Husband in Training Read online

  "Why not?"

  She gaped at him, then echoed in disbelief, "Why not?"

  "Yeah." His eyes had turned harder. They sparked with dark fire. "Why the hell not?"

  "Boy, you have got a short memory, mister."

  "I asked you, Jen. Why the hell not?"

  "In a word, Sasha. You do remember Sasha, don't you? The one you're so in love with. The one you had to have my daughter training you for?"

  His anger had risen to keep pace with hers. He glowered at her. "Look. Forget Sasha."

  She let out a harsh laugh. "Forget Sasha? Just like that?"

  "Right. Forget her. Just like that. I saw her night before last in the Nine-Seventeen Club. She was hanging all over some big, buff low-class guy just like me. And I felt relief. That's all. Relief that I can quit telling myself I love her when I don't even know her—and I don't want to know her."

  At that news, Jenny felt as if something had cut off her air. She sucked in a big, hard breath. "You don't … love Sasha?"

  "Hell, no. I never did. I realize that now."

  "But … if you don't love Sasha, if you knew that you didn't love Sasha, then why didn't you tell me yesterday? Why didn't you say something, at least before … what happened last night?"

  "Because I wanted yesterday, damn it. I wanted last night. I wanted to be with you. And I guess I knew that as long as you thought I had a thing for someone else, you'd let down your guard a little, let me get close to you."

  There it was again, that feeling that she wasn't getting air. She couldn't believe it, that he could know her so well, that he could understand so completely how her mind worked, the kind of lies she was willing to tell herself. It stunned her. No one had ever known her that well.

  Except Andrew.

  Her knees felt wobbly. She sank to the sofa. Nick sat, too, at the other end.

  She accused in a hollow voice, "So you tricked me."

  He looked down at the shoe he held in his hand, and then back at her. "Jen. I don't think you did anything you didn't want to do."

  It was true, of course. Way too true. No matter how hard she kept trying to blame him, she couldn't blame him. Not when so much of the blame actually belonged to her.

  Oh, there was just no point in talking about this. She had to get home.

  "Look. May I please have my shoe, now?"

  With a weary exhalation of breath, he bent down, picked up her other shoe, then handed them both to her. She could feel his eyes on her as she pulled them on and tied the laces.

  "Now," she said, when she had all her clothes on at last. "I really have to go."

  "What time do you have to get Polly?"

  "Nick—"

  "What time."

  Grudgingly, she confessed, "Eleven."

  "So maybe you can spare me a few more minutes here."

  "Nick, there's just no reason to—"

  "Can you spare me a few damn minutes, or not?"

  She closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fingertips. "All right. If you insist."

  "Yeah. Okay. I insist."

  "You don't have to become sarcastic."

  "And you don't have to go into your snow queen routine."

  Snow queen. He used to call her that, years and years ago, behind her back. To Andrew. She'd heard him say it once or twice. "If the snow queen will let you, how 'bout we get a beer?" Or, "Hell, bud, you got to check with the snow queen on everything, now?"

  Oh, why were they doing this? She only wanted to go home.

  He said, "Look. Can we just talk about Andy? Can we just talk about why you think you have to spend the rest of your life married to a ghost?"

  She closed her eyes again, dragged in a breath. "I do not think I have to spend the rest of my life married to a ghost. I don't want to be married to anyone. I just want…" She couldn't find the words.

  And he wouldn't wait for her to find them. "What? What do you want?"

  She stared at him hopelessly.

  He swore.

  She shook her head. "Won't you please take me home?"

  She was a tall woman, but to Nick right then, she looked very small and lost, sitting there at the other end of his sofa in her wrinkled shirt, with her shoulders hunched over, as if he'd been beating on them. He felt like a heel.

  All those articles Polly had made him read said a man needed to talk to a woman, to communicate with her, to really listen when she told him her feelings and her needs.

  Well, how the hell was a guy supposed to listen if a woman wouldn't talk?

  The articles had never said a damn thing about that.

