The crunch of tires on gravel gets my attention, and I go to the front to look out the screen door. I freeze immediately when I see Charles’s silver sedan pull up in the driveway. He parks behind my car and gets out, stopping to hitch his pants up as he stretches. Gran was right. He doesn’t have much of an ass.
But then the passenger door of his car opens, and she gets out too. He had the nerve to bring Sandra to my lake house? He brought her to my refuge? He brought her here, when he knows what this place means to me?
She looks around, her face curious as she says something to Charles. He walks around the car to stand next to her. He points toward the Jacobsons’ house, and then he stops to tell her something. She smiles like she’s enjoying getting the history of the place.
I open the screen door, step through it, and let it slam hard behind me. Gran would shoot me if she heard that door hit the frame like that. But it’s enough to get their attention. They both turn in my direction. Sandra’s lips lift in an unsteady smile of greeting, and Charles just looks resigned to whatever task he has assigned to himself.
“Why are you here?” I ask without preamble. I march down the steps toward them. Sandra takes a step back and covers her bump with her hand. Like I would do something to hurt an unborn child.
Charles holds up a hand. “Wait,” he says. He steps between me and Sandra, holding his palm up and out in my direction, like he can push me back with sheer will alone. I’d have to care about them being together before I would want to expend any energy pushing them back to get rid of them. And even now I can’t bring myself to care. Instead, I am extremely annoyed that they are here, in my safe haven. “We just came to talk,” he rushes on to say.
“About?” I cross my arms and glare at him. I don’t even waste an inch of eyesight on her. Instead, I stare at the man who is still technically my husband.
“Sandra felt like we should finalize some things, particularly now that my parents know about the baby.” He actually looks a little chagrined. But then I realize that, no…that’s annoyance on his face. “Your grandmother could have minded her own business,” he says quietly but still a bit petulantly.
“Oh, she could, could she?” I reply. “Well, you could have kept your dick in your pants, couldn’t you?”
He stiffens. “You don’t have to get nasty—”
“Nasty?” I sneer. “Is that the word for a woman who isn’t afraid to share her opinions?” If so, I will wear that word with pride.
Sandra looks from me to him and back. “We really didn’t come here to cause any problems.” Her voice is quiet and shaky, and I can see that she’s actually unsettled by this.
I pinch my nose between my thumb and forefinger and blow out a breath. “So why are you here?”
“I wanted to apologize,” Sandra says quietly. She begins to wring her hands together. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. And I’m sorry it did.”
“Are you done? If so, you can go.” I turn and march back up my steps to stand by the porch rail. I use it as a barricade between me and them.
“Can you forgive me?” she calls out.
I close my eyes and count to ten silently.
“You see,” she continues, “his mother is really angry, and she isn’t in favor of our relationship.”
“Thanks to your grandmother’s meddling,” Charles reminds me.
“So, you’re blaming this on Gran?” I bite back a snort. Almost.
“If she’d just minded her own business—”
But then I see him. Ethan arrives like an angel sent from heaven. His steps are heavy, his stride purposeful as he walks toward me.
As he walks past Charles, his little duck pecks at Charles’s pant leg, and Charles jumps in place, trying to get away. “What the…!” Charles says, his voice panicked a little.
I’ve never been quite as happy to see anyone as I am in that moment.
“Is that him?” Ethan asks, and he has a wicked glint in his eyes.
“That’s him,” I reply as he marches straight up my steps and bends his head to kiss my cheek. He presses a small bouquet of flowers into my hands. “And her,” I add, nodding my head in her direction.
“He picked her over you?” he says with a snicker close to my ear. “I can’t see why.”
As I compare the two of them, Ethan and Charles… I can’t. I simply can’t. There is no comparison. They are as different as night and day, or light and dark. As different as any opposites that ever presented themselves, that’s the difference between Charles and Ethan.
I lift his little nosegay and inhale. The wildflowers smell like outdoors and happiness. They smell like him. “They’re beautiful,” I say.
“So are you,” he replies softly, and he lifts his hand to rest on the center of my back. I melt a little when he lifts the bottom edge of my t-shirt so that his hot palm touches my skin.
“Who’s he?” Charles asks, his face and neck suddenly blotchy and red.
Ethan raises his hand. “Name’s Ethan,” he says. “Nice to meet you.” His duck has made it all the way up the steps and sits squawking at the intruders. I step a little closer to Ethan, and I feel his hip press against me. I’ve never felt quite as safe as I do in that moment. I’ve never felt quite so loved, and that makes tears sting my eyes. I blink them back.
“Tell me if you want them gone, and I’ll make it happen,” he says to me, his brow furrowing. He reaches over and very tenderly brushes a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do just about anything for you,” he replies, his voice soft. He stares straight into my eyes as he says it.
“Wait,” Charles calls out, his voice interrupting the tender moment. “Are you fucking him?”
Sandra grabs for his arm, but he jerks it out of her hands. She falters for a moment, surprised by his anger. She stares at him.
