Jennifer Greene - Cupid’s Confederates

There was another sip yet in the glass, which she carried back with her to the study door. Taking a breath, she pushed open the door again. With her chin just slightly uptilted, she very determinedly and in total silence curled unobtrusively in the far corner of the old leather couch behind Zach’s desk.

Zach said nothing at her second intrusion. His hair was layered from the wind, thick and brown and warm under the light behind him, but his face could have been carved in marble. He looked strikingly handsome when he was like that. An artist would have seen it: the compelling male, the ice of anger, the pride and control; it was bone and flesh and man and Zach, handsome in a way no other man could be. Only Bett didn’t need him quite that good-looking. “It’s been building all week, hasn’t it?” she said softly.

“There is no crime in wanting a few minutes alone.”

“You’re angry.”

He didn’t hesitate. “As hell.”

“At…me.”

“At you.”

She set down the glass, thinking of all the times they’d bickered. Zach was darn close to a bastard when he had a cold; she was impossible to live with about the third day into a snow-in. That was bickering. This was something else. If on rare occasions Zach had turned icy before, that was like the cube versus the berg this time. And she didn’t have the least idea what was wrong.

Zach picked up a pencil from the desk, weighing the thing in his hands, and then started idly flipping it over, eraser tip to lead, then lead tip to eraser. “It’s way past time you called it off,” he said flatly.

She waited. If that was supposed to mean something, she most definitely didn’t understand what.

“I’m the one who asked your mother here. She always did strike me as a little off the wall. In a nice way. Whatever. Maybe I didn’t really understand how nerve-racking she’d be day by day, but I thought I could handle it.” His eyes suddenly met hers, hard and flat. “And over time, I discovered that I can handle it. She drives me absolutely nuts, but I love her, too. And if I hadn’t given a damn about her, I would have found a way to deal with her. For your sake,” he said quietly. “Only, Bett, you’re undermining both of us, and I’m furious.”

She opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her a chance to say anything.

“You’re the one who’s always had trouble with her, Bett. I know you as wife and lover, not as daughter. That whole scene of daughter makes you unhappy, guilty, unsure-I don’t know what you want to call it. Sometime or other you had to work out those feelings. This seemed like a good time. She needed you, and you wanted to be there for her-fine. Because even if every chip was down, I was there to help. I thought we’d deal with it together.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing,” Bett said softly. “I don’t understand, Zach. That’s exactly what’s been happening-we talked. If you don’t think I appreciate what you-”

“To hell with that.” Zach lurched out of his chair, tossed the pencil on the desk, jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the bookcase in the shadows. “I walked into this house tonight and didn’t even recognize the place. It isn’t home. It isn’t my house. It isn’t the place you and I put together anymore. And while Liz may be the one who made the changes, she’s made them with your consent.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Bett said defensively. “ You were the one who asked her here. She could hardly come and stay for any period of time without leaving her things around-”

“If we had a child,” Zach interrupted flatly, “I expect the house would be total chaos. Diapers and interrupted love scenes and bottles and crying and dinner at odd hours. I keep thinking about that. Of how I would be bothered by that. But the truth is, two bits, I wouldn’t be bothered by it at all.”

His head was certainly going faster than hers; she didn’t understand the connection. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“It wouldn’t bother me, because chaos doesn’t bother me, just like odd dinner hours don’t bother me. I can live with an awful lot as long as you’re happy. Only you’re not happy. Your pewter’s been banished to the study and plastic flowers have taken over the living room. I’ll laugh if you will-but I haven’t seen you laughing. Bett, she isn’t sick. She isn’t still grieving the way she was. You’ve had me to back you up, to support you, and you know it. So why the hell are we living in Elizabeth’s house?”

Bett uncoiled from the couch, stiff and hurting and suddenly furious at his even tone. She hadn’t been prepared for knife wounds this evening. She thought fleetingly that she could be married for a million years and never be prepared for a hurt deliberately delivered by her mate. “Come on. You think that’s fair?” she protested. “If our lifestyle’s changed, it’s because you invited her here. All I’ve been doing is the best I know how to-”

“You haven’t done a damn thing but let it happen,” he said flatly. “You know exactly what we value as a couple, what we need as lovers, what the two of us are all about. And it’s really as simple as the lock on the bedroom door that doesn’t exist-but you bought that lock, didn’t you, Bett? It’s in the top drawer of the dresser.”

She swallowed, folding her arms stiffly across her chest. “I could hardly put it on. I knew just how hurt she’d be if she saw it, how horribly embarrassed at the thought that she’d been interrupting-”

“Right. A lock wasn’t the answer. Telling her to handle her own insomnia was. I tried once-and failed. Your mother has a disarming way of being manipulative. But I didn’t try again, because the fact is, two bits, it was your job. She’s your mother. And you’re the one who needs to deal with her.”

He was very still, half in shadow, half in light. Waiting. For what? she thought furiously. “What did you want me to tell her, to stay out because we wanted to make love?”

“Yes.”

“Zach, that’s ridiculous,” Bett hissed.

“No,” he said quietly. “It would just be hard. And that isn’t the same thing as ridiculous at all. What you and I have built together-you have to stand up for it sometime. Now, if you want me to put it all back in order, I will-so fast it’ll make your head spin. This is not your mother’s house. It’s yours. I can do it for you, Bett, but somehow I never thought I’d have to. Do the two of us mean something to you?”

Tears burned in her eyes. “Of course we do,” she said in a low voice. “How could you even ask that? Zach, if you’re demanding that I make her leave-”

He shook his head. “You’re not hearing me at all, honey. I don’t give a damn if your mother leaves or stays. I’m talking about you and me.” He straightened, staring at her. “You’d better think it out,” he said flatly. “Soon.”

He walked past her, and a moment later she heard the thudding sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She couldn’t seem to look away from the blank, empty doorway. The tears dried in her eyes, leaving a salty aftersting. She felt cold. Her fingers curled around her upper arms, rubbing up and down. Zach? So cruel? You haven’t done a thing but let it all happen. Did he think it had all been so easy on her? How unfair could one man be?

Her head ached, and an odd tremor disturbed the even beat of her heart. Fear. Never in the five years of her marriage had she ever considered that Zach might leave her. He hadn’t threatened to leave her now, but it was there, suddenly, the reminder that love wasn’t carved in stone and never came with a guarantee.

Déjà vu: She could remember exactly that tremorous heartbeat from when she’d first fallen in love with him. An incredible elation when she was with him, followed seconds later by depression at the thought that she could lose him, followed seconds later by elation again. She’d forgotten about those insane mood swings. Other people in love seemed to exhibit the same psychotic symptoms. But they’d gone away, of course, because once she had the ring on her finger she didn’t have to worry quite so much about that love. Did she?