Time to Control (21 page)

“Eddie, no!
 
Will you quit asking me that?
 
I don't want you leaving your job for
me.
 
If you're unhappy there, you
can leave – but I'm not going to be responsible for you leaving your
job.
 
You keep saying that me being
afraid of being fired is a symptom of something else.
 
Well, maybe your keeping asking me if
you should quit is a symptom of something else as well.”

He was silent on the other end of
the phone.

“Hon, you still there?” I asked
after a minute.

“Yeah.
 
I'm sorry.
 
I'll stop presuming you want me to
leave.”

“Good,” I said firmly.
 
“If I want you to do something, I'll
point blank ask you, or tell you.
 
I'm not going to pussyfoot around the situation.
 
I've seen my mom do that to my dad for
years, and you saw how well it worked out for them.
 
If I want you to quit, I'll tell
you.
 
If I want you to come down to
Dallas, I'll tell you.
 
If I want
steak instead of chicken for dinner, I'll tell you.”

“Good girl.”

“And?”

“Hmmm?”

“This is a two-way street,
buddy.
 
This is where you say the
same thing that I just said to you.”

Eddie laughed.
 
“Yes, ma'am.
 
I won't drop hints.
 
See?
 
I even did it in less words than
you.”
 
I made a crude comment.
 
“I'll have to take a rain check on that
until I'm there on Friday.
 
But
then, yes, we can make love all night long,” he said, a bit more delicately
than I had.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.
 
Good night.”

“Schroeder, someone sent you
flowers,” the receptionist entered my office with her hands full.

“Ooh!” I squealed, and jumped up to
take the large vase from Barbara and place it down the edge of my desk.
 
I swept the papers on the desktop into a
pile, and moved the two dozen red roses into an ideal spot.

“There's chocolates too – I
couldn't carry them both.
 
I'll go
get them for you.”

Even though I had a good idea who
they were from, I carefully removed the card from the arrangement.
 
The writing was in the florist's
feminine handwriting, and simply said “thinking of you, Edward”.
 
A bit more formal than I expected, but
hey, he sent me flowers, probably trying to make up for not coming into town
today.
 

Barbara returned with a large box
of Godiva chocolates, which I received with eyes wide.
 
Yummy.
 
Barbara looked like she was about to ask
for one, but I had no plans on sharing – the chocolates or the man.

I popped the ribbon off of the box
while dialing Eddie's number from memory.
 
I picked out a dark chocolate truffle and pleasantly discovered it had
almond creme filling while waiting for Eddie to answer.

“Hello?”

“Mmrph mrh fmr t' mprchmates.”

“What?”

I swallowed, and tried again.
 
“Thank you for the flowers and
chocolates.”

His voice stilled on the other
end.
 
“What flowers and
chocolates?
 
I didn't send you any.”

I looked at the box of candy
suspiciously.
 
“Seriously?”

“Seriously, I didn't send you
anything.”

“That bastard,” I breathed,
realizing it must have been Alan.
 
The phone clattered to the desk as I fumbled for my garbage can, and
stuck my finger down my throat to force myself to vomit.

“Schroeder? Schroeder!
 
What the hell is going on?” Eddie's
voice sounded tinny coming from the receiver, but I didn't pick the phone back
up until I knew there was nothing left in my stomach.

“Sorry, I'm back.”
 
I reached for the warm can of Coke on my
desk – anything was better than the nasty taste in my mouth.

“What the hell is going on?” He
repeated.
 
“Who is a bastard?
 
Why are you throwing up?”

“I think it was Alan.”
 
I examined a few pieces, and thought I
saw what looked like pin pricks.
 
“Bastard tried to poison me,” I thought out loud, forgetting I was on
the phone.

“
What?
” I heard him excuse himself to someone on the other end, and
when he talked again a moment later, was clearly walking while talking.
 
“I'll be on the next plane there.
 
Why would Alan poison you?
 
And why would you think they were from
me?”

This was not going to be
pleasant.
 
“He signed your
name.
 
And I think he's not happy
that I got him fired.”

Eddie sighed, trying to process
everything.
 
“How many did you
eat?
 
You need to go to the
hospital.”

“I'm fine,” I assured him, and
myself.
 
“I only ate the one, and I
just threw it up.”

“One made you sick?
 
Get to the emergency room now,
Schroeder.”

“No, once I realized they weren't
from you I made myself throw up.
 
