Debbie Macomber - The Manning Brides - Marriage of Inconvenience / Stand-In Wife

“Talk to you later.”

“Great.”

Wednesday morning, Rich waited in bed until he heard from her.

“Ninety-eight point six.” She sounded discouraged.

“Hey, nothing says it has to happen right away.”

“I keep trying to visualize it.”

“What is this? Think yourself pregnant?”

She laughed. “Something like that.”

“Call me tomorrow.” He reached for his chart and made the notation.

“I will.”

Thursday showed no difference, but Friday, Rich knew from the tone of her voice that something was up, and he hoped it was her temperature.

“Ninety-eight point seven … I think. Darn, these thermometers are hard to read. But it’s definitely higher.”

Rich could envision her sitting on the edge of her bed, squinting, trying to read the tiny lines that marked the thermometer. He made a mental note to buy her a digital one.

“Call Dr. Fullerton.”

“Rich, I’m not even sure it’s elevated. It could be wishful thinking on my part.”

“Call him anyway.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” He hung up the phone and headed toward the shower, whistling.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon that the idea of taking her out to dinner occurred to him. Although they’d been married a month, they didn’t see each other often. It had been a conscious decision on Rich’s part following their wedding day. In light of how he’d felt when he kissed her, it seemed the safest thing to do. He’d taken her to a movie the weekend after their wedding, and they’d both been ill at ease. Foolish as it seemed, it was almost as if they were afraid of each other. Not once during the entire movie had they touched. Jamie didn’t invite him in for coffee afterward. Even now he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had she offered.

Still, they talked every day. Only last weekend he’d changed the oil in her car while she sewed a couple of loose buttons on his shirts. It was a fair exchange and afterward they’d gone out for hamburgers. Nothing fancy. The tension between them didn’t seem to be as great as when they’d gone to the movie.

It was time to try again. There could well be a reason to celebrate, and a night on the town appealed to him. Someplace special. It wasn’t every day his wife’s temperature was elevated by one tenth of one percent.

Jamie was on her lunch break, and Rich didn’t leave a message. He’d call her later.

When he did, she was tied up with a customer. The next time he tried, the bank was closed, so he left a message for her at home.

“This is Prince Charming requesting your presence for dinner. Don’t eat until you talk to me. I’m on my way home now. Call me there.”

Rich expected a message from Jamie to be waiting for him when he arrived at his apartment. There wasn’t.

He tried her again at six, six-fifteen, six-thirty and six-forty-five, leaving a message all four times.

By seven o’clock, he was worried. A thousand possibilities crowded his mind, none of them pleasant. He paced the living room in an effort to convince himself he was overreacting, then dialed her number one last time. He listened to her recording yet again, and seethed anxiously during the long beep.

“Jamie, where the hell are you?” he demanded.

Jamie checked her watch, keeping her wrist below the table, hoping she wasn’t being obvious. Eight-thirty! She’d been trapped listening to the endless details of Floyd Bacon’s divorce for three solid hours.

“Don’t you agree?” he asked, looking over at her.

She nodded, although she had no idea what she was agreeing to. A yawn came and she attempted to swallow it, didn’t succeed and tactfully pressed her fingers to her lips. Floyd was such a nice man and she was trying hard to disguise her boredom.

“My goodness, look at the time,” Floyd said.

It had all started so innocently.

Jamie had dated Floyd about five years ago. He was a regular customer at the bank and they’d seen each other off and on for a six-month period. Nothing serious, nothing even close to serious. Then he’d met Carolyn and the two of them had fallen in love and married. Jamie had attended their wedding. She remembered what she bought them for a wedding gift—a set of stainless steel flatware with rosebuds on the handles. He and Carolyn had bought a house a few months later. Jamie had handled the loan application for them, but when they’d moved, they’d switched their account to a branch closer to where they lived. In the past three years, Carolyn had quit work to stay home with their two young children.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am the marriage didn’t work out,” Jamie said, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong between two people who so obviously loved each other. She would never have suspected this would happen to Floyd and Carolyn, of all people. Of all couples .

“I’m sorry, too,” Floyd said. His dark eyes touched her with their sadness. He’d moved into an apartment and had stopped at the bank to open a checking account. But a new account was only a pretext, Jamie soon learned; for airing his frustration with Carolyn, his marriage, his two preschool children and life in general.

Floyd had arrived just before closing time, lingered until he was the last customer in the bank and then asked Jamie to join him for a drink. She’d hesitated, but he’d looked so downtrodden and miserable that she’d gone against her better judgment. A drink soon turned into two and then Floyd suggested they have something to eat. At the time, it had seemed reasonable, but that was an hour and a half ago.

“I really should be going home,” she said, reaching for her purse. It was Friday night and the work week had seemed extra-long and she was tired. Keeping track of her temperature and charting it was draining her emotional energy.

No, she decided, talking to Rich every morning was responsible for that. Speaking to him first thing, discussing the intimate details of her reproductive system, hearing his enthusiasm … talking about their child. Nothing had prepared her for the effect all this was having. She lived for those brief two-minute calls. It was almost as if he were in bed beside her … almost as if he were holding her in his arms. This closeness she felt toward him frightened her. The magnitude of what they’d done, of what they were planning, the child they’d conceive together, had brought subtle and not-so-subtle changes to their relationship.

Earlier in the day she’d hoped and planned to have a relaxing Friday night—to soak in a hot bath and cuddle up in bed with a good book. She might have given Rich a call and invited him over for dinner. There was a new recipe she wanted to try and he seemed to enjoy her home-cooked meals. She’d only seen him twice in the past month, and it didn’t seem enough.

“I’ll follow you home,” Floyd said, breaking into her thoughts. He tossed some money on the table for the waitress.

It would be too late to call Rich now. Tomorrow was her Saturday morning to work, but she could call him then and ask him over for dinner on either Saturday or Sunday. Friday nights were probably busy for him, so it wasn’t likely he would’ve been home anyway.

“Jamie?”

“I’m sorry. My mind was a million miles away. There’s no need for you to see me home, Floyd.”

“I know, but I’d feel better if I knew you got there safely.”

She nodded. Floyd really was a nice man, and she did feel sorry for him. If lending an ear had helped him, she shouldn’t complain. The time would come soon enough when she’d need a shoulder to cry on herself. Once the baby was born, she’d be filing for divorce. The thought was a cheerless one.

Jamie lived less than fifteen minutes from the bank and it was on Floyd’s way to his new apartment, so she didn’t object strongly when he insisted on following her.