But she can’t stare long, because Ethan is already charging down the steps in his direction. He stalks forward until he bumps his broad chest against Charles’s. Charles is the same height as Ethan, but he’s not made like Ethan, not on the inside and certainly not on the outside.
“What did you just say?” Ethan asks quietly.
Charles leans to the side so he can look around Ethan’s body. “Is this guy for real?” he asks me. Then he steps around Ethan and walks toward me. “Are you fucking him, Abs?” he asks, his voice filled with fury, as spittle flies from his lips.
“Her name is Abigail,” Ethan says just before he shoves him back. Charles stumbles and has to windmill his arms to stay balanced.
“I know exactly who she is,” Charles retorts. “I’ve been married to her for quite some time.”
“So you just conveniently forget that you’re married to her when it suits you.” Ethan’s duck wanders around his feet, honking in Charles’s direction. Ethan walks forward until they’re chest to chest again, and then he says very slowly and succinctly, “See, I don’t think you ever knew her at all. If you did, you’d know she hates to be called Abs. And you’d also know that she doesn’t want you here. She came here to get away from you and your trouble.”
He addresses Sandra, but his tone gentles considerably when he talks to her. “And I think you made a bad choice. But it was your choice to make. Why, exactly, are you here?”
“I just wanted to apologize.” Sandra hangs her head.
“Why?” Ethan presses.
“Well, Charles’s mother is pretty angry, and she won’t even see me until she knows Abigail is all right with all of this. So I was hoping maybe you could accept my apology, and then give her a call and let her know that you’re okay with it?” Her voice trails off as she stares hopefully at me.
So, my mother-in-law has refused to accept their relationship or to accept Sandra unless Sandra can prove that I’m okay with all this. Huh.
“I’m not okay with all this,” I reply. I start to tick items off on my fingers. “I lost my job, my house, my husband, and my marriage,
all because you wanted to fuck my husband. Why am I supposed to be okay with that?”
She wrings her hands together. “I fell in love with him.” She looks at him for confirmation, but he’s trying to get away from the duck who is going after his shoelaces with a vengeance. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Answer one question for me,” I say to her.
She nods. “Okay.”
“How did it start?”
She looks toward Charles like she wants his help, but he’s still side-stepping the duck, who is now bossing him around like Charles is a bug Wilbur wants to eat.
“I went to dinner one night and he was there, at the restaurant. He was alone, like me, and we ended up sharing a table.”
“You spend a lot of time with your grandmother!” Charles calls out defensively. He yelps as the little duck nips the back of his leg. “I went out to dinner, alone as usual. Sandra was there eating alone too. And we shared a table. I made her laugh. She thought I was funny.”
“She thought you were funny.” In my mind, I look back through our relationship timeline and realize that everything that ever brought forth change in our relationship revolved around something I’d done for Charles or some variation of making Charles feel good. “So she stroked your ego? And the rest of you, too, no doubt.” I add the last under my breath, but he still hears me. “Why didn’t you tell me then? Why didn’t you simply end it if you’d decided you’d rather be with Sandra?”
Charles huffs. “I didn’t think I needed to end it right away.”
I see Sandra bristle.
“And then she got pregnant and I couldn’t end it.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
My jaw drops at what he’s just admitted. Sandra visibly deflates. All the fight goes out of her. “You know what?” she says. “This was a terrible idea. I’m very sorry that I bothered you, Abigail.”
She needs to know all of it. Even if it hurts. “He kept sleeping with me, Sandra, even after he told you he wasn’t. He’s a liar, and he cheated on both of us, if you want to look at it that way.”
“I can see that.” Her voice is small.
I motion up and down his body. “I am very sorry that this is what you’re going to end up with.”
“I’m not at all certain he’s what I’ll end up with,” she replies, finding a bit of backbone apparently. She lays a hand on her belly. “But I also can’t undo any of it.” She adds, so low that I can barely hear it, “I truly thought he was mine.”
I lay my hand on my chest and press it tight. “He couldn’t be yours until he stopped being mine.”
“I see that now.” Without another word she turns and gets back in the car, closing the door behind her. I see her stare down at the floorboard. I feel a tug of sympathy for her, even though I don’t want to.
“Can you get this thing?” Charles calls out. And then I see Wilbur’s wings flutter wildly as Charles kicks the duck away from him.
And before I can move, before I can intercede in any way at all, Ethan punches Charles square in the face. Charles sees it coming, but he’s so surprised that he doesn’t try to dodge or block it or get out of the way.
Charles lifts a hand to his nose, wiping to see if it’s bleeding. It’s not. Truth be told, Ethan could have hit him a lot harder. Charles stands there, sniffling into his hand, his eyes watering wildly.
Ethan bends down and scoops Wilbur up in his arms, cradling him close to his body. “Don’t touch my duck,” he says sternly. Wilbur quacks loudly, like he’s telling Charles off, too, his neck extending as he gripes out loud.
And if this wasn’t so awkward, it would be hilarious.
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from letting out an enormous snort. I hold it in, but just barely.
“Are you fucking her?” I hear Charles ask one more time.
Ethan turns to me, like he’s asking for my permission to hit him again.
“Go home, Charles,” I say. “If you know what’s good for you.”
