The Saint's Wife (9 page)

“Yeah. Joanna, you look great. You always—” Their eyes locked, and he swallowed hard. His voice softer now, he said, “You’ve always looked great.”

Her cheeks colored. His burned. They both shifted their gazes away, and David busied himself drenching a fry in ketchup.

“So, how are you doing?” he asked.

“Tonight? Or in general?”

He shrugged. “Either or.”

She fixed her gaze on her plate and picked up a fry but didn’t get much further than that. “I can’t complain, I guess.”

“You can if you want to.”

Joanna looked at him through her lashes.

He idly turned his beer bottle between his fingers. “I know this has been rough on you. If you want to talk about it…”

She drew back a little, eyeing him uncertainly.

“Nothing leaves this booth.” He sat up a little and rested his arm on the table, keeping his other hand firmly around his beer bottle. “I promise.”

She set down the fry she’d been holding and pushed the plate aside. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel right now.”

“What
do
you feel?”

Her eyes lost focus. For a good minute, she didn’t say anything and didn’t look at anything. Then her shoulders dropped. “Honestly, I feel like a horrible person.”

David swallowed. “Why?”

“Because I…” She sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t hate Chris. I don’t want him to suffer. But…” She stared down at her wringing hands.

“But you’re there too? Getting lost in the shuffle?”

Joanna laughed humorlessly. “I got lost in the shuffle a long, long time ago.” She raised her head and met his eyes. “The only difference is that once he got sick, I couldn’t say a word about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like…up until the day he was diagnosed the first time, I could vent to people. You know, the few friends he let me have, my family. Hell, I could have left him and no one would’ve raised an eyebrow. Most of our friends and my family thought he was an ass anyway, and I can’t tell you how many people were trying to convince me to divorce him. Or telling me to count my blessings because, hey, at least he had money.” She sighed, letting her head fall back against the seat. “And the second a doctor said it was cancer, Chris became a saint. Everyone except my sister would bite my head off if I so much as hinted that we weren’t getting along. Everything was suddenly my fault. One tumor, and suddenly my husband was the Second Coming of Christ Himself.” She closed her eyes and grimaced. “Does it make me a terrible person to even think about this?”

David swallowed. A few weeks ago, he’d have told her exactly what kind of person it made her. He could even feel that latent disgust burning in the back of his throat. But ever since she’d come back from Tillamook, he’d been paying more attention to her. To the way Chris treated her. To how miserable she looked more often than not.

“No,” he whispered. “It doesn’t.”

They both fell quiet, and he had no idea what to say.

After a moment, she sat up and looked him in the eye. “You know what? This is killing my buzz. Just for tonight, can we pretend I’m not Chris’s wife?”

David straightened. “What?”

“Just…can we talk about other things? Have dinner and a couple of beers and shoot the breeze about something that isn’t Chris or cancer?” She cringed. “God, that sounded awful, didn’t it?”

“No, actually, it didn’t.” David turned his head and flagged down the waitress. He gestured for her to bring two more beers, and then he faced Joanna again. “It sounds like a great idea to me.”

“It does?”

“Absolutely.” He held up his beer. “To a night off from real life?”

Joanna’s face lit up with the most beautiful smile, and she clinked her longneck bottle against his. “To a night off from real life.”

They each took a drink, and as he set his bottle down, he said, “You know, I’ve known you for, what, seventeen years now?”

“Give or take.”

“And I know absolutely nothing about you.”

She held his gaze. “Likewise, actually.”

“Well, now’s as good a time as any to do something about that. I’m curious. What do you do when you’re not studying?”

She flashed a playful grin. “When I’m not being a decadent housewife, you mean?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Leather tooling.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “The workroom at the far end of the house? Down by the pool? I took that over. Chris doesn’t like the smell of some of the dyes and stuff that I use. Or wet leather.”

“He doesn’t like the smell of leather?” David chuckled into his beer bottle. “Philistine.”

“Right? I like it. But…” She shrugged. “So I commandeered that room. It’s kind of my little escape. My own personal Narnia.”

“I think everyone needs one of those.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

He played with the edge of the beer label. “So, what do you do with the work you’ve done?”

“Gifts. Little pieces for myself. Just depends on what I’m in the mood to work on.” She tugged her sleeve up and held out her hand, revealing a wide leather bracelet around her wrist. “This is one of my favorites.”

