The comfort vanished. She dropped her head onto her Bible, groaning. She didn’t deserve protection. There was injustice in her hands. She was guilty.
She’d kept Davis and Patty from their grandson.
She’d kept Mike from his child.
She’d lived life for herself.
The words she’d thrown at Mike before heading to Ben and Dana’s home had replayed steadily in her head. The familiarity of her challenge to their battles in Texas had shocked her and brought her face to face with herself.
And selfishness, for the first time, reflected clearly in her mirror. She’d tended her own desires, had made her own schedule, had not cared about the constant conflict with Mike’s job or his frustration with her all-consuming goals. When he’d asked her to slow down and make time for him, she’d told him no. He could wait until her class ended or the project was completed.
But there’d always been another project. Another class.
She’d even used him to fulfill her dreams. Meg groaned, burying her face in her hands. Yes, she’d loved him. Of course she had. But part of her decision to marry him was based on his signing bonus. He could afford her school bills while her parents could not. He could afford her decorating dreams—
Had she really gone into marriage with the sole purpose of taking?
Meg set her Bible aside and rubbed icy hands over her cheeks. How had she never seen this? For years she’d known—known!—that Mike had been the problem. He was the one who’d broken their vows.
Now it was hard to ignore that her selfish neglect might have driven him away.
Not that it excused what he’d done. She sniffed. Wiped her nose. No man could justify having an affair on his wife. Abandoning a wife like Mike had.
Still, she felt hollow inside. She wedged her trembling hands between her knees. Was this why God had allowed Mike to find her? So she would finally admit her sin?
Fine. She’d admit it. She’d sinned. Against God, against Mike—
She pictured him grilling ribs, tucking Terrell into bed, and sitting in her kitchen that horrible night, on guard. She closed her eyes, shoulders sagging, grief rising up—
No. Meg shook her head. Forcefully. No, she couldn’t allow his kindness to touch her emotions. And she could never tell him what she’d realized about her role in their marriage. Somehow Mike could still weave a magic that captivated her, and if she came to him, sorry about what she’d done…
She straightened her shoulders. Dried her eyes. She couldn’t let him get to her. She had to be strong. She had to be tough when Mike and his parents came. She’d show his parents that she and Mike had moved past their hurt and that they should too. She’d treat Mike like a family member, just not a husband. He’d be the man in her life without any attachments and requirements and commitments.
Picking up her Bible, she stood and forced a deep breath. She could do this. She could pretend that those long-ago feelings for Mike weren’t ever so slowly coming back to life.
Across the coffee table from Meg, Patty and Davis Connor laughed at Terrell’s story.
Meg sat on the opposite couch, jaw tight with a feigned smile. How much longer would they stay? They could take Terrell with them if they wanted to. Were they trying to make her uncomfortable?
If so, they were doing a fabulous job of it.
Just out of arm’s reach, Mike smiled her way, his look one of conspiratorial companionship. As if she should be enjoying Terrell’s time with his grandparents as much as Mike did.
Nope. Not with the coldness they’d shown her when she’d opened her door, their greeting icier than her sidewalk in February.
Of course once Terrell entered the room, they’d became all smiles—the real ones for him, the fake ones for her.
Mike was his usual self, as if he didn’t notice the tension. His only unusual action was the brief, one-armed hug he’d given her when he’d entered the foyer.
She’d tried to keep from melting into him.
Especially with his parents watching.
Across the room Davis laughed the hearty laugh Meg had once enjoyed and started on another knock-knock joke that would be new to Terrell only. Mike’s parents had aged, moving from their mid-sixties into their early seventies. Davis’s hair was a thick white, his fingers gnarled with arthritis Meg didn’t remember him having, and Patty, who used to dye her steel-gray hair, had given up coloring it.
Meg peeked at Mike. How would he look with time? She could imagine lines worn into his face, his dark hair changing to salt-and-pepper. He’d be one of those men who still drew attention as he aged, perhaps even more so, with his grin and athletic build, his laughter and friendliness. She imagined his brown eyes turning to hers. How would he look at her twenty years from now? Or forty years, when they were his parents’ age?
Or, with Terrell all grown up, would they even know each other?
Meg looked back at Terrell and his grandparents.
Patty watched her.
Meg swallowed. How long had she been looking at Mike?
Patty looked pointedly at Mike and then back.
Too long, evidently.
Heat flashed across Meg’s cheeks. “Would anyone like a refill?”
Patty looked at Davis, who was still caught up in telling a joke.
Meg picked up Mike’s glass from the coffee table. “More Coke?”
“Yes, thank you.” He flashed her a smile, the kind he’d sent her in high school when they approached each other in the hall, the kind that filled his eyes with a glimmer he’d sent no one but her.
Meg’s breath caught. Did Mike know what he was doing to her?
In the kitchen, she placed his glass on the peninsula, opened the refrigerator, and pulled the two-liter from the door. She set it on the counter.
Muted voices floated to her.
How much longer could she last? She grabbed the edge of the counter with both hands and closed her eyes. She’d give in to tears if it didn’t mean her nose would turn red and expose her.
