Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (5 page)

He’d left me three weeks before our wedding when he accepted an offer from an engineering firm in Oregon, expecting me to give up my medical practice here at Morrison General to follow him like a dutiful wife. My refusal had shocked him. Go figya.

I headed into the living room, hoping to use the short walk to regain my bearings. In hindsight, I probably would have balked at the “honor and obey” part of my wedding vows, so maybe things really did happen for a reason.

“The job was great.” He followed me and stopped near the couch. “There was only one problem with my being there.”

“Oh? What was that? The weather?” I moved to the window to peer outside, hoping Josh might turn around and come back. Maybe he dropped an important item or forgot to tell me something. I’d even welcome Claudia’s return right now. I needed a buffer. And a good stiff shot of tequila. Why hadn’t I downed at least one when I had the chance?

My heart thudded against my chest as I sensed Michael’s approach behind me.

“No.” His hand skimmed my nape, and warmth rippled down my back.

Don’t trust him
, my brain scolded.
He’ll hurt you again if you let him
.

“Oregon doesn’t have
you
, Francesca. I made a mistake, leaving you behind. You’re more important to me than any job. I realize that now.” His fingers dug into my tense neck muscles, which would normally have weakened my resolve.

Josh’s kiss, still warm on my lips, strengthened me. “It took you five years to figure that out?”

“No, it took me five years to find a way back home.”

“Puh-leez.” Still staring out the window, I blew out an exasperated breath. “You should have called before coming back here. I’ve been busy, living my life without you.”

He dropped his hands from my shoulders and neck, thank God. “Okay. You’re mad. I get that.”

I whirled. “Mad? No, I’m not mad, Michael. Dogs go mad.”

His arms wrapped my waist, and he nuzzled my earlobe. “God, you’re still adorable when you’re angry. My plane landed this afternoon, and all I could think about was getting here to you. To tell you I’m sorry. I screwed up. I never should have left you. But now, I’m back, and we can pick up where we left off.”

I pushed out of his embrace and raced behind the couch, using my furniture as a dam between us. “‘Where we left off?’ We left off twenty days before a huge wedding that I’m still paying for.”

Technically, I’d only paid for my gown and the flowers. The catering hall had offered to hold my deposit for a future date, which my brother, Ronnie, wound up using for his wedding eighteen months ago. Ronnie and his wife paid me back for that deposit after their marriage. So all in all, I’d walked away a few thousand dollars poorer, but wiser in experience. Michael, who’d flown off without a thought about the financial aspect, didn’t deserve to know the truth.

“Really, Michael,” I scoffed. “What makes you think you can just reappear after five years as if I were Sleeping Beauty, lying around, waiting for you to come wake me up?”

“Don’t be silly. I didn’t expect you to wait around for me.” He took a step toward me and braced a bent knee on the leather couch. “I didn’t rearrange my entire life without checking on you first. I spoke to your mom.”

“My mom.” Naturally. The one person in this whole town who would forgive him unconditionally—my mother.

“Of course. I’ve been in touch with her for months now.”

Months. A chill surged through me.

He reached for my hand, rubbed his thumb across my knuckles. “I knew before the plane left JFK that night I’d made a huge mistake in letting you go. And I’ve spent the last five years trying to make it work in Oregon, but I was miserable. Once I admitted to myself I could never be whole without you, I started making plans to come back to Long Island. I’ve taken a job with a firm in Riverhead. I can commute from here so you don’t have to leave that hospital of yours. We can make it work this time.”

“What makes you think I want to make it work this time?” I yanked my hand from his grasp. “What makes you think I’m so gullible?”

His jaw went slack. “But your mother said—”

“If you’re so obsessed with my mother, marry
her
. Leave me out of it.”

“I can’t. I love you, Francesca. Always have, always will.”

Cracks snapped beneath my ribcage as my icy heart thawed.

“You need time to get used to the idea,” Michael said. “I’m willing to wait, to start over with you. We can take it slow. Just give me another chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

I couldn’t form a reply. Not while my heart and brain took opposite sides in a tug of war. Instead, I heaved a huge sigh. “It’s late, Michael. And I’ve had a long day. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? For now, I think you should leave.”

