Rebecca Zanetti - Forgotten Sins

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Even now, the words hurt. How many times had she lain awake at night, alone, asking herself that very question? Why hadn’t he returned? Had he even thought about her? She’d relived their last week together in her head repeatedly. “The last week—it was bad.”

He stiffened. “Bad? How?”

She exhaled. “You were off. Really sad. A week before you left, you found out one of your brothers had died. Your brother, Jory.”

“Jory.” Shane frowned, rubbing his chest. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know.” Anger returned in a flash. “Until that week, I didn’t even know you had brothers.” She struggled to stay seated and not jump away from him. He’d had a whole life, a family, he hadn’t shared with her. “Why do you think you’re here now after two years?”

“You said you sent the divorce papers to my base. I assume I got them and came up to discuss the issue.” His shoulders straightened at the last.

Was he going to fight her on the divorce? Dread pooled in her stomach. “Then where are the papers?”

“I don’t know.” He took a deep drink of soda. “You’re a great cook, Josie.”

Pleasure bloomed inside her chest. She’d learned to cook during college… hoping to have a family to nurture someday like the moms on television did. Sadness shoved the pleasure away. It hadn’t happened. “Thanks.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you a chef?”

“No.” Memories flooded in. She’d almost taken the risk and changed her accounting major to cooking during her second year at Cal State. But she hadn’t had the courage. Plus, she could control numbers. Organization and hard work counted. She’d never need to rely on one person or an entire system again. “I’m an accountant.”

Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “That explains the sexy suit.”

Sexy? Not even close. She kicked off the high heels, rubbing her feet on the smooth tiled floor. She’d paid for the tiles with her second paycheck from her new job at the accounting firm’s local branch. It had taken an entire weekend of searching for just the right color, a homey beige. “Accounting is safe.”

“Ah.” Understanding echoed in his low tone. “Safety is important to you. Interesting.” He rubbed his chin. “Something tells me I’m not so safe.”

“No.” She smiled, even as sadness made her chest ache. “You were the only risk I ever took. It backfired.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He studied her, no expression on his hard face. “Okay. You said I have brothers. Plural. Besides Jory, what do you know?”

“Nothing about your brothers.” She didn’t want to have this conversation. She’d failed as a wife, or she’d know more about him. “But you do have nightmares. At least you used to.”

He stilled. “What about?”

Anger flashed through her. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t tell me.” She tossed her napkin atop her plate of half-eaten food. “Even before you woke up one night screaming Jory’s name, bad dreams made you a very restless sleeper.” She lowered her gaze to her fingers picking at pumpkins on the napkin. “That night, you sounded so broken. I’d never heard you sound like that.” A chill skittered across her shoulders. She’d wanted so badly to shield him, to help him. He wouldn’t let her.

“I’m sorry.” The hoarseness of his voice wrapped around her heart. “You shouldn’t have to deal with something like that.”

She coughed out irritation. “You should be sorry. Not for exposing me but for shutting me out.” For one second, when he’d almost kissed her senseless, she’d thought he’d changed. That he could see the real her. The woman who could be his match.

He pushed back from the table. “You’re beautiful, Josie. Soft and delicate. You should be protected.”

Ah. There was the rub. She shook her head. “You don’t know me, Shane. You never did.”

Josie crossed her legs, fighting the urge to grind a palm into her eyes. She sat on her bed, a myriad of ledgers spread out before her. After dinner, she’d left Shane to head into the guest shower, saying she had work to do before changing into comfortable sweats, her hair in a ponytail.

But the numbers in the accounts before her weren’t adding up. There were problems in several of the accounts she’d taken over a few months ago. Either she’d made a mistake, or the accountant she’d taken over for had screwed up. Not that it was a huge surprise, considering Billy had had to leave for a drug rehabilitation center.

She flipped back open the main manila file for Hall’s Funeral Home. The numbers swam before her eyes. She blinked several times, allowing them to right themselves.

Wait a minute.

Scrambling for the accounts payable ledger, she quickly scanned the items. Triumph had her nearly laughing out loud. Of course. Billy had counted the sales of several plots to one family as a lump sum, and not as monthly income. The sale was spread over several months, and the money wouldn’t be paid until the fifteenth of each month. But Billy had counted the money before getting paid.

Thank goodness. The problem was an easy fix. Josie took a deep, relaxing breath. Maybe all four troubled accounts had similar mistakes. Drugs had apparently really messed with Billy’s brain. Though to be safe, she should double-check all his files, even the ones that seemed all right, especially since competition at the firm was crazy at the moment. She glanced at the other files perched on the bed.

Maybe she should just go to bed and forget about work. It was only a little after eight, but exhaustion made her head feel heavy. She eyed her knitting basket in the corner. Knitting. Precise, logical, and yet somehow creative. Mrs. Lilly, one of her favorite foster mothers, had taught her when she was eleven. Before Mrs. Lilly got too sick to take care of lost kids. More recently, her old hobby had allowed Josie to make friends in a strange city and show a side of herself she often hid.

With a smile, Josie noted a striped hat perched on the dresser she’d recently knitted for her secretary. Sassy, bright, and bold, the woman would love the pattern. It was so different than Josie’s first disastrous attempts on her own. Now she could picture the final result in her mind while buying yarn at the specialty store on the other side of town. The owner knew her there… and while shopping, Josie became part of something. A community of people who created.

Times were tough. People knitted to make money, to keep their families warm. While women with adorable kids searched the cozy aisles, Josie could almost pretend she had a family, too. That she had a skill to pass down and share with somebody else.

A somebody with Shane’s eyes and her nose.

Even if she stayed alone for life, she could create. Something of her would remain… so long as the yarn held true.

Shane had loved her knitting. Something old-fashioned and feminine about the process. A part of her wanted to go back to the living room. To be near him. But they really didn’t have anything to talk about except the need for him to sign the divorce papers. What if he wouldn’t sign?

What if he would?

The phone rang, jarring her from thoughts of Shane. She grabbed the handset. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Dean, it’s Detective Malloy.” Rustling papers and ringing phones sounded across the line, surrounding the detective’s voice in noise.

“Hi, Detective.” A shadow crossed her doorway. She glared at Shane. He more than filled the entrance, his large bulk contrasting with the feminine tones of her room. Wet hair curled at his nape.

The detective cleared his throat. “We’ve had some developments in your husband’s case, Mrs. Dean.”