The Saint's Wife

by Lauren Gallagher

  If she’d ever divorced Chris, she would’ve been a rich whore who’d made off with the wealth of a man who’d been too naively trusting and in love to make a bitch like her sign a prenup.

  The more likely scenario, though, was that she wouldn’t divorce him. Instead, she’d be the rich young widow.

  Groaning softly, Joanna rubbed her forehead. Shame burned in the back of her throat, especially at the memory of David’s dark eyes narrowing with anger and judgment. “I’m serious. I don’t want his money. I just… I just want to be able to breathe again.”

  “So what are you going to do? Are you going back?”

  Joanna shuddered. “I’m not sure. But I should probably decide soon.”

  “Well, you’ll be in the doghouse for a while no matter what. Waiting a few more days probably won’t make much difference.”

  “Yeah, true.” She closed her eyes. “On the other hand, the longer I stay here, the less likely I am to go back.”

  “Then don’t go back.”

  “And if I don’t, I—”

  “Jo. Honey.” She could almost see her sister squaring her shoulders and putting on the “listen up and listen good” look. “That man has treated you like shit for years. Hell, he’s such a toxic bastard, his own body is killing him.”

  Joanna didn’t laugh. Neither did Kaylie—she wasn’t kidding when she’d suspected from the beginning that Chris’s own venom had turned against him and played a role in his cancer.

  Kaylie went on. “You owe him nothing. I don’t care what other people say, especially people who don’t even know you or that asshole you married. You owe him nothing.”

  “But what kind of person am I if I abandon him on—”

  “Are you listening to yourself? If he’s alone on his deathbed, it’s his own doing, not yours. Anything you do is self-preservation, and if someone thinks less of you for that, then fuck them. Chris’s cancer doesn’t negate all the things he’s said and done to you.”

  “And I’ll be the one who’s a social pariah.”

  Kaylie didn’t respond right away, but then exhaled. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

  “I don’t know which is worse, honestly. Divorcing a terminally ill man, or pretending to stay married to him.” Joanna let her head fall back against the wall. “I should’ve divorced him when I had the chance.”

  “You couldn’t have known he was going to get sick.”

  “I think we all knew he was going to get sick,” Joanna whispered.

  “Still.” Kaylie sighed. “Honestly, fuck what everyone else thinks. You know your marriage. You know him. If going back there is going to make you miserable, then don’t. Let people talk.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “So is going back and pretending to be the asshole’s adoring wife.”

  Joanna stared up at the skylight. Her sister had a point.

  “Give it some thought, okay? And call me any time. I’ve got your back.”

  Joanna managed a slight smile. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  After they’d hung up, Joanna set her phone on the landing beside her but didn’t get up. She just kept staring at that rain-battered skylight, her mind going a million miles an hour in a thousand different directions.

  Stay? Go?

  If only it were that simple. Just the thought of walking back through that front door made her stomach turn. She knew all too well how it would go. Everything Chris had ever said or done had long ago been swept under the cancer rug. Only a selfish woman would dredge up the past now. And keeping her on a short leash wasn’t controlling or oppressive. He clearly just wanted to be with her, and with time running out, he deserved as much time with her as he could get. He deserved his wife.

  Instead of holding it against him that he’d cheated on her, a kind and sympathetic wife would forgive, forget, and graciously let him spend some of his precious remaining time pretending their marriage was perfect, and he was a wonderful man who hadn’t fathered some other woman’s child.

  Quit being so selfish, Joanna. What the hell is wrong with you?

  She let her face fall into her hands.

  What choice did she have?

  On the bright side, one of Chris’s few saving graces was discretion, even if it was only to save face for himself. It was unlikely that many people knew she was gone. The last time she’d left—only for a week and a half—friends and family had asked about her, and he’d had answers at the ready. Spa weekend alone. Gone to Paris to find the perfect antique fixtures for the newly remodeled dining room. When he’d finally coaxed her home, no one, not even her own mother, had caught on that anything was wrong.

  But he couldn’t—and likely wouldn’t—keep this on the down low for much longer. Soon, the treatments would dig their claws in again, and the cancer would begin to eat away at him. It could be a few weeks. It could drag on for months. A stubborn man like Chris who’d already beaten the odds before might survive a year. But he’d be weak. Sick.

  And it would only be a matter of time before people started asking where his wife was. Why she wasn’t by his side. Why she didn’t seem to be anywhere near their marital home, never mind next to his bed while the cancer and drugs and surgeries slowly consumed him. No amount of ready-made answers would explain anything without raising more questions.

  Whatever she did now—stay here, go back—she had to make her move soon, because it wouldn’t be long before her presence or absence would mean something.

  There wouldn’t be any decisions made tonight, though.

  Tomorrow, she’d think. She might even act.

  But tonight, there’d be tears.

  And tequila.

  Nothing else.

  Chapter Three

  “Have you talked to her?”

  David hesitated. He paced back and forth in front of the motel bed, crushing a wad of gum between his teeth as he held his cell phone to his ear.