“Yeah, but wait—”

I shot up a hand. “No pressure, remember? Goodnight, Michael.” I strode to the front door and opened it wide.

He paused in the foyer, the whisper of a smile on his face. “Wait. How will you reach me? You don’t have my phone number.”

“I’m betting my mom has it.” I jerked my head at the door, hoping he’d take the hint and leave already.

“You’re right. She does.”

Of course she did. “Then I’ll call her tomorrow to get it.” I owed her a phone call anyway. Apparently, we had a lot to discuss. At last, he stepped past me, and I held out my hand. “Wait. I’d like my key back, please.”

I still planned to change the locks tomorrow, but I didn’t want another surprise between now and when that task was complete.

He placed the key in my palm and curled my fingers into a fist. “One last thing.”

With his hand still holding mine, he pulled me against him and seared my mouth with a kiss. An ocean of memories dragged me under. How good we’d been together, how happy he’d made me. And how miserable I’d become when he left. I pushed away again, and he turned to the outdoors. “I’m renting a place at the Shoreline Condos. Until I have more permanent plans. Talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

Whistling a familiar tune, he bounced down the steps and out to a sleek luxury sedan parked in the street. Only after I closed the door and locked it did I recall the song—the one we’d chosen for our first dance as husband and wife.

I would definitely need a locksmith first thing tomorrow to secure my doors, but how would I protect my heart?

Chapter 4

Emily

I didn’t get a chance to speak to Roy until the next morning. I’d tried to stay awake, but keeping myself together so the kids wouldn’t suspect anything amiss had drained the last stores of my energy. After shuffling them all to bed, I curled up on the reclining sofa with my grandmother’s hand-crocheted afghan. I switched on a late-night talk show on the television and proceeded to wait for my husband’s return. The last thing I remembered was the host interviewing some lame comedian about his latest movie, a dismal-looking project about a talking circus elephant.

I woke up, stiff, to heavy rain pounding the window and the smell of coffee. Cups clinked in the kitchen, and I rose to stretch the kinks out of my back before facing off against Roy. I tread softly toward the microwave where he stood with his back to me. He must have sensed my approach because his shoulders grew rigid. With tentative fingers, I reached out and touched his upper arm. “Hey.”

He looked at me, his gaze frosty, deep lines etched in his brow.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I said. A good start. At least, I thought so.

Tension eased from his face.

“Something happened after you left.” I swallowed hard, dreading what I had to say next. “Dr. Herrera called. Freckles…” I couldn’t. Couldn’t utter the words aloud.

Roy gripped my arms. “What? What about Freckles?”

“Roy,” I choked on a sob. “Freckles died last night.”

“Oh, Jeez.” He pulled away from me to rake his hand through his hair. “Jeez, Em. What happened?”

“Nothing happened. He just…died, I guess. He was old and sick.”

His eyes turned to flint, and he leaned a hip against the beige Formica counter. “You should’ve taken him to the vet sooner.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d punched me in the gut. “I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t know what?” Verbal sleet pelted my face with each word he spoke. “That he was sick? Don’t feed me that line. You said something was wrong with the dog last week. You should’ve called Dr. Bautista then.”

Shivers rippled across my flesh, but my blood simmered. “Really? How? Was I supposed to peel off another personal day? I’m already on probation for the time I took when Gabriella came down with chickenpox last month.” How dare he pin this on me! I planted my fists on my hips. “So, great. I call my boss and explain how I’m not coming into work because the dog is acting a little listless and I must take him to the vet immediately. I get fired, and you get to lecture me about how dismal our financial picture is? Again? Thanks, but no thanks.”

We locked stares, his frigid and gray, mine smoldering.

“Mom? Dad?” Corey tiptoed into our fray from the living room. “How’s Freckles? Can we bring him home today?”

Pushing off the counter’s edge, Roy whipped past me, past his oldest son. “Ask your mother. I have to go to work.” His dirty breakfast dishes still sat on the counter, but he ignored them. Rather than clean up his mess, he stalked to the back door and stormed out. Weasel. My anger climbed a peak and coasted down the other side into resentment country.

