by Peggy Jaeger
When he shook his head and grinned, a warm, liquid pleasure shot straight through me.
****
In the end, he didn’t stay. Nothing Maureen, me, or anyone else said could convince him to. With a final word of condolence, and a request to text when I was up to going through all the locker boxes again, he left.
After being fed and petted and cared for by my family, I’d gone to bed for the very first time in this house, alone. No husband. No dog. When I was huddled down under the covers, I let my grief loose and cried until I had no tears left to shed.
My life was nothing like I’d envisioned it would be at this age. Widowed, childless, lonely for the comfort and love of a man by my side. No happily ever after, no lifetime companion. I had myself a real pity-party for one while I lay there, staring up at the ceiling and letting my tears flow without issue. In the span of three short years, I’d lost my husband, a sister, a dog who meant more to me than most people did, and—by virtue of their decampment south—my parents. How do people soldier on when they’re faced with such insurmountable loss?
With exhaustion gripping me, I finally fell asleep.
When I lifted my head from the pillow and shielded my eyes from the harsh, stark light shining through my bedroom window curtain, I groaned. In a heartbeat came the realization George was gone. Determined not to let my sadness overtake me again, I did something Nanny Fee has instructed often when we’ve had to deal with issues we’d rather not: I girded my loins. As a kid, I hadn’t a clue what she’d meant.
As a grown-ass woman, I had a fairly good idea.
Okay, in reality? I closed my eyes again, took a whopping deep breath, and then let it out, super slow. There. Emotions in check, thoughts calmed. Almost ready to start the day.
An hour later, showered, two mugs of caffeine on board, and with half a scone Maureen left in my fridge devoured, I drove to Seldrine’s house to pick her up for her meeting.
She’d heard about George from Nanny after Colleen had called our grandmother to tell her.
Remember the curse and the blessing of living in a small town?
“I’m really sorry, Cathy. I feel bad you have to drive me every day. I wish Judge Dupont hadn’t made you do it.”
“No worries,” I said. “This way we get a chance to chat about how things are going. How are your kids? They all settled in at your folks’?”
A deep breath huffed from her. “The kids are confused. They keep asking why can’t they come home, sleep in their own beds. I tell them this is like sleep-away camp only with Grandma and Grandpa instead of counselors. It’s a special treat, but I don’t think they’re buying it. Especially Cullen.”
Seldrine’s four children ranged in age from four years to nine, Cullen the oldest.
“He’s a smart kid, Sel. And he remembers what life was like with Cam.”
“Too much so. In the beginning, after Cam got locked up, Cullen wouldn’t go to sleep. He’d be exhausted and cranky but pushed to stay awake as long as he could.”
“Why?”
“He told me he was worried Daddy was gonna come home and start hitting me again. He wanted to protect me.”
“Oh, sweetie.” I reached across the cab of my car and squeezed her hand.
Seldrine’s free hand slammed down on mine. “I’m wicked pissed at myself for allowing Cam’s letter to get to me. For ever taking a drink. I just wanted to…run away. Someplace he wouldn’t be able to find me, torture me. I was only thinking about myself, about my pain, my fears. I never considered what it’d do to the kids and their lives. And look where being selfish got me. I might lose my kids. Christ. I’m such a loser.”
“Stop saying things like that.” I channeled Nanny’s stern, catechism-instructor voice. It worked. Seldrine stopped castigating herself and gaped at me. “You did what you did. You can’t change what happened. You can only get over it and work to make it better. Understand?”
Speechless, she nodded.
I pulled the car into the front U-shaped driveway of the church, put it in park, and left the engine running. “By going to these meetings every day, by keeping your job and continuing with your education, you’re negating the one momentary lapse you had. You will get your kids back. I believe it. I know it in my heart.” And I meant it. “You will get through this. Focus on one day at a time. Nothing else. Okay?”
It was advice I’d given myself more than once in the past three years.
Seldrine squeezed my hand and sniffed. “Thanks, Cathy. For everything.”
I pulled her in for a hug. When I let her go, a familiar figure bounded up the front church steps to greet my parish priest, Father Duncan, at the main door.
Seldrine must have noticed me stiffen, because she pulled back and turned to look out the window. “Him,” she said. The word was filled with rancor.
“What do mean?”
“Mac.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“How do you know his first name?”
“Simple. I don’t know his last. Anonymous, remember?”
It took me a moment.
“Wait. You mean…?” My gaze shot to the front steps again. Frayne stepped into the church with my priest.
“Yeah. He’s a Friend of Bill, like me. What? You didn’t know?”
“I had no idea.”
“Huh. I figured you’d sent him to, you know, keep an eye on me. Make sure I actually went into the meetings and not cut out after you dropped me off.”
I stared at her. Hard. “I would never do that, Seldrine. I trust you.”
An embarrassed rose colored her cheeks.
“So he’s been at the same meetings as you?”
“Yup. Doesn’t talk much. Share, you know? Father Duncan tries to get him to testify, but—” She shrugged. “He listens mostly. Stuck in his head. You know?”
