Meg was your wife.” She practically spat the word at him. “That didn’t seem to make any difference, did it? You still walked away. You don’t get to—”
“Jules.” Lori materialized by her friend’s side with an icy glare as she laid a hand to Julia’s forearm. “Don’t.”
Something dark and uncomfortable slipped through Russell. He’d known coming back would not be easy, but the palpable tension among the foursome drove home just how long he’d been gone—and how much he didn’t know. Trey was rail thin. Lori looked sad, drawn. Lance looked fed up. And Julia…Julia looked like she wanted to bust some balls.
Namely, his.
“I don’t get to do what?” he asked.
Lori looked down. Julia’s mouth pursed into a thin line. But it was Trey who spoke. “Come on, that was a long time ago,” he said to his wife and her friend. “It wasn’t a picnic for anyone. When a marriage ends…” He lifted a hand to rub at his chest, but left the rest of his sentence unspoken.
But Russell knew. When a marriage ended, it was like a death. But the kicker was, you both still lived. You lived, while every other aspect of your life—where you lived, what you did, who you did it with, your freaking identity—went away.
Once those in Meg’s inner circle had considered Russell a friend, and he them. They’d worked together, laughed together, cried together. Now at best he was a stranger. At worst…an enemy.
Not surprisingly, it was Lori who broke the awkward silence. “Have you seen her?”
A photojournalist, Russell was a man who dealt in images. Some he captured with film. Others imprinted themselves on him, lingering long, long after time had moved on. When he closed his eyes, it was a veritable slide show of his life.
Since returning to Pecan Creek, that slide show was of Meg.
“This afternoon,” he said, feeling his chest tighten all over again. In a perfect world, he could have slipped in and out of town without seeing her. Christ, he could have avoided coming back altogether.
But it wasn’t a perfect world, and he could not do what had to be done without involving her.
“At the flower field,” he murmured as an afterthought. “She had the baby….”
Julia and Lori exchanged a quick glance. Two minutes later they’d retrieved their purses and were gone, leaving the men standing in an awkward vortex of country music and silence.
STARS TWINKLED throughout the shadowy nursery, blue shimmers of light courtesy of the funky projector in the center of the room. Beatles music turned lullabies drifted from the CD player on the dresser. It was the perfect atmosphere for sleeping, but Charlotte, despite being bathed, lotioned and fed, had absolutely no interest in sleeping.
Still Meg rocked, cradling the chubby baby in her arms as she watched the numbers on the clock slip deeper into the evening.
“What a good day you had,” she cooed, even though Charlotte was focused on the pile of blocks she’d been playing with earlier.
Meg wasn’t about to allow her back down on the floor. This was attempt number three at sleep. There would not be a fourth.
“Posing so pretty for Uncle Ray,” she went on in the same monotone. The second time had been the charm. Rejuvenated from her power nap, Charlotte had sat happily in the big patch of bluebonnets, cheerfully destroying one flower at a time.
Ray said the pictures would be great.
Meg had to take his word for it, because in truth, she had no idea. She’d tried to watch. She’d tried to pay attention. But the image of Russell limping toward her had stayed with her long after he himself had vanished.
Even now, hours later, the reality of it all kept winding through her, tighter with each minute that passed. This is what it had been like before, back when they’d come home from work each day and pretended they had a marriage. When they’d shared a silent dinner before each retreating to their own space. When they’d lain in bed with their backs to each other, faking sleep.
And so much more.
With the memory, all those old sensations knotted inside her once again, bringing with them a renewed frustration. She and Charlotte were just settling into a routine. The paper was in trouble. Circulation was down, advertising almost cut in half. With more and more folks consuming their news from online sources, interest in dailies and weeklies was at an all-time low. If she didn’t come up with a turnaround soon, the paper would go under.
She did not have time for Russell Montgomery to stroll back into town.
On a deep inhalation, she glanced down and found Charlotte’s eyes heavy, slowly blinking. Exhaling, she stopped rocking and waited.
The baby’s eyes drifted closed.
Still Meg sat in the rocking chair, looking down at Charlotte’s sweet little face. Sometimes getting her to sleep was a bear, but those first few moments of slumber were worth the effort. The innocence of it all screamed through Meg, filling her with a soft determination that would have sent her to her knees had she not been sitting.
Charlotte. Poor sweet Charlotte. Ainsley had loved her so very, very much.
Meg closed her eyes against the memory, but images awaited in the darkness, as well. Ainsley on the hospital bed, weak, fading. Reaching for her baby one last time.
Inside, something started to shake. Fighting it, Meg reached for all those slip-sliding pieces and locked them away, stood and eased the baby into her crib. In the hall, she crossed to her office, but found herself heading for the kitchen instead. She just needed…
At the oven, she went up on her toes and opened the cabinet, saw the lone bottle. She’d put the five-year-old cabernet there the night after Charlotte was born. Maybe tonight was the night to allow herself just one glass….
Meg…where were ye? I was scared my wee one would get here before you did….
She closed the cabinet. Walked out of the kitchen. Back to her office. Shut the door.
That’s where she was when her cell phone rang. She picked it up, answered on the second ring.
“Open up,” Julia said by way of greeting.
Meg blinked. “Pardon?”
“We’re on the porch,” Julia said in that brisk, all-business way of hers. “Didn’t want to knock and risk waking the baby.”
Puzzled, Meg saved the business plan she’d been editing and went to the front of the house, where she opened the door to Julia and Lori, and a nondescript brown bag.
Julia brushed right by her, looking both ways as she crossed the small foyer. “Is he here? Is that his truck out front?”
Meg glanced out to see the white, late-model truck across the street. “Is who here?”
Lori stepped inside and closed the door. “We know,” she said quietly. “We saw him.”
Meg stilled as realization formed. Her friends had seen Russell. And here they were…checking on her.
Because they knew—everything.
“He’s not here.” The truck across the street had been there a few days, most likely belonging to one of Mrs. Morgan’s grown sons. “And you don’t need to be here, either. I’m fine.”
“Right,” Julia said. “Your husband waltzes back into town after two years—”
“Soon-to-be-ex,” Meg corrected. She’d filed the papers the month before Ainsley had died. All they needed were his signature.
“My point exactly.”
Lori’s eyes widened as Julia whisked into the kitchen. “You should have seen her. She pretty much let him have it.”