  He was out of his depth here, and he knew it. In way, way over his head.

  And he'd probably blown everything anyway by making love to her last night. Probably all those articles had just assumed he'd have sense enough to get the talking done before he attempted anything so dangerous as sex.

  A powerful yearning came over him: for his old self, for the man who wanted nothing more from a woman than a few laughs and good, clean fun between the sheets. Things had been so much simpler then. Sex hadn't been dangerous then.

  Shoulders still hunched and head hanging down, Jen glanced over at him. Her blue eyes held a world of misery and silent appeal.

  He gave in to her. "All right. Fine. I'll take you home."

  She didn't say a word on the whole drive to her house.

  One of the neighbor kids had left a red wagon in her driveway, so he swung around and pulled up under the branches of the mulberry tree.

  When he shut off the engine, she turned to him, gave him a sad little smile and a deep, tired sigh.

  He'd already decided not to push things any further right then. "Hey. It's all right." It wasn't, but it seemed like the right thing to say. "Take some time. I'll call you."

  "About Monday, I…"

  Monday. Tomorrow. He'd forgotten. Polly would be expecting him. "I'll call you tonight, okay?"

  She stiffened. He got the message. If he was giving her that "time" he'd promised, then tonight was way too soon for him to be calling her. "Jen. We have to at least decide what to tell Polly."

  She nodded. "Okay. Tonight, then. Give me a call."

  He wanted to touch her, but somehow he didn't dare, so he just reached across her and opened her door.

  She gave him one last, pained smile. "Bye." And then she slid from the car and ran across the lawn, under the mulberry tree, up to her front step.

  He watched her fumble with the key and let herself in. She never once turned back to glance his way, only stepped over the threshold and shut the door against him.

  He knew he should go. There was no point in sitting out there on the street, hating himself, trying not to be mad at her for refusing to talk to him, feeling grim and sad and wondering how he was ever going to get through to her.

  Yeah, he knew he should go. But he didn't go. Right then, he didn't have the initiative to do a damn thing.

  Which was why he was still parked in front of the house, staring blindly out his windshield, when Jen's garage door went rumbling up. He turned in his seat at the sound.

  He saw Jen's car shoot out, rear end first, moving way too fast.

  She must have seen the little red wagon at the last minute, because she swerved wildly to avoid it. The rear of the car swung way to the left and picked up speed. It hit the lawn and kept going.

  It would have run right off the lawn and into Nick's car—except for that big fruitless mulberry tree. Nick cringed and shut his eyes at the moment of impact. Metal hit ungiving wood, crunching and groaning.

  When Nick looked again, the tree trunk appeared to have taken a big bite out of the back of Jen's car.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

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  Nick shoved open his door, jumped out and sprinted across the lawn. When he got to her side, she was slumped over the steering wheel. She'd been a whole car length away from the point of impact, and the vehicle hadn't been going that fast. Still, for one endless, awful s
econd, he was sure she had somehow been hurt.

  He grabbed her door handle and yanked the thing open. "God. Jenny. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  But then she lifted her head. No blood, no bruises. Nothing—except for the mute agony in her eyes. "I'm all right. Really." She raised her hands from the steering wheel and stared at them. "Look. Shaking. So stupid. They're shaking. I wasn't paying attention. Driving too fast. Too fast, I know it. Then I saw that wagon…" She put her hands back on the wheel and held on hard, as if by doing that she could make them stop shaking. "I have to get over to Amelia's. Right now. They've been trying to reach me since ten last night."

  Oh God, he thought. Polly. Something's happened to Polly. He demanded, "What the hell is it? Is Polly okay?"

  She let go of the wheel. "Yes." Then she shook her head. "No. Nick, I can't explain now. I have to go…"

  He reached across her and pulled the keys from the ignition. "I'll drive you."

  "No, really. I can drive. I can."

  "Maybe you can. But this car's going nowhere. The rear end's caved in."