  On the other end, something drummed with a familiar rhythm—Chris’s fingertips on his glass-topped desk, no doubt. Several tiers of employees had been conditioned to break out in a sweat when he started doing that. He didn’t make David nervous—they’d long ago established precisely how little shit David would take from Chris—but he was irritated after meeting with Joanna and didn’t relish the idea of telling his dying friend that his wife was digging her heels in.

  “I went by the house and talked to her, yeah.”

  More tapping. Slower now—code that Chris’s patience was fraying. “And?”

  “And…” David pressed his gum against the roof of his mouth. “I think she’s still processing it. She seemed pretty shocked.”

  Chris released a sharp breath, and the tapping halted. “Shocked, hell. This wasn’t exactly a surprise.”

  David bit back a reminder that Chris himself had been in shock for the last few days. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “If I can take it in, then so can she,” Chris growled. “Try again. You know how she is. Sometimes it takes a while to get through to her.”

  David pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. Chris had said himself that Joanna was more stubborn than he was, and that spoke volumes. After all, the doctors joked—sort of—that Chris had gone into remission the second time because even stage three kidney cancer was no match for his bullheadedness.

  And somehow, David was supposed to persuade a woman even more bullheaded than Chris to come home when she clearly had no inclination to do so. If Chris’s diagnosis couldn’t lure her home, then—

  “David, please,” Chris said quietly.

  David’s stomach dropped. “That’s all?”

  “The specialist said…” Chris fell silent for a full minute. Then he sighed, probably shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the audacity of the universe. “
Six months, tops. Probably…probably less.”

  David exhaled through his nose, pretending he didn’t feel the lump in his throat. They’d been friends since kindergarten. He’d known they’d be friends for life, but even during the first round of cancer, he hadn’t believed they’d run out of time. Not yet.

  He coughed. “That’s with treatment?”

  “Yeah. The immunotherapy might help, but…” Another heavy sigh. “It doesn’t look good.”

  Shit. The lump was undeniable now. They weren’t even forty yet. This was bullshit.

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Me too.” Chris paused. “Will you talk to her again? Please?”

  David cleared his throat. “Yeah, I will.”

  “Thanks, David.”

  “Any time.”

  They ended the call. David dropped his phone on the bed and continued pacing, chewing his gum to keep from grinding his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to be in Joanna’s presence again. If he got in the car right now, he could make it back to Seattle before too late, and then he could be at work on Monday. After all, there was no telling how much time Chris had. They needed to start making arrangements to shift his responsibilities within the company to David and their employees.

  And, damn it, David wanted to spend time with his friend before…before this was over. Trying to drag that ungrateful shrew back to Seattle was not how he wanted to spend what little time was left. For that matter, this was his weekend to have his daughter. Alexandra had been willing to switch with him so he could have Tiffany next weekend, but still. If he didn’t already resent Joanna for how she was treating Chris, he did for keeping him away from his little girl.

  But this was about Chris, not him, and Chris desperately wanted his wife by his side. Tomorrow, David would go back to the cabin and try his damnedest to persuade her to come home. From there, it was up to the couple—David had only agreed to this because Chris could no longer travel even this far, and Joanna wasn’t responding to e-mails or phone calls. Hell, she didn’t even respond to finding out her husband wanted her back because he was dying.

  Oh, fuck this.

  David snatched his phone and keys off the bed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He drove through the rain to the familiar muddy road and the long driveway, and parked beside the spot where Chris always parked.

  He took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the door hard enough to make his knuckles smart.

  To his surprise, her silhouette appeared on the other side of the frosted glass. Joanna opened the door and glared up at him. “I guess your handler doesn’t want you to give up, does he?”

  David narrowed his eyes. “This is serious, Joanna.”

  She flew across the threshold and was suddenly right in his face, eyes on fire with fury. “You don’t think I understand that?”

  “If—If you do, then why the hell are you still here?”

  Her lips pulled tight. “If you have to ask me that, then you don’t know a damned thing about my marriage.”

  He glared down at her. “I know that the man you vowed to love in sickness and in health is sick, scared and running out of time, and the only thing he wants is for—”

  “Is for his favorite little bauble to be there so he has a trophy wife right to the end?” she hissed.

  David drew away, staring back at her in disbelief. For a long moment, they locked eyes, but neither spoke.

  Then she fidgeted, hugging herself tight. Her voice was surprisingly soft when she broke the silence. “How is he doing? I mean, obviously the cancer’s back, but…”

  David shifted uncomfortably. “He, uh, he looked pretty good yesterday. He’s lost weight recently, though.”

  She flinched. “He didn’t have much to lose in the first place.”

  “I know. That’s why he wants to see you.” David struggled to keep his voice even, not to mention gentle. “The doctors say he has a few months. Six at most.”

  Another flinch.

  “Anything could happen now.” David swallowed. “Please, Joanna. He wants to see you.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you to ask why I’m so resistant to go home to my husband when he’s dying.”

