Mary Forbes - Twice Her Husband

He pressed on. “What if you get sick or dizzy?”

Suddenly she ran a palm across her forehead. “All right.” A weary sigh. “Come inside. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He held open the door. “Show me where they are and I’ll get them myself.”

Her eyes were cool as moonlight. “This will stop. Tomorrow.”

This. His desire to be with her. She knew him well—even with all the years between. Focus on your responsibilities, Luke.

He simply nodded and followed her inside.

Deep in the night, he awoke to voices murmuring and little feet pattering above him.

Ginny. Sick.

The thought drove him from the blankets. A chilly moon in the window outlined his pants draped over the coffee table. He struggled into them. The pup growled softly from the kitchen.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbled to the dog. “It’s just me.” As he stumbled his way in the dark, his bare foot crushed a sharp object, and he grunted in pain. “Son of a—”

A toy, no doubt. That Alexei hadn’t picked up. The kid needed a lesson in organization, as well as personality.

His arch throbbing like a piston, Luke headed for the stairs, checking the time on his illuminated wristwatch en route: 3:43. Lucky him. He’d gotten about three hours sleep. Too many memories. The worst, no, the sweetest, happened when he’d carried Ginny up these stairs to bed six hours ago.

She’d argued—stubborn woman—then finally agreed to let him pick her up, do his duty.

See, he’d told her. I do have a reason for staying over.

Hmph was all she’d replied. But her arms had been around his neck, her mouth inches away, her scent in his nostrils.

Upstairs in Alexei’s room a lamp glowed on the night table. Bedsheets tossed aside. Boy gone.

Except for a Mickey Mouse night-light, the baby’s room remained dark. Luke crept to her crib. She slept on her back, face turned his way. Little mouth agape, thumb tipped to her tiny bottom lip.

Something bittersweet—regret?—streamed over his heart.

Shoving it aside, he turned for the hallway.

Ginny’s door stood open; filtered moonlight shrouded the room. Two lumps under the quilt.

Luke walked to her side. Alexei lay curled in a fetal position away from her, snuffling little snores.

Like her daughter, Ginny lay on her back. Staring up at him.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. Her eyes scanned his torso, and he realized he stood there without a shirt.

“Somebody have a bad dream?” he whispered back.

“Yes. We’re okay now.”

When he continued to look down at her—God, she was lovely—she said, “Go back to bed.”

He would. In a minute. Bending on one knee, he hunkered on the floor. “Ginny…” I’m sorry for breaking your heart. But I couldn’t resist the lure of status in the firm.

God help me, it meant everything.

More than you.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For breaking your leg. Upsetting your life.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s all my fault.”

The night rang with silence.

“Luke,” she warned quietly. “It’s been more than a decade.”

“I never forgot.”

“Yeah, well.” Voice flat, she sliced him with her cat eyes. “I haven’t either. I remember every second of every day Boone lived. Now please. Go back to bed.”

Bowing his head, he rose. “I’ll make things right between us, Ginny,” he said softly. “I promise.”

“So you said twelve years ago and look what happened. Now go,” she said.

He did. But on the sofa below, he lay awake wishing back the years until dawn licked the window.

L uke threw back the blanket and grabbed his chinos. Daybreak painted the living room in sepia. He located his shirt, slipped it on. Bargain trotted in from the kitchen, tail wagging. She plopped her butt on the mat by the front door.

“Gotta go, too, huh?” Luke opened the door a foot. The pup bounded outside.

In the washroom off the mudroom he found five new toothbrushes. If his head wasn’t stuffed with fog, he might have smiled. Ginny hadn’t lost her bent for stocking up on necessities. When they were married, he used to joke about her habit. We expecting Armageddon? he’d tease.

Nope, just opening a store, she’d quip back.

Splashing water over his face and hair, he wondered if she thought of those moments.

If Boone Franklin had teased her.

Or had known she’d fall asleep in minutes if he scratched her scalp with his fingertips.

Luke scowled in the mirror. Live with your choices, man.

Outside, he stood on the porch steps, shoved his hands in his pockets and inhaled deeply. Wilderness, river, earth. Hypnotic scents for peace and calm.

Above the dark stand of fir, birch and alders lay a finger-smear of pink. A robin trilled its love lyrics across the clearing.

He was an urban man. So he told himself. He worked in town, lived in a condo, socialized in restaurants or the homes of friends and relatives. A subdued scale to what he’d had with Ginny, but the same nonetheless. He saw that now.

Twelve years ago he’d returned to Misty River to lick the wounds of his divorce, vowing to change. And he had—in small ways. He no longer craved the prized rung on the law ladder. He no longer vied for the best cases. Nor hungered for a judgeship. Those days had ended when Ginny walked out. Losing her had taught him the essence of the old cliché that happiness couldn’t be bought.

So why hadn’t he married again? Why hadn’t he found a woman, settled down, had the two-point-five kids?

A thousand stones he’d skipped to those questions at the river’s edge just beyond the clearing.

The answer remained steadfast. Ginny. None of those women had been Ginny.

Ginny of the loving heart.

Ginny who’d battered his own heart when she’d left, who now slept in the house behind him. Who he’d finally learned to forget.

So he’d believed.

Guilt rose like a claw. Their divorce had been for the best. While his acclaim for ruthlessness in a courtroom was high, winning cases without effort, his skill as a husband had been dismal. The only lot in his life where his grade notched a D.

A deserving D.

Calling softly to the pup sniffing an overgrown honeysuckle bush, he coaxed the animal up the steps and into the house. “See you tonight, little girl,” he said and closed the door.

Settling into the leather seat of his Mustang, he thought of his brother. Luckily Jon had been up when Luke called at eleven o’clock last night or he might have been hoofing it back to town this morning. Luke’s mouth curved at the thought of his brother driving the car to Ginny’s. His brother hadn’t wanted to leave his warm house, but he’d damn well enjoyed the power behind the wheel of Luke’s car.

Checking the dash clock—6:02—Luke dialed Eva Asher’s number on his cell, hoping she wouldn’t have a cardiac arrest when her phone shrilled beside her bed. Ginny required a helper and he’d find one if it took him all day. In his opinion, Eva was the perfect match. She knew kids, had a kind heart and she’d known his family forever.

He hoped she was available. If not, he’d hunt around until he found someone. Grade D or not, he would not let Ginny down, not in this or anything else. Far past time you do what’s right, Luke.

“H’lo.” The woman’s voice sounded like a gravel crusher.

“Eva, it’s Luke Tucker.”

Silence. And then she replied, “Ah. Gotcha. Head’s a bit muzzy in the morning.”

And a tad deaf, he figured, from all the kiddie yelling over the years. He swung the car onto Franklin’s Road. “Eva, I’m real sorry to call so early, but I need a favor.”