Authors: Sally Bradley
“He’s not going to call.”
“Humor me, Miska. What will you do?”
He wasn’t going to let it go, was he? “I’ll hang up on him.”
“Wrong. He’d think you suspect and are about to go to the police. You’d be in trouble.”
“You’ve thought this through. Why don’t you use it for a novel? Make some money off it.”
He flushed. “Don’t hang up on him. Tell him you heard about his wife, that you’re sorry for his loss, and slip it in there about your new boyfriend.”
“Who doesn’t exist.”
“He doesn’t need to know that.”
“Come on, Dad. If he killed Darcie—for me—don’t you think a new boyfriend will tick him off?”
The waiter set the Coke above Dad’s plate, sent her a look, and left.
“Good point. So what do we do?”
“Nothing, because he didn’t kill her—and he’s not going to call. There’s no way I’ll hear from him.”
“At least change your locks.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. “Can we talk about something else?”
“I guess. How’s work?”
“Good. What I have of it, anyway.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could… If you had to sell your place, you could live with me until you found something cheaper.”
“I’m not selling my place.”
“Mark would have a hard time finding you.”
“Dad!”
He held up his hands. “Something to think about.”
She tossed her napkin on top of her plate.
“My apologies, Miska. But I worry. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing will.”
“So I pray.”
So would she.
*****
The wind picked up during dinner. Dad hailed Miska a cab and sent her home. By the time she reached her building, the wind had transformed into a downpour.
Inside her condo, she changed into a dry shirt. Goose bumps faded and warmth returned. She searched the quickly darkening sky for lightning. Thunder rumbled, but she couldn’t see its source.
The fountain’s center jet shot high, wind arcing it toward the lake.
From her purse on the island, her phone rang.
It was a flat ringtone, one that meant the phone didn’t recognize the number. No name on the screen, just a phone number she didn’t recognize, an area code she couldn’t place.
Why was she so nervous?
It was Dad’s fault, of course. His comment that Mark would call.
It could be a publisher she’d contacted. Potential work that would keep her in her home.
She answered. “Hello?”
“Miska.”
Mark’s voice buckled her knees.
Miska grabbed the countertop. “Mark?”
“Yeah. Hi.”
“Hi.” She swallowed. What did this mean? Was Dad right? “Mark, I’m so sorry about Darcie.”
“Thank you. It’s been—” He blew out a sigh. “It’s been a rough few days.”
She couldn’t imagine. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m all right. Our families are here. The team’s supportive. I’ll make it.”
“Good.” Faint noises sounded—Darcie’s family? A TV? “Where are you?”
“Home. Alone. First time since Saturday.”
“How’s her family?”
“They’re pretty shook up. Doing okay, though. I told them they could stay at our place, and they took me up on it.”
“When’s the funeral?”
“Friday. July fourth. Going to be a long week.”
Then a long month, year, two years to follow. He had no idea.
“They did the autopsy.”
“What’d they find?”
“Haven’t heard. They’re expediting the toxicology report. Should have results in a couple days.”
“I’ve heard it might have been her peanut allergy.”
“Yeah. Guess she’d been eating when she died.”
She flinched. Could he really just say that?
“You’re probably wondering why I called. I needed to talk to someone who knew things weren’t perfect between us.”
Had she ever really known how things were between them? “Are you sorry she’s gone?”
“Of course! I tried, Miska. I tried everything to make it work. I never wished her gone. But there was just too much junk. The affair—some things you can’t get over.”
The affair would be Darcie’s, of course. His wouldn’t count. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” He sighed again, then groaned. “Miska, I miss you.”
“Don’t say that. Your wife isn’t even buried.”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. I didn’t want to end things between us. But I talked to a teammate, and—”
She jerked upright. Someone else knew?
“—he said I had to give Darcie a chance.”
Her heart pounded. What if word about their relationship got out?
