His Partner's Wife (32 page)

In other words, a coward?

How had it happened that they made soul-searing, glorious
love but could no longer talk like the friends they'd been this past year? Why
did the one mean the loss of the other?

Staring into the darkness, Natalie wondered unhappily why
she couldn't have lover and friend both.

John looked
at the
telephone a dozen times that morning and thought of calling Natalie at work.
But he had people wandering by his desk, and she probably did, too, assuming
she was even at it. What kind of conversation would they have? He could just
hear it.
How are you? Fine. And you? Did
you, um, sleep well?

He couldn't say,
You
have no idea how much it meant to me when you accepted me without questions
last night. When you wanted me as desperately as I wanted you.
Or,
Can you
live with me, my kids and my ex-wife?

John swore under his breath. That sounded twisted. Think of
a better way to put it.
When my
ex-wife calls, I have to go running.
Oh,
yeah. That was really calculated to make a woman swoon with delight at the
bargain she was getting. Two school-age kids, a husband who was a cop—she'd
have already learned from Stuart the erratic hours and gruesome nature of the
job—and a financial and emotional obligation to an invalid ex.

Put that way, he figured he might as well save his breath.
Let her find a better deal.

Bleakness swept over him as he had a flash of her walking
down the aisle toward another man.

One way or the other, Natalie had figured as part of his
future for a long time now. It wouldn't be just the vital, loving woman he'd
held in his arms last night who he would lose, but also the one person to whom
he'd been able to talk about his fears and frustrations and losses.

His desk phone rang and he answered automatically, although
his mind was still on Natalie. Did he have a chance with her?

"John?" his ex-wife said in her small, breathless
voice.

His attention snapped into focus. "Debbie. What's
up?"

"I haven't gotten my alimony check," she said
timidly. "I was just wondering…"

"Jeez." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I've been caught up in a couple of cases at work and I haven't paid my
bills yet. I'm sorry. I'll get it off tomorrow."

"That's all right. I just thought … was afraid…"
Tears threatened. She cried easily these days.

He couldn't blame her. "You don't have to worry. I'm
not going to cut you off, I promise."

She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I have too
much time to worry, I guess."

Something drove John to say, "You know, I used to think
about putting an addition on the house. An apartment for you, so you could see the
kids all the time, be involved in their lives." He was regretting his big
mouth even before he finished. What? Did he
want
to
sabotage his chances with Natalie? He finished uncomfortably, "I always
figured you'd say no."

"Of course I would have! Who would take care of
me?" she said with sharp fear. "You're never home. I couldn't count
on you. You don't understand my limitations."

"I do understand them," he said, forcing himself
to be patient. He swung his chair around so that his back was to a scuffle on
the other side of the squad room. "I know you'd need round-the-clock
nursing care." With genuine puzzlement, he asked, "Wouldn't you like
to be closer to the kids?"

"No!" she cried. He heard her tears. "No. I
feel safe here. I miss them, you know I do. Sometime, when I'm in remission …
but right now, I need my parents. When I call them, they're always there."

Unlike you,
was the
subtext.
You were never there.

"What about a nursing home here in Port Dare?"
They'd had this discussion before, but he had to try again. "Your parents
could drive up a couple of times a week. It sounds like it would be good for
you and Maddie and Evan if you were closer."

"What's wrong?" she asked meanly. "Are you
needing someone to watch them after school?"

He never had liked this woman. John shook his head. Okay, he
could live with her self-pity—he might have felt the same way dealt her cards.
He hoped he would have hidden it better, especially around their children, but
he could understand it.

What he didn't get was her fear of life. Fact: she had a
cruel disease. But why not try to do as much as she could? It was as if she'd
crawled back, if not into the womb, at least as close as she could get. She was
a little girl again, and as selfish as one. She wept over Maddie and Evan, but
she always thought of herself first.

He had done his best by her, but she could never resist
jabs.
I
couldn't count on you.

"I don't need you for day care. You know better than
that," he said evenly. "I was thinking of you."

"That's what you always say!"

He had a bad taste in his mouth. "And you just can't
believe it?"

"Why didn't you think of me when we were married?"

It was a blow to the gut, considering he was thinking of
asking another woman to marry him. Reeling from it, he asked, "Was I
really such a bad husband?"

Debbie sniffled. "No! No, of course you weren't!"

Unkindly he figured she'd just remembered which side her
bread was buttered on.

"There was just always something more important."

He glared at a sergeant trying to drop something on his desk.
"You mean, my job," he said into the phone.

The sergeant retreated with his sheaf of papers.

"Yes!" Debbie exclaimed. "Do you have any
idea how many dinners I threw away? How many times I cried, because you didn't
come home when you'd promised to?"

"You know I can't walk away from an accident on the
highway or a crime scene because it's dinnertime."

"You could have changed jobs. If you didn't have other
family, I would be so frightened for Maddie and Evan. Do you ever make it to
parent conferences, or … or…?"