He leaned in closer and gently grasped the leather, turning it just slightly so he could see the design. It was a beautifully detailed eagle flying over a mountain range, with everything from the rocky crags to the feathers painstakingly etched into the wide strip of deep brown leather. “This is…wow. This is really cool.”

“Thanks.”

He released the bracelet and sat back again. “How did you learn to do that?”

“Trial and error.”

“So you’re…you’re self-taught?”

Joanna nodded.

He whistled. “That’s impressive.”

She laughed softly. “Thanks. It’s…” She shrugged. “Keeps me busy.”

“At least you have a hobby. I’ve been working so much for the last decade or so, I haven’t had much time for anything. I’ve been trying to do something about that, though. Especially since Tiffany came along.”

The faintest wince flickered across Joanna’s face, but she took a quick swallow of beer, and as she set the bottle down, asked, “How so?”

“I mean, she’s only going to be a kid for so long, you know? I’ve worked away a good chunk of my life. I’m not going to spend all of
hers
in an office.” He thumbed the label on his beer bottle. “So I make sure my weekends with her are one hundred percent father-daughter time. No work.”

“That…sounds like a really good approach.”

“It’s certainly been good for me. And as she gets older, I’ll probably start scaling back my work a bit more. So I can go to soccer games and whatever. Travel. Things like that.” He couldn’t help smiling. “I guess being a dad is making me reconsider this whole responsible-adult thing.”

Joanna laughed, though there seemed to be a hint of…sadness? “Well, you’re a self-made millionaire.” She raised her beer in a mock toast. “I’d say you’ve earned the right to screw off a bit.”

“Maybe. I might have to come up with some hobbies or something.” He chuckled. “I kind of forgot how to be anything but a CEO or a dad.”

“There are worse things you could do.” She paused. “And don’t you golf?”

“I think that’s a requirement for anyone in upper management or above.” David rested his arms on the edge of the table. “Can I confess something, though?”

She leaned forward, lowering her chin a bit. “Go for it.”

He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I fucking
hate
golf.”

A laugh burst out of her. “Really?”

“Yes.” David groaned. “Every time a new client or someone says they’re booking a tee time, I want to jump out into traffic.”

“That bad? It does seem kind of boring.”

“It’s not boring. It’s aggravating. I swear to God, nothing makes me want to punch holes in walls like golf.”

Joanna giggled. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, who the hell decided it was a good idea to chase a little ball around seven million acres of grass? With a
stick
?”

“I thought I was the only one.” She rolled her eyes. “Chris took me once when we were dating. By the fourth hole, I was done.”

“I don’t blame you.” He took a sip of beer. “Did he ever tell you about that time we went out with the guys from Toronto, and they insisted it wasn’t real golf if you used a golf cart?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that the time you guys got stuck out there in a rainstorm?”

“Yep. And it gets worse…”

Laughing over golf mishaps turned into snickering over how much they both hated those wine-and-dine-the-client dinners, and suddenly, they’d been talking nonstop for hours. It was almost ten thirty when the waitress brought them the check.

Joanna grabbed it before David could get it. “Let me.”

“Are you sure?”

Joanna smiled as she pulled her wallet from her purse. “You don’t know how much I needed this. Paying for it is the least I could do.”

David chuckled. “Well, if you insist.”

She slipped her Visa into the black folder and set it on the edge of the table. “I do.”

After Joanna had settled up the check, David drove her home. He pulled up in front of the five-car garage and let the engine idle.

And how weird was it, sitting there feeling kind of disappointed that the evening was over? Of course he was worried sick about Chris, but this one-on-one time with Joanna had been surprisingly nice. Now that it was coming to an end, he actually had to bite back a suggestion of some late night coffee or something. That might be a little weird with his best friend’s wife. Tempting, but weird.

“I guess I should go,” she said. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for dinner.”

She smiled. Then she glanced at her phone. “I should probably go back and see how Chris is doing.”

“Do you want me to take you over there? I could come in with you.”

She mulled over it for a moment, then met his eyes, the watery light from the dashboard barely illuminating her features. “No. I think I’ll be okay. Besides, you have to work tomorrow.”

“Well, if I’m late, the boss will get over it.”

She laughed. “I guess he will.” Then she sighed, her shoulders sinking a little. “I can probably just call and check on him. It isn’t like they’ll let me see him, and I need some sleep anyway.”

“Yeah, you do. You’ve had a rough night.”

Their eyes met. His throat tightened.