“So, will you call my mother and tell her that you approve?”
“Nope.”
“But Abs—!”
“It’s Abigail,” Ethan bites out.
“Why are you talking right now?” Charles says, hands on hips as if he’s reprimanding a child.
Ethan takes one step toward him, and Charles dashes for the car, which is hilarious because Ethan is still holding the duck under his arm.
Charles gets in, slams the door, and rolls the window down. “I need for you to do the right thing, Abby!” he yells. He rolls the window up quickly when Ethan starts toward him again, and then he backs out of the drive.
Ethan turns and walks up the steps. He sets Wilbur down on the porch and the duck marches around protesting like Charles is still here and he’s tattling on him.
“That’s some duck,” I say.
“My attack duck,” he replies with a grin. “I’m kind of proud of him.” He walks toward me and brushes that stray lock of hair behind my ear again. His fingers are so gentle that I lean into his hand, and he cups my face, staring into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I heave out a sigh. “Actually, I am.” I reach out and grab his biceps, giving him a squeeze. “I’m really glad you punched him, though.”
“Well, he kicked my duck,” he says simply, his eyes glinting with humor. “I had to do something.”
“He kind of deserved it.”
“He kind of did,” he whispers back. Then he leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. Then he kisses the other corner. Then he drags the side of his nose up the side of mine. He smells like toothpaste and aftershave, and I realize he shaved for me.
I touch the side of his face. “You shaved.”
“Don’t want you to end up with fuzz burn when I finally get to kiss you.”
“Oh, is there kissing on the menu?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.” He sniffs the air. “What are we eating? It smells wonderful.” He walks toward the screen door, but I wrap my arms around him from behind, burying my face in his shirt.
“I’m seriously in like with you,” I say into his shirt. It comes out like a mumble, but I’m sure he hears me because he reaches back to pry me loose and turns around so that I can see his face.
“I’m seriously in like with you, too.”
I point toward the duck. “So all that was for Wilbur? You didn’t punch him for me? Not even a little bit?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “That was to avenge Wilbur.” He stares into my eyes. “You didn’t need me to punch him for you. You had all that under control.”
“I’m kind of glad they came, actually,” I admit. “I needed to say those things to her.”
“I feel kind of bad for her,” he says.
“Why?” I lean back so I can look at his face.
“She’s stuck with him, no matter what.”
“True.” I open the screen door and we walk inside together, and his eyes get glassy when he sees the table set for two, the candles, the wine glasses. “I cooked,” I say as heat creeps up my cheeks. I pick up a bowl of bird food and set it on the floor. “For Wilbur.”
“He’s going to get it everywhere,” he warns. “He’s not a very refined little dude.” He stares at the table. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a dinner date. What exactly are we supposed to do now?”
I motion toward the table. “Well, first we sit.”
He walks over and pulls my chair out, and I nearly swoon as I settle into it. He sits down next to me and looks at me instead of the food. “I think this is the very best date I’ve ever been on.”
“It hasn’t even started yet,” I say with a laugh.
“Wrong. It started when I first met you.” He stares into my eyes and doesn’t look away. And I can’t either.
15
Abigail
“Gran,” I say with a heavy sigh, “he didn’t even kiss me.” I stare up at my ceiling, thinking back to the best date
I’ve ever had. Ethan had been charming and charismatic and so damn nice. But no kiss. Not even a small one.
“Maybe he’s not ready for kissing,” Gran says with a chuckle. “Maybe he’s holding on to his virginity.”
“He has a son, Gran,” I feel led to remind her.
“But he’s been re-virginized. Meaning it’s been so long since he’s had sex that he’ll probably go off like a virgin when he finally gets to do it again.”
“Gran!” I pretend to be astounded by her boldness, but I’m really not. She’s Gran, after all. If it’s in her head, it’s pretty much going to come out of her mouth. “You don’t know anything about his sexual past. He could have had sex recently.”
“You should ask him.” I hear her chewing something on the other end of the phone.
“I’m not going to ask him anything that personal.” When was the last time you had sex? Did you enjoy it? How many times did you do it? In what position? “What are you eating?” I ask her.
“Jelly beans,” she says. “The black ones you always leave behind.”
“I hate the black ones.”
“That’s the kind of man you need, Abigail,” she says. “You need one that’ll eat all the black jelly beans just because he knows you don’t like them.”
“I could just do away with the need for a man and throw my own black jelly beans away,” I say flippantly.
“You know how when you pick through the party mix and you only pick out the little woven squares? You need a man that’ll eat your pretzels and the other bits you hate so much.”
“Only some of the party mix is edible,” I remind her. “Nobody likes all of the ones that come in the package.”
“But, see, if he knows you well enough, he’ll eat your unwanted bits and he’ll like it.”
“So you’re telling me that I need to test him by eating party mix around him, just to see if he’ll step up to the plate?” I grin as I pick absently at my cuticles. It has been a while since I’ve had a manicure.
“I think he already stepped up to the plate when he knocked Charles right in the kisser. That young man bought my undying gratitude with that punch.”
Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3) Page 10