“You have to know how sorry I am about that day. I was confused. I was… torn.”
What was he saying?
“You there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I want to see you.”
“No.” She squeezed the phone. “We can’t do that.”
“Miska—”
“If people knew you had an affair, they’d look at things differently.”
“How can you say that? I wasn’t even in the same time zone.”
“You shouldn’t be calling me.”
“I’m on a prepaid phone. Just call this number.”
He thought she’d call him?
“If you need more time, fine. We can wait until the season’s over.”
Three months? What was wrong with him?
“Miska, please. I need you, even if we just talk. Don’t push me away.”
Like he’d done to her. She rubbed her forehead.
His voice shook. “Miska?”
“I’m here.”
He sniffed. Coughed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to fall apart on you. I’ve just never dealt with anything like this.”
Nothing could prepare someone for the loss of a loved one, no matter how imperfect that person had been. “I know.”
“I guess you do.”
Lightning flashed over the lake.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Watching it storm.”
“Wish I could join you. That’d be perfect.”
No, it wouldn’t.
She toyed with a curl. Did she really not want him? She’d be financially secure.
But if she welcomed him back, she’d have to say good-bye to Dillan’s church, to words that made more and more sense, words she was beginning to cling to.
“You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“I don’t know.” She dragged a hand across her forehead. How had things become so complicated? “I just don’t know.”
“About us?”
“Five minutes ago there wasn’t an
us
.”
“Things have changed.”
Yes, and she prayed he’d had nothing to do with it.
“Look what’s happened, Miska. Fate’s made it so we can be together. I know you want that.”
He had no idea how much she’d changed. He had no idea who she was or what she wanted anymore.
“Have you changed your mind? After everything—” He swore softly. “Don’t do this.”
Whatever she decided, now wasn’t the time to bail. “Mark, I’m glad you called. I’m glad we could talk.”
He snorted. “But.”
“We should wait until the season’s over. That’ll give you time to grieve. We’ll both have time to decide what we want.”
He growled in her ear. “I know what I want.”
She closed her eyes, glad he couldn’t see how her hand shook. “For your family—and Darcie’s—we need time. Okay? It won’t look good if we start dating right away.”
Lightning flashed near Navy Pier. Thunder clapped right behind it, her windows rattling.
“I don’t like this, Miska.”
“I know.”
“I love you. I want you.” He swore again, and something banged. “They’re back. I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”
“’Bye—”
He’d already hung up.
Miska set the phone down.
Mark didn’t sound like a husband in mourning. He sounded like a man eager to get on with life. That couldn’t be normal.
On the other hand, his marriage hadn’t been well for a long time.
According to him.
Darcie’d had an affair, and he’d never gotten past it. He’d never forgiven her.
That didn’t mean he’d killed her.
Rain pelted the window.
She hugged herself and leaned against the glass, staring at the darkening sky. Hopefully she’d bought herself some time, but eventually he’d demand an answer, and she prayed he’d accept her
no
.
Because she didn’t see any way that Mark would be part of her life again.
*****
Monday’s storm lasted through Tuesday. Wednesday brought clear skies and heat with a vengeance. The morning air was already thick, the temperature over eighty. Miska ran past Buckingham Fountain anyway, guzzling water.
“Miska!”
She turned.
Dillan jogged her way. He looked great in navy-blue shorts and a gray T-shirt promoting some camp in Wisconsin.
She watched him near, unable to hide a smile.
He returned it. “You look happy.”
“It’s a beautiful day.”
He surveyed their surroundings. “It’s disgustingly hot and humid.”
They fell into step, crossing Lake Shore Drive and jogging down the stairs to the lakefront. This time they turned north, toward the skyline and Navy Pier jutting into the lake.
Dillan panted as they ran. “You hear the latest about Darcie?”
The air suddenly felt suffocating. “There’s news?”
“Yeah. She was a few weeks pregnant.”
Miska stopped, chest heaving.
