The Groom Came Back. Abby Gaines

throat. “Perhaps the mediation I mentioned earlier…” he began.

      Jack ignored the lawyer.

      “I see the important stuff,” he said dismissively.

      She snapped her fingers. “I don’t mean things like your dad’s blood pressure spikes—”

      “Since when does Dad have high blood pressure?”

      “His doctor deals with that,” she said. She’d obviously been too subtle in her e-mails. “I’m talking about your mom’s midlife crisis, and your parents’ marriage breakdown.”

      He gaped. “Mom’s not having a midlife crisis. She’s not the type.”

      Okay, could somebody hand her a sledgehammer?

      “And Mom and Dad’s marriage is not breaking down,” he added. “I haven’t seen anything beyond normal tension—” the word she’d used in her e-mails “—between them.”

      “You don’t want to see, in case it complicates your Very Important Life.”

      “That’s garbage. I’ll talk to Dad about his blood pressure, but beyond that…”

      “This isn’t an extended house call,” she said, beyond frustrated. “It’s your family. Look deeper, Jack.”

      He turned away abruptly, rejecting everything she’d said.

      “You’ve changed,” she accused. “You used to be so kind, so caring.”

      “You used to be so quiet,” he retorted.

      Just like that, Callie ran out of steam. She sagged onto the couch, back against the cushions, breathing hard.

      “Those grounds for divorce,” Sam mused in his gravelly voice, “I’m thinking irreconcilable differences.”

      FROM THE WAY JACK STRODE out of the Magills’ house, Callie half expected him to jump in the Jaguar and roar off without her.

      With his long legs, he could have beaten her to the car easily. But when he hit the steps, he stopped. The porch light threw the planes of his cheeks into sharp relief, illuminated a slow, satisfied smile. What was that about?

      He continued down the wide steps. By the time he reached the bottom, Callie was right beside him. She discerned a spring in his step and…was he whistling under his breath?

      Deeply suspicious—even more so when he held the car door open for her with a slight bow—she slid into her seat.

      After about a mile of driving in silence, broken only by the sound of Callie’s stomach growling—she had said all she could without losing her temper, and Jack was preoccupied—he pulled into the parking lot of a Happy Burgers restaurant. He positioned the Jaguar precisely between a Ford Bronco and a Toyota Corolla, and buzzed his window closed. “You’re hungry, let’s eat.”

      Typical. He was deciding once again what was wrong with her and what she should do about it.

      “Didn’t they teach you in medical school that junk food is bad for you?” Callie’s stomach growled again. She pressed a hand to her middle.

      “I don’t want to listen to that all the way back,” he said, and got out of the car.

      “I hope you’re good at treating indigestion,” she called as she stomped across the lot behind him.

      Inside, Jack ordered a large fries and two giant burgers for himself plus a Coke to wash them down. Callie had planned on ordering a salad, but the smell of grease and carbs seduced her into a cheeseburger and fries. And a caramel sundae—that plastic-tasting sticky sauce was irresistible.

      “This’ll probably kill me,” she grumbled as they sat down.

      “I can only hope,” he said cheerfully. He nudged her tray farther onto the molded plastic table, which hadn’t been wiped since the last customer.

      Callie refused to put her food on the table, but Jack reached around to deposit his tray on the waste station behind him. He set his burger down, heedless of marauding bacteria, and ignored Callie as he unwrapped his food. He looked happier than he had since he’d arrived in Parkvale, which made no sense.

      “That meeting was a total disaster.” She sucked the salt off a French fry. “Sam must think we’re psychos.”

      Jack chomped a mouthful of burger. “He thought you were a psycho, for sure. I think he recognized a fellow professional in me.”

      “By the way you threatened to kill me?”

      He grinned. Now she was seriously worried.

      “I’m still thinking about claiming you’re impotent,” she said, trying to bait him.

      He regarded her blandly. “You do what you have to.”

      Callie had the horrible sense that her chances of convincing him to help his parents were slithering away. She tried a new tack. “Jack, I’m sorry I exaggerated—”

      “Lied.”

      “—about how long you need to be here.”

      He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

      “It’s just that I care a lot about your folks, so I…” She stopped, burger halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

      He leaned back in the booth, arms folded across his chest. “Are you forgetting what I learned in our meeting with Sam?”

      Had she missed something? Desperately, she cast her mind back. “That impotence is nothing to be ashamed of?”

      His mouth firmed into a hard, straight line. He planted his palms on the table and leaned forward. “That I don’t need to be here for us to get a divorce. I’m going back to England.”

      “You can’t!”

      “You can’t,” he echoed. “Stop me.” He popped several fries into his mouth.

      Callie’s burger sank like a stone in her stomach. “But your parents—”

      “Will understand I need to get back to my patients. I’ll make sure Dad’s doctor is on top of his blood pressure. I’ll even ask Mom if she needs any help,” he said with exaggerated generosity. “I figure I can wrap up this visit by Wednesday, Thursday tops.”