Another glass clacked on the counter.
Meg jumped. Looked up.
Patty stood beside her, her hands on the base of an empty glass. “Davis would like some coffee,” she said, “if you have it.”
She should have remembered how much coffee he drank. “Of course.” She moved to an upper cabinet, grateful for a reason to keep her back to Patty. Her fingers fumbled through her selection of K-Cups. “I’ll bring it when it’s ready.”
“Thank you.”
The click of Patty’s heeled shoes approached.
Meg pressed her lips together. How had she missed the woman’s entrance?
She forced herself through the motions of making coffee, waiting for harsh words.
Not until the coffee began to drip did Patty speak. “I’d like to know your feelings for my son.”
The brown liquid splashed into the mug, not moving fast enough to end this painful conversation. What was she supposed to say? That she was still angry at Mike for what he’d done? That sometimes she imagined them together? That she was falling for his charm all over again?
“I don’t know,” she finally whispered and knew it was the truth.
Patty stepped beside her. Those dark eyes, so like Mike’s, studied her. “Mike says you’ve done a good job with Terrell.”
“Thank you.”
Patty shrugged. “They’re his words, not mine.”
Her manicured nails tapped the countertop.
Did Patty enjoy drawing this out? Why didn’t she speak her mind so the rest of their visit could go on without pretense?
“Mike says you go to church a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Meg looked up.
Patty stared through the window at the backyard. She tucked a shiny strand of hair behind her ear, running her fingers down its length. “I’d like you to talk with Mike.”
“About…”
“About what happened.”
Oh no
. Meg shook her head, backing away a step. “I can’t.”
“I would hope you’d try—for Terrell, at least.” Patty’s gaze was direct, her expression hard. “You were always good for Mike.” She tucked more hair behind her ear before turning on her heel. “I’ll take a cup too.”
Meg leaned against the counter as her former mother-in-law left. What Patty asked her to do terrified her.
Except… Didn’t she want to know what had happened to make him leave her the way he had? Didn’t she want to know what had changed Mike during those lonely years apart?
Didn’t she long to prove to herself that she really wasn’t at fault for their divorce? That she hadn’t driven Mike away after all?
Meg set the full mug aside and reached for another one. Maybe Patty was right. Maybe talking would heal.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thursday afternoon Ben called Ronnie DaVannon from outside a Buffalo Grove Pizza Hut.
He and DaVannon went way back to when Ben was a can’t-miss prospect and DaVannon was just figuring out what everyone else knew—that he’d never make it to the majors. DaVannon had leeched onto Ben, the one everyone predicted to be filthy rich in ten years, and Ben allowed it after DaVannon bailed him out of trouble one summer night, his connections invaluable. Even when baseball turned on Ben, he’d kept the guy close, knowing someday he’d need his friend’s less-than-savory connections.
Those contacts had been coming in handy.
DaVannon answered on the fifth ring, music blaring in the background. Ben forced friendliness into his voice. “What’s up, Big D?”
The music quieted. “You calling on a safe phone?”
“A new cell. Don’t worry.” Ben glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot.
A handful of cars filled the parking spaces.
He turned his back to the street. “Find anything?”
“Maybe. Same first name or just initials?”
He hated to change his name again, but what choice did he have? And going by another Ben alias might be too obvious. “Initials.”
“Okay. Got one—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Chill, bro. I’m smarter than that. You’re nervous—get a drink.”
Not until everything was taken care of. A car door slammed behind him, but Ben resisted the urge to turn around. His nerves were on edge, and he was seeing cops in every shadow. “When can I pick it up?”
“When can you get here?” DaVannon’s voice turned flippant. “Where you want to be from?”
“Something by you.”
“So you’re moving to KC?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Only if his life here was over. “I’ve got some things in the area to tie up.” Maybe Dana hadn’t pressed charges. Maybe Connor’s presence hadn’t caused any damage.
“I’ll look for you, buddy.” The music blared suddenly. “By the way, congrats on the ump, huh?”
“Yeah. Nice job.” Who cared about that when his freedom was in jeopardy? “Later.”
Ben ended the call, tucked the phone into his pocket. This was the last time he’d change his name. After this he’d be even more careful, even more in control. He’d deal with problems himself, tying off loose ends before they even became loose ends. This was his life, and he was sick of others pulling the strings.
He turned for his car.
A police officer approached from the front of the building, his vehicle big and white behind him.
Ben kept his expression to a passing glance as he walked toward his car.
The footsteps followed. “Benjamin Raines?”
Instinct kicked in.
Ben dashed past his car and around the building, ignoring the officer’s shout and pounding footsteps. No way was this cop taking him. He’d fight as hard as he had to, but he wasn’t going to jail.
He vaulted a chain-link fence and raced across an overgrown backyard. He crossed an empty residential street, ran into another yard, and climbed over a picket fence into some gardener’s paradise. He cut across the grass, keeping himself below the thick shrubs. He slid over a solid wood fence and stumbled through another backyard filled with children’s toys.
He kept moving—running, ducking, climbing fences and criss-crossing whenever he could, wondering as he went how they’d known his name.