It’s been a rough night, and it probably won’t be the last.

“Get some rest,” he whispered. “If you need anything, call me.”

“I will.” She unbuckled her seat belt but didn’t open the door yet. Then she sagged against the seat. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Panic shot through David.

“Thursday night is that cancer fundraiser.”

“Fuck.” David chewed the inside of his cheek. “Guess we’re running it without him.”

She turned to him. “We?”

“Well, I figure between the two of us, we can do everything he usually does.”

She held his gaze, disbelief etched across her forehead.

“He’d want the event to go on even while he’s in the hospital,” David went on. “I’m in if you are.”

She studied him for a long moment. Finally, she nodded, and she managed a real smile. “Thank you. That’ll take a lot of stress off Chris.”

And you,
he wanted to add but didn’t.

“All right. Well.” She gestured at the house. “I should let you go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll be at the hospital first thing in the morning, and I’ll let you know how he’s doing.”

“Sounds great.”

She put her hand on the door but hesitated again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” She met his eyes. Then she leaned across the console and hugged him. “Thank you, David. I needed tonight more than you know.”

He closed his eyes as he returned her embrace. “You’re welcome.”

I think I needed it too.

Chapter Ten

Though Chris was still in the hospital, he insisted that the charity event go on as planned. His doctors had tried to talk him into canceling it, urging him to focus on resting and recovering rather than worrying about an event he couldn’t even attend, but true to form, Chris refused.

“I need you to run this thing for me,” he’d said quietly when Joanna had visited him yesterday afternoon. “Please, Jo. I know you can handle it. You’ve been to a million of these. You know how they work. And you’ll have Hilary and David there.”

Joanna had had her doubts—she’d spent most of the events begging to be struck by lightning or called away for something else, not paying attention to how they were run—but David had promised to be there. And though Joanna had had her second thoughts, it was Chris’s doctor who finally persuaded her.

“The last thing he needs right now is stress,” the woman had gently told her. “If you can handle this event he’s talking about, then it’ll take the stress off his shoulders so he can get the rest he needs.”

Never mind that the last thing Joanna needed was more guilt and pressure, but she could cope with that better than Chris could cope with added stress. So, she agreed to run the event while he recovered.

And now, here they were.

She cast a sweeping glance around the ballroom, and her stomach shriveled. Hotel employees were putting up decorations, setting tables and testing the sound system, and in an hour, guests would start arriving. The room seemed several times bigger than it really was—she knew it wasn’t as massive and cavernous as it felt, because she’d been here for similar events a dozen times before. She also knew full well that every chair would be occupied, that she wouldn’t be standing up at the podium and delivering Chris’s speech—
oh God, oh God
—to a vacant room.

Everything was running smoothly so far. If past experience was any indication, it would keep running smoothly all the way through to the end of the night.

But past experience included Chris lording over the staff, inspecting every detail, making sure everything was flawless. Joanna did her best, but she was sure she was missing something. Overlooking some critical detail that would cause the entire thing to go from a perfectly executed event to the prom scene in
Carrie
.

“Mrs. McQuaid?” A woman’s voice jarred her out of her thoughts.

She turned around to see one of the hotel employees behind her. “Hmm?”

“Do you know where I could find your husband?” The employee gestured over her shoulder. “The kitchen has some questions about one of his requests, but I haven’t been able to find him.”

“He won’t be here this evening.” Joanna stood a little straighter, hoping to counter her flagging confidence. “I can answer, though.”

“Oh. Um. Okay. Could you come with me, please?”

Joanna followed her to the kitchen, her heart thumping against her rib cage as she imagined all kinds of worst-case scenarios. Was something wrong? Had Chris asked for something that she’d never known about, that she couldn’t possibly answer? Oh shit.

At the entrance to the kitchen, the employee called out something over the sounds of clattering pots and rapid-fire voices. A second later, a chef appeared.

“This is Mrs. McQuaid,” the woman who’d brought Joanna back here told the chef. “She can answer your question.”

“Oh. Good.” The chef smiled and shook hands with Joanna. “Your husband requested Caesar salads for all of the guests, but our shipment of Caesar dressing didn’t arrive on time. Will a basic dinner salad be all right as a substitute?”

That’s it? That’s what they needed Chris for?

“Sure. Yeah.” Joanna hoped her relief wasn’t too evident. “That’d be just fine.”

