the still, cold night and the prospect of figuring out if indeed this man belonged here. And what was I to do with him?
I studied him more closely. He looked like any local Belgian. A full beard and spectacles covered most of his face. I couldn’t see much more in the dark, no matter how bright the moon. But he had a quiet, intense presence about him.
“You are Muriel.”
He spoke my Resistance code name. He’d heard Henri call me “Esmée.” Still, he could be an undercover German. A double agent. But at that moment I decided to trust him.
“Yes, I am.”
“I am from across the way.”
This time he spoke in English.
He meant, of course, the English Channel. He was another one of the many Allied operatives who were landing in Belgium to help the Resistance.
I put down my rifle. It ran through my mind that this Ally probably thought I was crazy. That I could stand there having a calm chat with him in my cow pasture on Christmas morning, as my husband’s body lay next to us.
“Did you love him?” His question shocked me. I responded before I could think.
“I hated him.”
“So saving my ass wasn’t too much of a sacrifice, then?”
“No.”
I wish I’d been able to explain to him that I wasn’t a monster. That years of living with this horrible man in a horrible time had left me with no hope for my future. That my only reason for getting up each morning has been to save more people from the Germans, and to save any future victims of Henri’s efforts to aid the enemy.
But all I said was “no.”
Melinda heaved the journal off her lap and placed it on the mahogany end table she and Nicholas had refinished last year.
The conversation they’d had then played in her mind as if it had just happened.
She’d landed a position in Senator Hodge’s local office but she’d been offered one in Washington, D.C. She’d wanted to take it. Planned to take it.
Nicholas had rejected her suggestion that they move. His accounting practice was flourishing and, even though he’d have no problem landing a great job in D.C., he didn’t want to leave western New York.
“It’s all we’ve ever known. We’ve been so happy here,” he’d argued.
“Exactly. It’s all we’ve ever known. But it was pretty damned desolate while you were in Afghanistan.”
She’d loathed the entire year he’d been gone, and was grateful he’d returned in one piece.
But the year of separation and isolation had stirred a restlessness in Melinda that she needed to explore. She was like her father, James, who’d worked as a civil servant, first for the municipal government in Buffalo and then in Arizona. She was interested in federal politics. Grammy, like Nick, had thought maybe it was time they had a baby, but the baby never came.
They’d been unable to conceive.
“Honey, we’re in an adjustment period,” he’d said that fall day. “I’ve only been back six months, and we were apart an entire year.” He’d placed his hands on her shoulders, but Melinda couldn’t accept any comfort from him. Not then.
“You’ve only been home for six months but you’re already talking about leaving again.” Her words were spoken quietly but their weight was deadly.
Nicholas dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step backward.
“You’ve always supported my Reserve training before. Surely you understood it was training for war.”
“Yes, but you seem so eager to go, Nick. It’s as though you have some sort of death wish. I mean, to agree, to volunteer again—”
“Cut me some slack here, Melinda. I’ve been with the same team for the past ten years. We’re like family. I can’t let them down now.”
“What about me? Us?”
“There’s always us. That never changes.”
“You say you want a baby, but how can we work on it when you’re halfway around the world fighting in a war?”
“The same way we’ll work on it while you’re in D.C. and I’m here.” His resentment at her more and more frequent business trips was reflected in his tone.
They’d thrown accusations at each other that day as if words didn’t hurt, wouldn’t stay ingrained on their hearts for a long while to come, if not forever.
On Sunday morning, Nicholas rose with the sun. Mornings were always the toughest time. He had to stretch, put on his prosthesis and remember how to walk with his new leg. Sometimes the phantom pain took his breath away. Not today.
Today he was under the same roof as Melinda. His heartache far outweighed any pain he’d suffered as a result of the IED, improvised explosive device, and the subsequent loss of his leg.
The pain he felt at the loss of his squad mate, Tommy, who hadn’t survived the IED, could still leave him breathless if he dwelled on it. But it didn’t compare to the pain he felt at the thought of losing Melinda.
Waking up in the trauma unit and finding out that Tommy had died, leaving a widow and three kids, was a gut-wrenching blow. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over it. He’d certainly never forget Tommy.
But if he lost Melinda, their marriage, he’d lose his most important reason to live.
Melinda was his life, his soul mate. But they’d gone wrong somewhere in their fifteen-year marriage. He intended to right whatever he’d screwed up.
He went downstairs and started a pot of coffee. He was happy to see that Melinda had replaced the Starbucks coffee he’d left in the cupboard seven months ago. While the coffee brewed, he walked to the front door, intent on the morning paper. After he opened the front door and was greeted with an icy blast he realized the paper service had been terminated.
Of course. He’d made the call himself two days before his departure.
A week after Melinda had left.
“You’re up early.” Her voice seemed to touch the tender place inside that he’d thought was dead.
“Habit.” He turned away from her, and went back into the kitchen. But not before he caught a whiff of her morning scent. Shampoo, hair products, perfume. For a split second, all their bitter words dissolved and all he wanted was to pull her into his arms.
Instead, he settled for looking at her.
Big mistake. The IED had taken his leg but, thank God, nothing else. Right now he was acutely aware of his physiological response to her.
Big blue eyes stared at him from behind fringed lashes that he knew to be pale blond when not coated with mascara, as they were now. She’d cut her hair, and as much as he missed the straight, silky length that fell to her shoulders, the new sleek chin-length style was stunning on her.
When she raised an eyebrow, Nicholas turned away. He had to stay cool if he was going to pull this one off.
“Learn anything interesting from Grammy’s journal?” He poured them each a cup of coffee. He was generous with her half-and-half, just the way she liked it.
Melinda’s expression looked as if she’d refuse his attempt at a truce. After a few tense moments, the lines in her face relaxed.
He watched her slim hands wrap around the ceramic mug. She lifted it to her lips and he had to avert his gaze or risk another surge of hormones.
“I’ve—” she narrowed her eyes “—we’ve always known that Grammy was a strong person. But I’m reading about