, she’d gotten the impression he’d pretty much decided to go to New York. She suspected he thought that choice would be better for her sake—but maybe he believed it was the best decision for himself, as well.

  She would eventually grow accustomed to his absence again, she assured herself as she trudged up the stairs. After all, he’d spent only a little over a week with her. Soon it would seem entirely normal to come home to an empty apartment, to go for days or even weeks without hearing Liam’s voice. And maybe she would see him in the summer, after her Step 1 exam. Although, her rotations would begin early in July, so there wouldn’t be a lot of time to spare.

  Vaguely depressed, she unlocked her door and walked inside.

  She paused just inside her doorway, her head cocked, her instincts on alert. The apartment was dark and quiet, as she had expected. The light from the one lamp didn’t show anything out of place. There was no evidence that anyone had been inside the apartment while she was out—and yet, somehow, she sensed someone had been there.

  Slipping out of her shoes, she tiptoed to the open bedroom door. The lights were off in the room, but the night-light in the attached bathroom provided just enough pale illumination for her to see the dark shape on her bed. Still making no sound, she crept closer.

  Fully dressed except for his shoes, Liam lay on his side on top of the covers, as though he’d intended to lie down only for a few minutes. She could just see his face in the shadows. Even in sleep, exhaustion carved deep lines into his forehead and around his mouth. His breathing was heavy and even, telling her he slept so soundly that he was unaware of her presence.

  Seeing him there, she realized that she hadn’t really expected him to come back, despite his indecision on the phone. She’d been prepared for him to call from New York to tell her he’d chosen to finish his work from his apartment there. She’d have been no more surprised had he called from Malaysia or New Zealand.

  Yet he was here. In her bed. Only then could she allow herself to admit to herself how very much she had wanted him to come back.

  He never stirred when she slipped into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, nor when she stripped out of her clothes and donned her nightgown. Pulling a blanket from a shelf in the closet, she spread it over him, then climbed beneath it with him.

  He roused a little when she settled next to him.

  “Annie?” His voice was thick, the syllables slurred.

  “Yes, it’s me. Go back to sleep.”

  “Hope you don’t mind—I couldn’t go back to New York yet. Didn’t want to be alone now.”

  She touched his face, her heart aching for him. “I don’t mind at all.”

  His voice was growing fainter. “Didn’t want to leave things like they were. That stupid quarrel we had—”

  “Shh.” Snuggling her head into his shoulder, she wrapped an arm around him. “Go back to sleep, Liam. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He pulled her more closely into him. Barely a minute passed before he was deeply asleep again.

  Anne lay awake for a while longer, staring at the darkened ceiling and listening to Liam breathe.

  Liam was drinking coffee when Anne walked into the kitchen Friday morning. She wore a casual shirt and jeans, and her hair was still damp from her shower. She had applied a little makeup, not that she needed any. Apparently, she would be in classes all day today since she wasn’t dressed to see patients.

  “Good morning, Annie.”

  She smiled, though she searched his face as if gauging his well-being. “Good morning.”

  He bent his head to brush a kiss across her lips, all he would allow himself because he knew she hadn’t much spare time. “Sorry I conked out on you last night. I meant to lie down for only a few minutes, but I guess I went unconscious. I barely remember you getting into bed with me. Or I suppose I should say, onto the bed with me. I didn’t even turn the covers back when I laid down.”

  “You must have been exhausted.”

  “I guess I was.”

  She reached up to rest her hands on his shoulders, her expression somber now. “I’m so very sorry about your father. Are you okay?”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “I’m fine. But thank you.”

  “If you need to talk about it, I can skip classes this morning. Haley will share her notes with me.”

  Touched by the offer, he shook his head. “No way. Have your breakfast and then go to class. We can catch up when you have a few spare minutes.”

  “You’re sure? Because—”

  “Annie,” he cut in, speaking firmly now, “I’m sure.”

  After hesitating only a moment longer, she poured herself a cup of coffee. “How was your family in Ireland? Your aunt Maura—is she well?”

  “Yes, she looked great. The others were all fine, too—what few there are. Not many left of Dad’s family.”

  Leaning against the counter, she took a tentative sip of her hot coffee before asking, “You got all his affairs settled?”

  “It didn’t take long,” he replied with a slight shrug. “Dad didn’t have much to settle. I gave most of his things away. I kept the pocket watch that had belonged to his dad, a locket that was his mother’s and a few small mementoes of his time with my mother and me—pictures, mostly. Nothing particularly valuable, other than sentiment.”

  Her tone was sad when she said quietly, “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to tell him goodbye. That must have hurt you.”

  He kept his gaze focused on his own coffee cup. He didn’t want to upset her before her classes by letting her see exactly how much that still bothered him. “I wish I could have been there a little earlier. Aunt Maura told him I was on my way, so at least he knew I was trying. He left a message for me through her.”

  “Did he?”

  He could tell she wanted to ask, but didn’t want to pry. He didn’t like that slight distance between them, that cautious hesitation that shouldn’t exist between a husband and wife. “Yes. He asked her to tell me that he loved me, that he was proud of me and that he was sorry for his paternal shortcomings. She said he seemed to know somehow that he wouldn’t be able to tell me those things himself.”

  Tears glazed her eyes when he glanced up at her from across the table. “Oh, Liam—”

  He managed a weak smile for her. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’m glad Dad and I were able to make our peace before he died, but it isn’t as if he was a part
of my life even then. I’ve only seen him a few times since we reconnected.”

  “I know. But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded and reached for his coffee, then deliberately changed the subject. “What about you? How’s it been going this week? Are the classes any easier than they were for the last unit?”

  “No, not really. But I guess I’m keeping up.”

  Something in her voice made his eyebrows rise. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nope. She was still holding something back. “Annie.”

  She sighed. “It’s just—well, something seems a little off with my study group. It’s bothering me a little.”

  “Off? In what way?”

  “I can’t describe it, exactly. It just feels as though something is changing. We don’t seem to be as comfortable together as we have in the past. I don’t know if it’s the stress getting to everyone, or what, but there’s a tension that hasn’t been there before. Like I said, it bothers me.”

  “Maybe you’ve all been spending a little too much time together,” he suggested. “Maybe you should all take a break.”

  “Maybe,” she agreed reluctantly. “But there’s so much studying to do. And it’s easier to study together than alone most of the time. Someone always has an answer when the others are stuck, or an explanation for something that’s confusing someone else. One of us catches something the others miss, or has a clever method of remembering something that helps the rest of us remember, too. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past semesters without them.”

  “I’m sure it will pass. You’ve all gotten too close to let it fall apart now. Like you said, it’s probably just the stress.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” But she didn’t look entirely convinced.

  “You should all do something fun after the next test. Maybe throw a party or go out for pizza and beer or something. You could have the party here. I could clear out for an evening.”