She didn't even know what he
should
be
making it to, because she hadn't paid enough attention when they talked.

"Yeah," he said. "I make it. When I can. They
understand when I can't."

"Do they?" she said starkly.

Another blow, but he recovered from this one more quickly.
His kids were pretty damned well adjusted given their mother's situation, if he
did say so himself. They didn't seem to feel a speck of doubt about his love.
They needed reassurance, sure. Kids did. They didn't need him to prove it constantly
by sacrificing little bits of himself.

He gave a grunt that might have been a laugh if it had held
any humor. "You don't miss me at all, do you?"

She was silent for a moment, then chose to answer
indirectly. "We should never have married."

"No," he said. "We shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, wretchedly.
"I blame you, but I wasn't the right wife for you, either."

"Will it bother you if I remarry?" He felt
surprised that he'd been driven to ask. It wasn't as if he could make choices based
on what bothered his ex. Hell, everything bothered her.

In fact, he anticipated a sharp, self-pitying comeback.
Instead, after a brief pause, his ex-wife said quietly, "No. I only wish I
had the chance…"

"You'll get better," he said heartily.

"Maybe. For a little while at a time." For a
moment she sounded very adult, a woman instead of a sad child. "But it
would be good for Maddie and Evan to have the kind of mother I'll never
be."

Stunned at her utter selflessness, he was ashamed of his
earlier assessment of her character.

"If they forget me, I'll understand," she added
softly, a small sniff adding to the martyrish tone.

He gave a reluctant grin at her return to form. "I
won't let 'em."

She didn't ask who he was considering marrying, either from
lack of interest or because the idea was mildly disturbing. He was just as
glad.

John renewed his promise to send the check, reminded her
that this was their Sunday to visit, and they said goodbye.

He looked at the phone and thought again of calling Natalie,
but it was almost time for the press conference about the Portman murder, and
the desk sergeant was circling for another try.

Later.

"Later" meant picking up his kids from
after-school care. Maddie was distraught because she hadn't turned in a
homework assignment that day, and she'd told Grandma last night she didn't
have
any
homework, which meant she'd been able to watch TV.

"Grandma will think I was lying, but I wasn't!"
Her face was turning red. "I forgot! And Miss Miller looked so…" She
hesitated.

"Disappointed in you?"

"Yes!" Tears began to spurt.

"Well, you know what you'll be doing this
evening." John glanced in the rearview mirror. Evan was falling asleep,
his cheek against the car window. It was rare for him to need a nap anymore.
"He okay?" he asked Maddie, nodding over his shoulder.

Wiping her tears, she frowned toward her brother. "Well
… he was kinda quiet at day care. Jenny asked if he was all right."

The teachers hadn't said anything to John. Talking quietly
to Maddie about why she hadn't kept her assignment sheet up-to-date, he parked
at home and went around to wake Evan and help him unbuckle.

He could tell the minute he opened the car door that his son
had a fever.

Evan came awake sluggishly, but when he did, his eyes popped
open. "Dad." He struggled against the seat belt, his voice urgent.
"I don't feel so good."

John got the belt unsnapped and pulled the boy out of his
booster seat and the car just in time. He threw up his lunch on the driveway,
just missing John's shoes.

"Eew!" Maddie screeched, jumping back.

That was pretty much John's sentiment. But he was the
grown-up, so he got to clean Evan up, take his temp and put him to bed with a
bowl, then go out and hose off the driveway.

Washing his hands at the kitchen sink, he said, "Go see
how your brother is. I'll figure something out for dinner."

"I don't want to go near
him."

John reached for a hand towel. "He kept you company
when you had chicken pox."

"That's 'cause you wanted him to get them, too."
She sighed melodramatically. "I sat with him on the day care bus. So it's
probably too late anyway."

"Yup." John opened the refrigerator and scanned
the contents. "Unless this virus is something you've already had."

She brightened. "You think?"

"We can hope." He popped the Tupperware top and
scrutinized some leftovers his mother had deemed still edible. Another eew.
Disposal fodder.

Maddie trudged out. John found a couple of microwave dinners
in the freezer and a bag of frozen peas. His daughter would be perfectly happy.
To think he had actually considered calling Natalie and suggesting they all go
out to dinner. Here was another example of the thrills and chills she'd be
taking on if she agreed to become Natalie McLean.

John had no sooner gobbled his microwave pasta than Evan
threw up again. John took the opportunity to give him some liquid acetaminophen
in hopes it would stay down long enough to make him feel better, which, miracle
of miracles, it seemed to do. A slow, easy back rub and a few stories read
aloud, and the five-year-old fell into a heavy sleep. John inspected Maddie's
belated social studies project—a cardboard colonial church with steeple that
would be the centerpiece of the village she'd be making during the next
week—and sent her off to take a bath and get ready for bed.