“I guess she died from an allergic reaction, and the police are still investigating.”
“Still investigating? Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t think it was an accident.”
Mark couldn’t have… Her breath came faster. She eased onto the grass. “Oh, Dillan.”
He sat beside her. “You okay?”
She shook her head. Far from it. “He called me last night.”
“Scheider
called
you?”
“I know. He’s an idiot.”
“What’d he say?”
“That he misses me.”
His eyebrows rose. “What’d he say about the baby?”
“Nothing. Do you think she hadn’t told him? Or didn’t know herself?”
He shrugged. His gaze traveled over boats bobbing in the harbor. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you go back to him?”
She shook her head.
“Well, good.” He blew out a sigh. “Good. You tell him that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Dillan, he wanted to see me, and I told him no. He wasn’t happy.”
“He threaten you?”
She bit her lip.
“What’d he say?”
“Think of what he’s going through. It was just stress—”
“You reacted, Miska. He said something that felt like a threat.”
“If I believed he killed his wife, then yes, it could be a threat. But just because he had an affair doesn’t mean he killed her.”
“But add in him calling you and wanting to see you—a man doesn’t do that when his wife dies.”
She rested her forehead against her knees. “I can’t think about it.”
“If he killed his wife, you have to think about it.”
If he killed his wife, Darcie’s death was her fault. That baby’s death was her fault. She raised her head. “Dillan, why do you care?”
“Don’t get off topic.”
“Why do you?”
“This is serious. You have to wonder if he killed her.”
“Yes, but I can’t go to the police. What if it was just horrible timing? Then I’ve ruined his name. I have to
know
.”
“What about when he wants to see you again? If he killed her, what will he do to you when you tell him no?”
That had been tiptoeing through her mind. “I can’t think about it.”
“Miska, you have to. He’s already said something—”
“No, I don’t!” She swallowed. “I told him we had to wait at least until the season’s over. I’ve got three months.”
Dillan stared down the running path, his jaw tight.
“What?”
He shrugged, his mouth turning into a frown.
“
What?
”
“He’ll call again.”
He probably would.
“What will you say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, figure it out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means if you don’t have a plan, you’ll end up with him again.”
So that’s what this was about. “Let me ask a second time, Dillan. Why do you care?”
“Miska—”
“I want an answer. Why does this matter so much?”
He scowled. “Because it’s wrong, you with him. It isn’t right.”
“You mean…”
“It began as an affair. Nothing good can come from that.”
She jumped to her feet. “Why does it always have to be about right and wrong with you? Why can’t it ever be about people? About
me
?”
He rose, staring at her.
“All you care about, Dillan, is black and white. Whether what I’m doing is right or not. But once, just once, I’d love to hear that you care about what happens to me for me.” She jabbed her chest with her finger. “For
me
.”
He said nothing, just looked at her.
“Well?”
He wet his lower lip.
“What? No thoughts in there? Are you going to crawl inside your shell and hide—again—while you demand I share everything in my head?”
His shoulders drooped. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t care about you. It wouldn’t be right, you and me—”
Her fist flashed out and smacked his chest.
“Hey!”
“There you go again. Right and wrong. I’m so sick of it—”
He grabbed her arms. “You don’t believe in God. I do. It
would
be wrong.”
Inside her, hope crumbled. She jerked free.
“It wouldn’t work, not like you think it would. Before long we wouldn’t agree on anything, wouldn’t care about each other, wouldn’t love each other—”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Love?”
His eyes bore into hers. “You don’t know how often I’ve wanted to tell you what I really think, how much you tempt me, but we can’t get caught—”
“That’s what I am? A temptation? Some evil to be avoided?”
“This is avoiding you?”
“You’re right. You want to change me so you can do whatever you want to me.”
He straightened. “I never—”
“You’re just like the rest, trying to use women.”
“Stop it. When have I tried to—”
She stepped close, almost touching him.