A New Life. Dana Corbit
Читать онлайн книгу.
“I can get one.”
With that she stalked away and helped Max tie his shoes. Rusty, Jr. refused to look in Brett’s direction, but Lani kept peeking back. Both she and Max waved at him as their mother hurried them out the door.
The bowling alley felt empty as soon as the troop left. If he had any sense at all, Brett would simply forget to call about Friday and chalk the whole situation up to bad judgment in his letting Jenny set him up. He was in way over his head by considering even one real date with a widow, let alone a widow with children. If Tricia Williams’s baggage was weighed at an airport, it would be stamped “heavy” and slapped with a surcharge. But here he was tempted to offer to carry it for her, anyway.
He should have been counting his blessings that her son had tried to stop all this craziness before any real damage was done. But he could only feel relieved and grateful he’d get the chance to see Tricia again.
Chapter Two
A digital bedside clock and a distant street lamp offered the only illumination as Tricia collapsed, fully clothed, onto her bed an hour later, the bed-and-bath routine behind her. From the way her body ached, she would have guessed it was past midnight, but the red clock numbers confirmed it was only nine-thirty. As shadow and light slow-danced along the wall in the shape of maple tree branches, she wondered how long it had been since she’d slept. Truly slept. Days had become months and then metamorphosed into years when she wasn’t watching.
She couldn’t shake the image of Rusty, Jr., who had radiated tension as she’d helped him out of the shower and into his pajamas. His misplaced fury was transferred to everything around him, from the comb that wouldn’t go through his hair to the stuffed dog that landed on the floor next to his bed. He had every right to his anger, for all he’d lost. She understood it, felt it down to her soul.
Nervous tension had her scooting across the bed to flip on the lamp, letting the warm yellow light bathe what had become her favorite room. Here she could be alone with her memories of Rusty, warm thoughts of his arms around her and private thoughts of the sweet intimacies of their marriage.
Reaching for her wedding band on the table and slipping it on, she surveyed the room. In the far corner, she could still see Max’s cradle where it once had rested. A smile settled on her lips as she envisioned her family’s first day in the house, her belly still swollen with the promise of their youngest child. Rusty and she had tumbled together on the bed that night, too exhausted from moving furniture to even love each other in the bungalow they’d struggled to finally afford.
She’d felt so safe then—and always—in his arms. The way she never did now. The way she never would again.
Memories of her husband flashed in her thoughts, in brilliant color this time when they’d become more like a sepia photograph lately, in danger of crumbling. But why were the memories coming tonight, when she needed rest to prepare her for the ordeal of going to church?
The Sunday tradition of attending services as a family was once the highlight of her week, even if they were continually late, and someone was always whispering or making paper airplanes with the bulletins. They were together then, worshiping God. The way it should be. Now every time she sat listening to one of Reverend Bob Woods’s sermons, something seemed missing. Not her belief. She’d never lost that. Without her faith, she never would have survived the last two years. But hope—there just wasn’t enough of that in her heart anymore.
Though she’d regret it in the morning, she let her thoughts travel, through picnics, birthday parties and quiet moments. To Rusty’s contagious smile.
But then another smile stole into her thoughts, so surprising that she flipped over and sat up in bed. Brett Lancaster? The man was a stranger. A stranger who had no business being in her thoughts—or in this room where Rusty’s memory still thrived.
Agitation had her wrapping her arms around her knees. She didn’t want to remember the disaster their would-be date had been. But maybe God had chosen now to convict her heart over her deception in breaking the date.
Why hadn’t she just gone out with Brett and gotten the whole annoying business over with? As adroit as she’d become at avoiding second dates, she already would have said goodbye to Mr. Lancaster and would be free until her next friend insisted on setting her up. Instead, guilt had forced her to reschedule.
Shaking her head, Tricia couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Brett’s mini bowling clinic. At the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed with Lani. But it was the memory of those same chocolate eyes focusing on her and widening with some indefinable emotion that made her as uncomfortable as it had at the bowling alley.
Suddenly, this rescheduled date felt like a huge mistake. What if Brett had the wrong idea about her, that she actually was open to a relationship? That couldn’t have been further from the truth. He needed to understand that her heart was still committed to her husband.
Who are you trying to convince? She shook away the question and her uncomfortable guilt as she rushed over to the his-and-hers closets and opened one of the doors. On the side that was still his, the closet rod was empty except for a royal-blue jacket bearing the words “R and J Construction” and a sport coat. A lonely Detroit Lions football cap rested on the shelf.
Tricia grabbed the sport coat, Rusty’s only dress jacket aside from the gray suit she’d buried him in, and pressed her face to the collar, inhaling his scent. Her nose burned. The room blurred. Drawing in the smell so deeply that her lungs ached, she held her breath until the survival instinct insisted she gasp. If only she could hold him there, deep inside of her. Her breath hitched as she realized his scent had already begun to fade. How long would it be until she couldn’t smell him anymore, and she had nothing left of him?
So exhausted. For the first time in months, the effort of coping crushed her with its weight. The brave smile and strong words—parts of a facade that said she and the children were fine—crumbled around her. She wasn’t fine. Rusty, Jr. certainly wasn’t fine. His surliness grew more apparent every day, and he was beginning to act out. Lani seemed to curl deeper into herself each week and into her Little House books, where Ma and Pa always came home to Mary, Laura and Carrie. Only Max seemed oblivious, for he would never remember what he’d lost.
As the first tears in weeks came hot and furious, Tricia laid the sport coat aside, clasping the blue jacket and wrapping it around herself. She dropped back on the bed and drew her knees up to her chest, pulling the jacket tight beneath her chin. Again, she breathed Rusty’s scent and fell into a troubled sleep, claiming the only warmth the love of her life could still bring her.
The organist at Hickory Ridge Community Church was still playing the postlude Sunday morning when Charity McKinley hurried up the side aisle, trying to catch Tricia before she could get out the door. Even sitting right near the back hadn’t helped Tricia escape this time. She wondered if anyone would notice if she made a fast break for her station wagon.
“So tell me,” Charity said as soon as she’d given her friend a quick hug.
Tricia glanced down quickly at the children, worried that Rusty, Jr. might repeat some of the last evening’s antics if they mentioned Brett Lancaster.
“Mom, can we go talk to Reverend Bob and Mr. Westin?” Lani indicated with her head toward the minister and youth minister shaking hands with members in the vestibule.
Tricia didn’t have any illusions her daughter wanted to have a heart-to-heart with grown-ups, but she nodded anyway. As expected, her children ran out to join Reverend Bob’s granddaughter and Andrew Westin’s children, who were giggling and banging hangers in the coatrack together. Discordant clanging and chatting voices filled the void as the organist stopped playing.
“How’d it go?” Charity pressed again. “What did you think of Brett? We’re expecting a full report.”
Charity’s husband, Rick, stepped up and caught the tail end of her comment. “No, we’re not. Only one of us is being too nosy for her own good.” He dropped