Frayne to a T.
“You’d better get inside,” I said. “You can’t be late.”
The frigid air blasting through the open door when she got out of my car shot right to my bone marrow.
After she entered the church, I drove to my office.
Martha greeted me with hugs and condolences ( Maureen had called to tell her about George) and a notice that one of the guardianship cases I’d been working on had developed a snag. I made a quick call to Lucas and then the courthouse.
The rest of the day was filled with client appointments and writing briefs for upcoming cases. I made it through most of it on a fairly even keel, not letting my thoughts drift to George. The moment I walked back into my house, though, it all came back.
There was such a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. While I was used to being alone with just my dog for company, I was never lonely. Even after Danny died, I could truthfully say I was content by myself. George was a companion—a silent one to be sure—but always there in the background with me. I wasn’t alone.
And now I was.
The tears I’d been able to keep contained all day broke free. In the shower, I let them fall without constraint. After climbing into bed without dinner, my head hurt too much with emotions barreling through it, so I simply closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Three days after George died, I was better able to deal with my loss and didn’t feel like crying every other second. My sisters had both texted me daily, and Maureen had dropped off a week’s worth of food while I’d been at the office.
Friday morning dawned, and I replayed the busy day’s schedule in my head. Within an hour after I was showered and dressed, I was standing back in Asa Dupont’s courtroom. As I was mentally preparing how I wanted to argue the case, I received a text.
—Are you free to go over the Heaven artifacts?—Frayne wrote. It was the first time I’d heard from him since he’d left my house the day George died.
—In court. Don’t know how long I’ll be.—
After I hit send, Asa walked into the courtroom, and I shut my phone to silent mode.
When we were done, I l
eft the courtroom to find Frayne out in the hallway.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said. “I figured you’d be working at the museum.”
“I was hoping to spend some time today going through Robert’s things, and I was wondering if you’d allow me to do it at your house while you’re working.”
“My house?”
“Yeah. I’ve exhausted everything in the public files, but I haven’t wanted to bother you. I wanted to give you some space, but I can’t go any further with the archival stuff. I realize you’re supposed to be present at all times when I go through any personal property, but I thought since the stuff isn’t officially logged in yet, maybe you’d make an exception. I realize it’s asking a lot, but…”
I knew I shouldn’t. If Clara Johnson ever found out I’d let someone go through items unsupervised, I’d never hear the end of it. But I was tied up all day and this unexpected court visit had put me back several hours.
“Sure,” I told him.
Surprise kicked the shadows out of his eyes.
“There’s a spare key under the sconce on the outside garage wall. It lets you in through the kitchen door. Everything is still in the dining room.”
He stuffed his hands into his coat pocket. “You don’t mind? Me being in your house without you?”
I shook my head.
“You won’t get…in trouble with the historical society if you’re not with me, overseeing my work?”
I wanted to say what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them (or me) but thought better of it and simply said, “It’s fine. Do me a favor and don’t remove anything from the house, okay? We still need to get it all catalogued.”
“I promise I won’t.”
An awkward silence blossomed between us.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll let you get back to work. Thank you.”
He gave me a tense head bob and then walked away. After a few steps, he stopped, turned and, over his shoulder said, “Thank you,” again.
Chapter 10
There was a note on the kitchen table when I got home.
Thank you for letting me do this. I started putting Robert’s journals in date order. Left everything on the dining room table. I think we need to go through this all together, though. Let me know when you’re free. Mac.
He’d brought in the remainder of the boxes and containers we’d unloaded in the garage and had started going through them. Sticky notes with the contents of each box were adhered to the tops. Everything was orderly and neat.
I thought about the shaggy hair many weeks beyond a trim, the battered sneakers with the tattered laces that had seen better days, even the pullover with the moth holes. Frayne took care with the things he thought were important, like these artifacts, but neglected himself. Why that facet of his personality was endearing, I couldn’t fathom, but it was. He reminded me of a wounded little boy who needed looking after, warm hugs, and lots of attention.
In my home office, I booted up my laptop and finally typed in a search of his name. Dozens of articles were listed, most centering on his writing work. I hadn’t known in addition to the biography of Emily Dickinson, he’d also penned three bios on eighteenth- and nineteenth-century American writers and poets plus one president. I narrowed my field of inquiry down to the deaths of his wife and daughter and started reading.
An hour later, I forced myself to stop.
I was no longer surprised about the loathing he exhibited for the judicial system. If what I’d read had happened to me, I would have been a nonbeliever in justice as well.
In my bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and then slipped back into my coat. Ten minutes later, I was at Inn Heaven. My youngest sister was in her kitchen putting the final touches on an elaborate wedding cake for the weekend wedding Colleen was in charge of and at which I was officiating.
“Hey. This is a surprise,” Maureen said when I kissed her cheek. “How are you doing? Have you eaten yet?”
“I’m good. Listen,” I said. “Is Frayne in?”
“Yeah. He was in the gym for a while. Sarah said she saw him go back up to his room a few minutes ago. Why?”