Thanks a lot, Roy
.

“Mom?”

I sighed. “Sit, Corey. Let me get your sisters, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.” I hated to wake them for the bad news, but Corey wouldn’t rest until he knew, and no way I could get through the story twice more. I wouldn’t bother waking Luke. He was too young to understand. A week from now, he wouldn’t even remember Freckles.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Corey asked.

I didn’t answer. “Have some cereal while you’re waiting.”

“I can’t eat,” he grumbled as he sank into his usual seat at the middle of the oblong table in our dinette.

If this were a normal day, I would have argued, would have lectured him about the importance of protein to his building muscles. At 6:30, today was already anything but normal. My feet heavier than twin cement blocks, I trudged upstairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom my girls shared. Gabriella, curled up in her plastic princess bed, clutched her Baby Dumbo doll to her chest. One slender foot stuck out from beneath her pink butterfly quilt, the toenails painted a chipped glitter blue.

On the other side of the room, Mellie sprawled in what I called her “Jesus pose,” arms flung wide, ankles locked one on top of the other. In her right hand, she gripped her cell phone, which lit up and buzzed as I neared her bed. The phone worked better than the loudest alarm clock. Mellie’s eyes sprang open, and she yanked the glowing screen closer to read whatever text whichever friend had sent.

“It’s Amanda,” she announced as she swept the blankets aside. “Her mom can give us a ride to school today. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “But before you get dressed, can you come down to the kitchen?  I need to talk to you about something.”

She stood still, her nightshirt barely concealing her thong panties. God, how could she wear those without feeling like her butt was sliced in half?

“What’s up?”

I shook my head. “Downstairs. In the kitchen, please.”

“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?”

“Yes, but don’t shower yet. I want you down in five minutes.”

She strode toward the bedroom door, heaving a sigh full of impatience. “Ho-kay.”

“Put a robe on, please. Your brother’s downstairs.”

Shifting her weight to one tan and curvy flank, she clucked her tongue. “Duh. I was just about to.”

I waited until she pulled a terrycloth robe from the hook inside her closet door before turning to Gabriella. Kneeling beside the low bed with its plastic purple curlicues, I gently shook my younger daughter’s shoulder. “Sweetheart? Time to get up, Gabi.”

My little girl rolled onto her back, fluttered her lashes, and smiled. “Hi, Mommy.”

In a household full of night owls, Gabriella was my morning glory. While the rest of us didn’t hit our strides until well after noon—and often only after massive infusions of caffeine—my baby girl always greeted the day with a smile.

A pang of conscience struck my heart. In minutes, I’d remove that happiness from my child’s face. From the majority of my children’s faces. Only Luke, lucky baby, would remain unscarred by what I was about to say.

I forced a smile. “Up and at ‘em, pumpkin. It’s Friday.”

“Pizza day!” she exclaimed and squeezed Baby Dumbo while twisting her midsection back and forth.

Oh, cripes. I’d forgotten about that. On Fridays, we got together with the Boyds: Charlene and Joe and their three kids. Charlene and I took turns hosting the weekly pizza party, which included making fresh dough and tomato sauce from scratch. Then each family member would create different varieties of pizza with assorted toppings. This week was our turn to host the event. And I hadn’t prepared the dough, the sauce, or the toppings. I’d have to cheat, rush over to Marino’s Pork Store after work, and buy all the ingredients ready-made. Provided, of course, the twelve bucks left in my checking account would cover the expense.

Or I could always call Charlene and cancel. There was a good possibility no one in this household would be in the mood for fun and games once they all heard about Freckles.

I winced at my insensitivity, but shoved the guilt aside. With Gabriella dancing in front of me while singing, “Pizza day, pizza day,” I headed down to the kitchen with the same enthusiasm I’d show a pack of rabid wolves.

I found Mellie already seated at the table, gaze glued to her cell, probably texting Amanda. A glum-faced Corey traced circles into the scarred Formica tabletop with a mound of sugar. Ordinarily, I’d scold him, but I had more pressing matters to address. Gabriella climbed into her chair, and I took a deep breath before sinking down at the head of the table.