  "But I—"

  "Come on." He took her arm. She stared at him blankly for a moment. "Come on," he said again.

  "All right." She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and let him pull her out from behind the wheel. Once she was on her feet, she swayed and leaned against him. He worried again that she'd sustained some injury. She looked unharmed, but maybe…

  "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

  "No. No, I'm okay. Just … upset. Way too upset. And I have to go, Nick. I have to go now."

  "All right. The car's right here." They started down the slight slope of the lawn, his arm over her shoulders. She leaned on him heavily. He didn't mind that at all. He only wished he knew for sure if Polly was all right.

  But he'd get her in the car first, get going. And then he'd find out the whole story.

  A neighbor woman came running up the sidewalk just as he was settling Jen into the passenger seat of the Cadillac.

  "What's happened? Jenny, are you okay?"

  Jen gestured weakly with a wave of a hand. "I'm fine, really. Just careless."

  "Oh, your poor car…"

  "It's all right. I'll take care of it later. Right now—"

  "We have to go," Nick finished for her as he shut her door.

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  He was already heading around to his side of the car. "No. Nothing. But thanks." He got in, buckled up. Jen watched him, a dazed look on her face. He tried a smile. "Better fasten your seat belt." Moving as if she were a woman in dream, she did. He turned the key and pulled away from the curb. As they drove off, in his rearview mirror, he saw the neighbor, staring after them, shaking her head.

  He got them on the highway before he asked, "Greenhaven, right?"

  "Right." She named an exit.

  He dared to ask then, "Has Polly been hurt?"

  Jen closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. "No. It's not that, thank God."

  He let out the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "Then what's happened?"

  She sighed. "Oh, Nick…"

  "Come on. Tell me."

  At last, she started talking. "It's Amelia. Amelia's got a boyfriend. Her parents didn't know about him. Amelia never even mentioned him."

  "Something happened with this boy, is that it?"

  "Yes. Something happened. At the party. You remember the party?"

  "Right. Last night."

  Jen nodded. "The boy came to the party. He'd been drinking."

  Nick swore under his breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "How old is this kid?"

  "Sixteen, I think. Sixteen. And drinking. He took the girls for a ride in his car."

  Nick swore again, more crudely than the first time.

  Jen went on, her eyes still closed, her head on the backrest. "A highway patrolman pulled them over. They took the boy away. And the girls got a police escort home."

  Nick swore for the third time. "Who is the boy? I'll kill him."

  Jen sat up then. She opened her eyes and she stared at him squarely. "Nick. Don't. If you're going to get crazy about this, you'd better wait in the car when we get there."

  He met her gaze, then looked back at the road. "I'm going in with you." He said the words firmly—and felt certain as he said them that she would say Polly wasn't his daughter, that she didn't want him involved.

  But he was wrong. She only warned, "Not a word, then. Not a single word. You'll let me handle this myself."

  It was better than he'd expected. He promised, "I swear. Not a word."

  Amelia's parents, Will and Nancy Gordon, didn't seem the least surprised when Nick arrived with Jenny. But then again, they had lived next door to the Browns for a decade. They had known Nick as Andrew's friend—and they'd witnessed the way he'd stuck by Jenny and her daughter after Andrew's death. They probably didn't see it as the least bit odd that Nick would show up at a time like this.

  And, Jenny realized, it wasn't odd, not at all. She only felt uncomfortable about it because of last night—because everything had changed between her and Nick now, and she still hadn't a clue as to how she was going to deal with that change.

  But the Gordons, who knew nothing of the change, greeted Nick quietly and then launched into agonized apologies.

  "Oh, Jenny, I'm so sorry," Nancy insisted. "We never would have let the girls out of our sight if we'd known. But we just had no clue Amelia was seeing anyone—let alone such a dangerous boy."

  Will Gordon added darkly, "A boy she won't be seeing anymore."

  Nancy looked as if she might cry. "She's only thirteen. We just never imagined she'd be seeing some older boy behind our backs…"

  Jenny put her arm around Nancy. "Listen. Please don't think I'm blaming you for what happened. I'm not, not in the least."