  David chewed the inside of his cheek, wishing he hadn’t left his gum in the car again. “I know things are rough between you two.”

  “Rough?” She laughed dryly. “That ship sailed a long time ago.”

  Grinding his teeth, David thumbed the place his wedding ring used to be. “He’s a good man, Joanna. He deserves better than—”

  “Save it,” she snapped.

  He took a breath and was ready to let fly, but the way she lifted her chin to glare at him let the porch light illuminate her eyes and the hint of redness around their edges. He released that breath, then slowly drew another. “Listen, let’s sit down and talk. This seems too big to handle in a doorway.”

  Joanna scowled. He braced for the dismissal—and the door slamming in his face—but then her shoulders sagged. “Fine.” She stood aside. “Come in.”

  In the foyer, they faced each other again, but he wasn’t sure what to say now.

  She shifted her weight. “Can I, um, get you a cup of coffee or something?”

  Well, at least that would give him time to think. “You know, I think I will take a cup this time. Thanks.”

  Joanna broke eye contact and headed into the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow. As he did, he tried not to take in their surroundings. He’d helped Chris remodel this place, gutting the hideous living room and kitchen and replacing them with something more rustic and charming. Joanna hadn’t been impressed by the new look, but she must’ve gotten used to it if she’d been living here for the past few months.

  While Joanna poured coffee into two mugs, David noticed a bottle of Cuervo Gold on the table. There was a glass beside it, but he couldn’t tell if it had been used recently. The chair had been pulled out, as if someone had been sitting there and forgotten to push the chair back in after getting up.

  He glanced at Joanna’s back. Was that why her eyes were red? No, it couldn’t be. She was far too steady on her feet. He didn’t smell any alcohol on her or in the room.

  And suddenly that tequila was a hell of a lot more tempting than the coffee.

  Joanna turned around and handed him a cup. She’d known him long enough to know he took it black, so she didn’t offer any cream or sugar. To his surprise, she was drinking hers black too—she’d always been the type to, as Chris often remarked, pollute her coffee until it was unfit for human consumption.

  They drank quietly for a moment.

  Finally, David set the cup down. “So, what are you planning on doing?”

  She looked at him over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. Lowering the mug, she said, “I’m not really sure what I can do.” Her eyes added, Besides coming home.

  He resisted the urge to sigh impatiently. “So you’re just going to stay down here? Wait for someone to call you and tell you he’s gone?”

  Her full-body flinch surprised him. She lowered her gaze, thumbing the handle on her coffee cup. “This isn’t as simple as you might think.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t.” She looked at him through her lashes. “My marriage is over. If you can’t see that, then you’re even more blind than I thought.”

  “For God’s sake, Joanna. If you were that unhappy, why didn’t you divorce him?”

  Her features hardened. “Is that what you think I should do now?” She set the coffee cup down hard enough to make him jump. “Divorce my terminally ill husband?”

  “Now? No. Of course not. But if you were miserable, why didn’t you leave him instead of just running away from him?” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides the obvious difference in financial repercussions
?”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you suggesting…”

  “Prove me wrong.”

  She pressed her lips together, her arms tightening across her chest.

  Anger surged inside him. That’s what I thought. “Just—”

  “I want to show you something.” She didn’t give him a chance to agree or protest before she brushed past him.

  He followed her up the stairs and down the hall to one of the back bedrooms.

  As she pushed open the door, she said over her shoulder, “You want to know what I’ve been doing since I came here?”

  David said nothing as he followed her into the room.

  She picked up a thick book off the desk and held it out to him.

  He hesitated. Then he took it. “Fundamentals of Business Management & Strategies?”

  “And Business Essentials.” She read off the others as she went through the stack. “Economics: A New Approach. Principles of Algebra.”

  He eyed the book in his hand, then the ones on the desk. And the laptop perched beside them. The pens. Notebooks. Rubber-banded stacks of index cards. Several loose leaf pages covered in notes. “You’re…”

  “Studying.” She held out her hand, and as he gave the book back, added, “For my bachelor’s degree.”

  “Your…” He looked at the textbook, then back at her. “I don’t understand. Your husband’s estate is on par with the GDP of some countries.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the money.” She tossed the book onto her desk. “The only identity I’ve had for the last fifteen years is Chris McQuaid’s wife. I’m not even my own person anymore. I’m just…someone’s wife. A goddamned trophy wife, for that matter.”

  “But it isn’t like you’ll have to work.”

  “What do you expect me to do when he’s gone? Sit around and spend someone else’s money?” She shook her head. “I need something that’s mine.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “With an education financed by your husband?”

  Joanna set her jaw. “I’ve been married to that son of a bitch for my entire adult life. I’ve stood there and looked pretty just like he told me to, worked my ass off to make sure my body looks the way he thinks it should, and lost touch with every single one of my friends because he decided I didn’t need those people in my life.” When she met his eyes again, there was a faint shine in hers. “Are you really going to begrudge me spending a few thousand dollars of his fortune so my life can actually be mine again?”