“Excellent.” The chef started toward the kitchen but paused. “Your husband isn’t here tonight?” His brow pinched with concern. “Is he all right?”

“He’s had some complications,” she said. “He’s in the hospital, but he’s expected to recover.” As much as any man in his condition could be expected to recover.

“Oh no,” the woman said. “But he
is
doing better?”

Joanna forced a smile. “It was a close call, but the antibiotics are helping. He should be out of the hospital in a few more days.”

“Good, good.” The woman returned a much more genuine smile. “I’ll keep him in my prayers.”

“Thank you.”

Joanna returned to the ballroom. Everything was nearly set up now. It wouldn’t be long before the guests arrived and the event kicked off.

You can do this. You’ve got this.

They’re handling everything. They know what they’re doing.

You’ll be fine.

Chris’s assistant materialized beside her. “Hey, they adjusted the schedule of events a little.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Hilary said. “You’re up right after the research director, so he’ll handle all the introductions for you.”

“Perfect.”

“I have a spare copy of the speech if you need it.” Hilary tapped her day planner.

“No, that’s fine.” Joanna held up the notecards Hilary had given her earlier. “I still have this one.”

“Okay. Great.” Hilary started to add something else but then grabbed her phone. “That’s Chris again.”

“Again?”

Hilary nodded. “The doctors told him not to stress about the event, so guess what he’s doing?”

“Stressing over the event.”

“Yep. I’ll be right back.” As she walked away, she put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Chris. No, everything is going great so far. I know, and—”

The noise drowned out her voice, and Joanna shook her head. They all should’ve known Chris wouldn’t relax until the event was over.

“You ready?” David’s voice turned her head and—wow. She’d seen him in a tux before, jaw clean shaven, hair perfectly arranged and bowtie straight and flawless, but for some reason, the sight of him caught her off guard.

He inclined his head a bit. “Joanna?”

She jumped. How long had she been staring at him in awkward silence since he’d asked if she was ready? “Yeah, yeah. I’m…just a little nervous.”

“I don’t blame you. And by the way, you, um…” He hesitated. “You look great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in red before.”

She glanced down, and managed a soft laugh. “Chris doesn’t like this one.” She cringed inwardly, expecting him to scowl or snipe at her for taking a potshot—unintended or otherwise—at her ill husband.

But instead, he chuckled. “No one ever accused him of having perfect fashion sense.”

Joanna laughed, as much from amusement as surprise. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Their eyes met, but David quickly cleared his throat and looked around the ballroom. “Do you need any help with anything?”

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into reading Chris’s speech?” She held up the cards Hilary had given her.

David blanched. “Uh…”

“I’m kidding. I’ve got it.” She cocked her head. “Since when does public speaking bother you, anyway?”

“Since it’s not a room full of people on my payroll.” He eyed the steadily growing crowd. “This kind of thing? No.”

“I feel that. Well. I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

He turned to her again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I can do it if you really—”

“No, I’ve got it. Just promise me you’ll take care of any hecklers.”

David laughed. “Will do.”

After everyone had settled in and dinner had been served, the event finally got rolling. The director of the research facility that the event was benefitting took his place at the podium. After thanking everyone for coming, explaining a little about the facility’s current research and acknowledging several guests of honor, he said, “Chris McQuaid was supposed to be here tonight, but he’s currently dealing with some complications from his illness.”

A murmur of alarm rippled through the ballroom.

The man went on, “He’s expected to recover but wasn’t quite feeling up to attending. So speaking in his stead will be his lovely wife, Mrs. Joanna McQuaid.”

Applause replaced alarm, and Joanna walked onto the stage. She shook hands with the director, and then he walked away, leaving her alone at the microphone in front of all these people.

She spread the notecards on the podium. “I want to thank everyone for coming, and for your concern about my husband’s condition. His doctors have assured me this current situation is nothing more than a setback.” She smiled and hoped to God it looked genuine. “And just this morning, he told me he will be back on his feet in time for next month’s event, or else he’ll be writing some
very
strongly worded letters.”

The crowd laughed. Joanna caught David’s eye, and he gave her a reassuring smile and nod. Beside him, Hilary offered a thumbs-up.

Well, at least she was off to a good start.

From there, she went into Chris’s pre-prepared speech about the need for more research into kidney cancer. There were breakthroughs happening everywhere in cancer research, but in a variety that was both difficult to detect and resistant to most chemotherapy, the need for more effective treatments and screening was dire.

