Mistletoe Baby. Tanya Michaels
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shelved display of shoes. She picked up a sling back. “Unless you and David have plans?”
“Nothing specific.” Just awkward silence and retreating to separate corners.
If she curled up in the den with a book, he turned on the television in the front living room. If she watched TV, he went for a run. She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her because he was angry or simply trying to defuse the tension by giving her space. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about it. When he was in the room with her, it was like she couldn’t breathe and just wanted either of them to be anywhere else. Yet whenever he left, her chest hitched with the urge to call him back: Don’t go, hold me, make it better.
But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?
She’d met him at a time in her life when she was overstressed and questioning what she wanted in life, taking a vacation from her South Carolinian life as an advertising executive in Columbia. David was a natural-born leader, evidenced by civic committees he’d headed and his volunteer duties coaching touch football in early fall and soccer in the spring. They’d barely been on two dates before he was encouraging her to let him shoulder her burdens. He’d advised her as confidently as he did five-year-olds who were confused about which goal to kick toward. It had felt like a blessing at the time.
Unfortunately, in “simplifying” her life and inviting David to gloss over her problems, Rachel had lost herself somewhere along the way. In the past year, she’d begun to question whether her husband loved her—romantically, not just dutifully—but could she really blame him for not seeing her? She wasn’t even sure who she was. Resolution number one for the New Year: find out.
Chapter Two
David was stepping out of the shower that evening when he heard the tentative “Hello?” from the outer room. Reflexively, he clutched his towel around him, as if the woman on the other side of the door hadn’t seen his nude body a thousand times. As if she might accidentally burst in while he was undressed and make the strain between them even worse.
The thought was truly asinine on all levels. When was the last time Rachel had “burst in” anywhere? Since the miscarriage last spring, it seemed as if even rising from her chair took effort. And how on earth would it be possible for the awkwardness between them to become worse?
“In here,” he called back.
“Okay. Just checking.” Her words were followed by retreating footsteps.
He dried off and dressed, keeping his movements slow and deliberate so that he didn’t impulsively run after her. The caveman deep inside him seemed to think that tossing his wife onto the bed and making thorough love to her would somehow resurrect what they’d once shared.
Stupid caveman.
The once sexy part of their marriage had long become regulated by ovulation predictor kits, and each fruitless encounter was more perfunctory and less satisfying than the last.
So what now, genius? In school he’d excelled at problem-solving. As it turned out, participating in teen extracurricular activities for gifted students and graduating college with honors didn’t educate a man on understanding women. He’d tried so damn hard to be the perfect husband, and she’d just…walked away. Had she really become so numb that she had no feelings left for him?
As he walked down the hall, he heard her in the kitchen, the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. Her back was to him as he rounded the corner into the room. She poured herself some tea, presumably to wash down a couple of the aspirin in the big white bottle she held. Her shoulders were slumped in a defeated posture that tugged at his heart.
He used to hug her whenever she’d had a bad day, cajole her into a better mood. Cheer up, he’d say, you still have me. If he tried to embrace her now, would she stiffen and pull away?
“How was the dress fitting?” he heard himself ask. Inane small talk as if he were killing time on an elevator with a casual acquaintance.
His wife turned in his direction but didn’t quite meet his eyes, addressing one of the light-stained wood cabinets just past his left shoulder. “Lilah will make a beautiful bride.”
“Tanner’s a lucky man.”
She nodded, her fingers trembling a little as she tried to get the lid off the aspirin.
“Let me.” He walked toward her, palm extended.
She recoiled. “I can do it.”
“Dammit, Rachel—” Her vulnerable expression quelled the reactionary anger that had been rising in him.
She looked somehow both harder and more fragile than the woman he’d once known. Her eyes were shadowed, and there was a chafed spot on her bottom lip. She had a bad habit of chewing on her lip when she was upset. He glanced up in sudden realization that he was staring at her mouth and she’d caught him doing it.
Defensiveness made his tone gruff. “You look like hell.”
Her normally warm gray eyes were the color of cold steel. “Thank you so much.”
“I didn’t…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just worry about you.”
“That’s not your responsibility anymore,” she said with an attempt at a smile, as if she was trying to point out a positive.
His pride—his heart—stung. “I guess we can’t all just turn off our emotions and walk away from vows so easily.”
For a second, he thought she might throw the aspirin bottle at him. Instead, she turned toward the counter, dismissing him with her body language.
He clenched his fists at his sides. He’d known this woman for years. Laughed with her, loved her, said things to her he couldn’t imagine sharing with another person. Yet the prospect of beating himself upside the head with one of the pots hanging over the kitchen island seemed less painful than a three-minute conversation with her. How had they come to this?
“I’m sorry,” he said. He rarely lost his temper, and he needed his composure now more than ever. “That was uncalled for.”
“You’re entitled to your anger.” With an audible pop, the lid finally came off the bottle. “It’ll be easier when I’m at Winnie’s. I’m supposed to go over tonight to spend time with the animals and look over all the instructions with her.”
“Yeah, she phoned to say she was in for the evening and any time was good with her. And your sister called. That’s what I came in here to tell you.” Probably he should have led with that rather than You look like hell. “She said it was important, but not bad news.”
Considering the massive heart attack that had threatened Mr. Nietermyer’s life the year David met Rachel, and the two lesser cardiac episodes that had followed, urgent messages from home tended to make her nervous.
“Thanks.” She washed down two pills with a gulp, placed her cup on the counter, then turned, clearly ready to take her leave of him.
He didn’t move aside. “Did you grab a bite with the ladies?”
“No, Lilah had dinner plans, and everyone else went shopping. I didn’t feel up to it.”
“I’ll fix you something. You should—”
“David.” She smiled tiredly. “Thank you, but I’m a big girl. I’m capable of opening my own aspirin and cooking my own meals.”
Of course she was. He was just so desperate to do something. For most of his life, he’d enjoyed a sense of purpose. His mom had raised him with the notion that he could do anything he set his mind to, and for nearly thirty years, that had held true. Then there’d come the infertility problems, which had made him crazy because there was nothing he could do to help Rach, and then her announcement that she was leaving. He’d been so dumbfounded, so struck by the unfamiliar sensation of being out of control, that he’d just let her go.
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