  "Thank you," said Will.

  Nancy shook her head. "Amelia just hasn't been happy since we left the old house. She misses her old school. And Polly—Amelia's just lost without Polly, even though they're on the phone every day. But you know how they were."

  Jenny did know. "Inseparable."

  "Yes. Oh, I suppose I should have seen this coming, or something like this. But I only kept thinking that I should give her time, that she would adjust."

  "What else could you have done?"

  "Oh, I don't know. I just don't know…"

  Guilt kept nagging at Jenny. After all, there was something she could have done: been home where she belonged last night when the trouble occurred. She spoke her guilt aloud, careful not to look at Nick, who stood a few feet away, near the entrance to the Gordons' living room. "I'm just sorry I wasn't there, last night, when you tried to call."

  Nancy patted the hand Jenny had wrapped around her shoulder. "We did try your cell phone."

  Guilt prodded harder. Jenny always carried that phone—just in case. But last night she'd left it in her purse on the counter in Nick's kitchen. And when the Gordons tried to reach her, she'd been in the bedroom, too far away to hear it ring. "I'm … sorry," she said, her voice weak. Ineffectual.

  Again, Nancy patted her hand. "It was just a bad set of circumstances all the way around."

  Will said, "Nancy and I have been talking this over. Amelia is going to be grounded for a while. And we think it might be best if we suspended phone privileges, too."

  Jenny nodded. "I understand. I haven't really decided on the consequences for Polly yet. But you're probably right. It would be better if the girls don't talk on the phone or get together for a while."

  "Give them some time to deal with what they've done," Will added, "without the opportunity to commiserate about how rough they've got it."

  Nancy said anxiously, "But we don't want to break up their friendship. That's really not our aim. We hope you understand that."

  Jenny squeezed Nancy's shoulder. "I know. And I do understand."

  "Well, then." Will looked grim. "Polly's in the living room…" />
  The adults filed into the other room. The two girls were waiting on the couch. Amelia looked as if her world had come to an end. She had puffy, red eyes; the eyes of a girl who has cried most of the night. Polly's eyes were dry. She sat with her arms folded over her thin chest. Her strong jaw looked like granite and her mouth was a flat line. Jenny knew that look; Polly wore it too much lately—the look of the abused and misunderstood adolescent. Jenny's heart sank at the thought of the battle she faced when they got home.

  She wondered, feeling exhausted and thoroughly discouraged, if there was something else she should say to the Gordons before she took her daughter and went home. She couldn't think of a thing, beyond the recriminations she longed to shout at Polly. All the classic, worried-mother things: What were you thinking? How could you do such a thing? How can you expect me to trust you when you pull a stunt like this?

  But there was no point in going into all that now. The short conversation with the Gordons at the front door had given her what information she needed at the moment; they didn't want the girls in contact for a while, and that seemed appropriate to Jenny. The rest could wait until she and Polly were alone.

  "Come on," she said tightly. "Let's go."

  Polly pressed her lips even harder together and tossed her head, a gesture of pure defiance that said more than any angry words might have. The small suitcase she'd brought waited at her feet. She reached down, grabbed it and shot upright. She got about two steps in Jenny's direction when Nick spoke up for the first time since he'd greeted the Gordons at the front door. "Pol."

  Polly froze. She tipped her chin higher, and pulled her shoulders back. Jenny shot Nick a look—after all, he had promised not to interfere.

  Nick either didn't catch Jenny's warning glance, or else he ignored it. He said to Polly, "I think you owe the Gordons an apology."

  Polly tossed her head again. She sucked in a breath through her nose, shuddering delicately, making it patently obvious that she considered herself the injured party here.

  "Pol," Nick said again, too softly.

  "Oh, all right," she snapped. She turned to Will and Nancy and spoke with lofty dignity. "I am very sorry for what happened last night. I wish it hadn't happened."