Connor.
It had to be. He berated himself for telling Connor their connection. No one else knew.
He sucked in air, ignoring the dagger-like pain in his side. Connor was toast.
Chapter Forty
Mike and his parents showed up at church Sunday morning.
Meg forced herself to be pleasant, but having already spent three days around people who were more frigid than dry ice made her eyelids twitch.
And why did Mike continue his church appearances? Sure, Patty and Davis had attended church more often than not, and Mike’s lack of church attendance had bothered them. Maybe that was it—he was doing it for them. Maybe once they left he would quit coming.
The thought stopped the eyelid twitch.
On Monday Meg turned her attention to another project, Jill and Clark’s kitchen. Late last week they’d received a large gift of money from someone in the church, the accompanying letter telling them to use it on their home in whatever way they wanted. The money was more than enough to gut and remodel Jill’s kitchen.
Clark had Monday off, and he, Jill, and Meg spent the afternoon brainstorming on the remodel. Jill had already picked out her dream cabinets, and a trip to a kitchen showroom confirmed that the cabinets fit the budget.
The planning continued through a dinner of Meg’s homemade alfredo sauce over fettuccine, garlic bread, and a salad drenched in balsamic vinaigrette. Clark left for a deacons’ meeting as soon as they finished eating, but while Samuel sat in his Exersaucer and watched Terrell play with his remote control Range Rover—his latest gift from Mike—Meg and Jill spread out paint chips and fabric swatches at one end of the kitchen table.
They'd narrowed the color scheme to two subtle shades of bluish gray when Terrell drove his Range Rover into the kitchen.
Meg glanced his way. “What do you need, Terrell?”
“Daddy just drove up. Can I open the door for him?”
Surely Mike wasn’t bringing his parents over again. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Jill watched him leave the room. “Don’t look too thrilled,” she teased Meg when he was gone.
“It’s not Mike. It’s his parents. They aren’t fond of me.”
The front door opened. Mike’s and Terrell’s voices floated through the kitchen doorway.
“Go on,” Jill said. “I’ll wait.”
“What, no moral support?”
Jill tossed up her hands in fake frustration. “All right.”
In the foyer, Terrell spun donuts with the Range Rover while Mike laughed approval, a thick, ribbon-wrapped bouquet of white rosebuds in his hand. He looked up at their approach. “Hey, Jill.” His eyes turned to Meg’s, warming. He held out the flowers. “These are for you.”
When was the last time he’d given her flowers?
She took them, careful not to brush his fingers, and pretended interest in their aroma. The silky buds brushed her nose, her cheeks warming. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled at her again, then at Jill. “She’s been putting up with my parents. They weren’t easy on her.” He turned his gaze back to Meg. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She examined the flowers some more, not daring to look at her friend. Jill was probably giving Mike a thumbs up. “I think I’ll put these in water.” Meg fled to the kitchen.
Three sets of footsteps followed.
Mike sniffed. “Whatever you had for dinner smells great.”
From beneath the sink she grabbed a short, wide glass vase and set it beneath the faucet. “Leftovers are in the fridge. Help yourself.”
Mike opened the drawer beside her and pulled out a knife and fork b
efore opening a cabinet and taking out a plate and glass.
“Hmm,” Jill said. “I think you’ve eaten here before.”
Meg flashed her a look.
Jill raised her eyebrows in innocence.
Mike opened the fridge. “Like I told Clark, she cooks better than I do. In fact, I should buy her groceries. Speaking of which, can I get your Wi-Fi password, Meg? I do need to order some things.”
She gave him her password, fingers floating over the perfect white buds.
He set his full plate in the microwave and started it, then pulled out his phone and tapped away on it.
“You really buy groceries online?” Jill asked. “Don’t you want to squeeze all those tomatoes and cantaloupes yourself?”
“And sign autographs and pose for pictures every few feet? No thanks.” He wandered to the table where the paint chips, swatches, and sketch of Jill’s kitchen lay. “What’s this?”
“Meg’s designing me a trademark Meghan Connor Designs kitchen.”
“Lucky you. When does work begin?”
“We’re just starting. It’ll be awhile.”
“Then Terrell and I will get out of your way.” He pulled his plate from the microwave, grabbed his milk-filled glass, and left the room with Terrell.
Jill grinned. “Flowers, Meg?”
Meg flashed her a dirty look. “He was being nice. It was difficult being around his parents. Can we get back to work?”
“You don’t want to smell your roses again?”
She did not hear that. Meg seated herself at the table, and Jill joined her, serious at last while they discussed design elements for several more minutes.
Still, Meg found her eyes drawn repeatedly to the cluster of white roses.
He’d remembered that these were her favorite.
What did she do with a man who did all these nice things—when she wasn’t innocent in their hurt and rebuffed every kindness?
Why did he keep being so good to her?
Jill left when Samuel’s bedtime approached, and Meg packed up the Ashburns’ file before cleaning her kitchen.
The last bowl had just gone into the dishwasher and the last counter wiped down when Mike entered with a dirty plate, glass, and silverware.
Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Page 17