Chris had included a call for donations, but Joanna left that to the facility’s director, who handled it well enough.

As soon as the speeches and such were finished, Joanna got up from her table to do one of Chris’s favorite parts of these events—talking to each of the guests, shaking hands, and listening to people gush about all the wonderful work he was doing for such a worthy cause. Usually, Joanna just stood beside him, smiled, shook hands and didn’t say much. Tonight, she had to carry his torch.

And it was worse than she’d anticipated. Way worse.

She’d expected the usual gushing and praising about Chris’s efforts, and those came, but she should’ve known there’d be more—specifically, the condolences. The waves and waves and waves of condolences.

“What a shame. He’s such a wonderful man and has been so great to the community.”

“We’ll keep on praying for a miracle!”

“Your husband is so lovely. I can’t even imagine what this is like for you.”

Oh, you have no idea how right you are…

She smiled through it all, forcing back the sick feeling and the guilt. These people couldn’t possibly know.

Except some of them did. Many of the guests tonight were Chris’s colleagues, friends he’d played golf with for the last decade or so, neighbors in their upscale community. They’d had dinner with Chris and Joanna. More than a few of their wives—also present tonight—had had hushed conversations with her in their kitchens, muttering about Chris being an insufferable bastard. Hearing them talking tonight about what a sweet, upstanding man he was nearly made Joanna throw up the meal that she had, in her husband’s rare absence, actually eaten.

Mary and Ron Worley approached, and her heart sank. The sympathy etched all over the elderly couple’s faces, the way Mary shook her head sadly, made Joanna want to gag.

“Tell Chris to hang in there,” Ron said.

“I will.” Joanna pasted on a smile even while she wanted to scream,
You don’t remember, do you? You’ve completely forgotten about the night you both told me I could stay at your house if I ever left because I deserved so, so much better than him.

“This is such a crying shame,” Mary said. “We’re praying for you, though. Both of you.” She squeezed Joanna’s hand between both of hers. “Don’t give up hope yet. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and it’s not too late for a miracle.”

“We’re certainly hoping.” Joanna’s mouth had gone dry. Mary and Ron knew, for God’s sake. They knew! They’d been there. Witnessed the way Chris treated her. Mary had even referred Joanna to a therapist and, during a particularly rough patch, a divorce lawyer. They
knew
.

But they’d forgotten. Everyone had. Everyone except Joanna.

“Hey, Joanna?” David’s voice turned her head. “Sorry to interrupt.” He gestured over his shoulder. “The ballroom manager is looking for you.”

“Again?” Joanna groaned. Then she turned to Mary and Ron. “I’m so sorry. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course.” Ron nodded and, along with Mary, disappeared into the throngs of guests.

Gritting her teeth, Joanna followed David out of the crowded ballroom into one of the side rooms.

“What’s going on?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

“Nothing, actually.” He faced her. “Everything’s fine.”

Joanna blinked. “What?”

He nodded past her. “You just looked like you could use a minute to catch your breath.”

“I…” She looked around. Slowly, it sank in that she was standing in a room with only David, a few extra chairs and a couple of folded tables. There was still plenty of noise on the other side of the door—voices, clattering dishes, music—but in here, it was completely silent except for her own heartbeat. She hadn’t even realized how overwhelmed she was by the people and the pressure until now.

Closing her eyes, Joanna exhaled. “Thank you.”

David touched her shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m…”
Not. God, someone get me out of here.
“This is…” Her shoulder sagged beneath his hand and the weight of playing the grieving widow-in-waiting to a wonderful, selfless man. Coming up with some bullshit answer to assure Chris’s best friend that she was properly devastated and yet strong—because Chris would expect no less—and could make it through tonight and every night after? She just didn’t have it in her. She had nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

Cringing, she braced for David to remind her that tonight was about Chris and renal cancer research, not about her.

But he didn’t say a word. He didn’t huff sharply or clear his throat or give even the subtlest hint that she needed to get herself together.

He hugged her.

David, the man who’d come all the way to Tillamook to drag her back to her husband, who’d had less than zero patience for her initial refusal to come home, hugged her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know this is hell for you.”

But do you understand
why
it’s hell for me?

It didn’t matter. It really didn’t. David knew about her relationship with Chris, and that she’d wanted to escape, but here he was, hugging her. In that moment, no matter what he might think about her or her marriage, she was grateful for his support.