“I need to talk to him about something. What room is he in?”
“Blue-one.”
“Thanks. That, by the way”—I pointed to the four-tiered cake as I left the kitchen—“looks fabulous.”
I sprinted up the main staircase, which was reminiscent of Scarlet and Rhett’s red-carpeted one in the movie version of Gone with the Wind. Nanny referred to the color as harlot scarlet, and she wasn’t wrong.
I knocked on Frayne’s door, running over in my head what I wanted to say, and then lost the capacity to think at all when the door opened.
All thoughts of him resembling an emotionally damaged little boy dashed out the window when he stood before me with a towel secured around his trim waist, another in his hand, mopping the water drenching his hair and sluicing down his body.
And, Holy Mother of God, what a body.
Broad and thick shoulders connected to arms with biceps as wide as my thighs. His chest was a solid mass of muscle, scattered with thick, damp, curly black hair dropping all the way down to below his belly button and disappearing under the towel. Where in all creation had he gotten those abs? Perfect grooved trenches lined both sides of his torso and waist, and for a moment I had the ridiculous notion they were fake.
But they weren’t.
Who knew those baggy, worn pullovers and tattered jeans covered a body carved from marble and perfect in every way? The idea blew through my mind that this was how Lois felt the first time she got a gander at what was under Clark’s suits.
“Cathy?”
I had to drag my eyes back up to his face.
A look of befuddlement crossed his features as he rubbed the extra towel over his hair. “What are you doing here?”
“I—” Words wouldn’t form. By an unseen force, my gaze was dragged back down to his mind-boggling chest.
Frayne repeated my name.
“I wanted…”
His eyes widened, and he dropped his chin as he regarded me. “Yes?”
“Um.”
Okay, this had to stop. I was a lawyer, for pity’s sake. I made my living with my ability to form complete and convincing sentences.
I cleared my throat and then my mind. “I wanted to take you to dinner. I-I never got the chance to thank you for being so kind the other day. And you didn’t stay afterward, so I want to buy you a meal. Dinner. To thank you.”
Good gravy. One minute I couldn’t string words into a coherent sentence, and now I was talking like my mouth was having difficulty keeping up with my brain.
He slung the extra towel across his shoulders and neck and casually grabbed onto the ends. “You don’t have to. It’s not necessary.”
“No, it’s not,” I countered. “But I’d like to.”
A silent debate played over his face. His teeth clamped down on a corner of his mouth, and he’d cocked his head like he was going to ask me a question. Before he could refuse me again, because it sure looked like he was going to, I added, “Please.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. Give me a few minutes to get dressed. I just got out of the shower.”
Yeah, that was obvious.
I told him I’d meet him downstairs whenever he was ready.
When the door closed behind him, I fanned myself to cool the raging heat of the desert storm cycloning through my system.
Mac Frayne might look like an absent-minded, desk-bound writer, but those shabby clothes hid the truth: the man possessed the hard, sculpted body of a god.
Who knew?
“Back already?” Maureen asked when I came into the kitchen again.
“I’m waiting for Frayne.”
She piped a row of creamy white seashell scallops along the bottom tier of the cake.
“You do that so fast,” I said.
Her shrug was careless.
“Practice.”
I sat at the kitchen table and watched her work.
“Nanny called me a little while ago,” she said when she switched decorating tips. “Her scone supply has dwindled. Can you drop off a box from me? I’m swamped from now until Sunday with Colleen’s wedding party, plus my regular guests.”
“Do you have them ready? I’ll drop them off tonight before I head home.”
She pointed with her chin to a large bakery box sitting atop the counter. When I lifted the top, the delicious aroma of a dozen scones of varying flavors hit me and made my empty stomach growl with need.
“I heard that,” Maureen said, never lifting her head from her work. “I thought you ate.”
“I’m planning to in a few minutes. I’m taking Frayne with me.”
For the first time, she stopped working on the cake. Turning, the piping bag suspended in her hands, my youngest sister’s eyes widened as she stared across at me.
“What?”
“Since when do you take a man out to dinner?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that. He helped me a great deal with George. I simply want to thank him, and since he’s here all alone and you don’t cook dinner for your guests as a rule, I figured buying him a meal would be a nice gesture.”
She didn’t reply.
“Why are you looking at me like I have three heads?”
“A nice gesture?”
“Yeah. A way of saying thanks for the help.”
“Hmmm.”
Remember I said my little sister was the one who routinely kept her thoughts and emotions close? Who never let anyone see what she was thinking or going through? Well, right now, standing in her kitchen with a pastry bag gripped in her hand, the look on her face was as clear and transparent as fresh seawater pooling around a Caribbean island.
“Stop,” I commanded. “Just…stop.”
With a tiny tilt of her head, she asked, “Stop what?”
“The whole plot scenario I know is raging through your brain right now.”
One corner of her mouth tipped upward, and a tiny, knowing smile tugged at her lips.
“This is a simple thank you-for-helping-me-through-something-horrible meal. That’s all.”