It
didn't have a chance to do anything – I already had a full stomach from
breakfast.
 
I'll be fine.
 
They wouldn't do anything other than
pump my stomach at the ER anyway, and I've already basically done that.”

“If you feel sick at all--” he
emphasized that again, “--at all – you call 911, you hear me?”

“I promise.”

“Why do you think it's Alan?
 
He was fired weeks ago; he can't still
be pissed.
 
It's a little late to
try to get revenge.”

“Um, well....”

“Schroeder.”

“I had it all under control.”

“Schroeder.”

“Really, it was no big deal.”

“Schroeder.”

“Who'd have thought he'd escalate
to this?”

“Schroeder.
 
If you don't tell me what's going on, I
swear to God--”

“All right!
 
He's been harassing me.”

Eddie grew quiet.
 
“For how long?”

“It started the day after he got
fired.
 
It hasn't been much--”

“What has he done.”
 
It wasn't a question.

“He signed me up for spam.
 
It was no big deal, I just got a new
email account.
 
And I had a flat
tire last week.
 
It might have been
random, but it looked more like someone slashed it.
 
I don't
know
that Alan did either, though.
 
I can't prove anything.”

Eddie sighed.
 
“Look, I'm almost to the airport.
 
I'll be there in a few hours.
 
Do not leave the building, you hear me?
 
And if you feel sick, you call
911.”
 
I didn't point out that those
were mutually exclusive; he was mad enough at me as it was.
 
“Schroeder?”

“I'm here.
 
I'm sorry.
 
I love you,” I tried.

“I love you too.
 
We'll talk more when I get there.”
 
Yeah, I wasn't looking forward to
that.
 
I had the feeling the
“talking” would be between his hand and my rear end.

Chapter Eight

Eddie must have caught a flight as
soon as he hit the airport, because it was less than three hours later when he
rushed into my office.

Delight at seeing my husband
appeared on my face.
 
Dylan quietly
hoisted herself out of one of the visitors’ chairs to give us some privacy,
closing the door behind her.

I stood to hug him, suddenly
unsure.
 
He took me in his arms, and
put a hand to my forehead.
 
“How are
you feeling?
 
Sick at all?
 
Feverish?
 
Nauseous?”
 
He looked into my eyes, trying to read
my soul.
 
Or so it felt.

“I'm fine,” I told him, and hugged
him tightly.

“Oh, baby, you are going to be the
death of me.”

We stood in the embrace for a few
minutes before I pulled back a bit to look up at him.
 
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” I
whispered, eyes full of tears.

Eddie lowered his mouth on top of
mine to kiss me passionately.
 
The
sounds of conversation and laughter came through the door as people walked by,
and we broke off the kiss remembering we were in public.
 
“We'll talk about it when we get
home.
 
Where's the chocolate?”
 
He looked around, but I pulled the box
of candy out from a drawer.

“I didn't want someone seeing it
and helping themselves.”

“Good thinking, for once,” he said
absentmindedly, examining the outside first, then the individual pieces.
 
I flinched at the implied insult, but
knew I deserved it.
 
Inspection
done, he opened the door and folded his large frame into one of my visitor's
chairs.

“Yes?”

“Don't mind me.
 
You still have a few hours left of
work.
 
I'll just sit here and be
sure nothing else happens.”

I lasted an hour under his intent
gaze.
 
I locked my workstation with
a sigh, and grabbed my purse from its drawer.
 
“I'm not going to be able to get any
more work done.
 
Let's go.”

He glanced at his watch.
 
“You're okay to take off an hour early?”

“I worked through lunch.
 
They got their eight hours.”

“You haven't eaten today?” He
asked, exasperated.

“I ate breakfast.”
 
Under his stare, I relented.
 
“And threw it up.
 
And no, I couldn't get lunch – you
told me I wasn't allowed to leave.”

“You could have ordered in,” he
grumbled, but led the way to the elevators anyway.

“And then you'd yell at me for
trusting that Alan wouldn't have intercepted the food along the way.
 
Uh-uh.
 
I wasn't going there,” I said quietly so
no one would overhear.

Eddie kissed the top of my head in
apology. “Sorry.
 
Let's go home and
I can make you some dinner.”

When we got inside, I looked around
for his bag.
 
“Where's your
stuff?
 
Do you want to change out of
that suit?”

“It's in Chicago.
 
I told you, I came straight here.”
 
He tone broke no discussion.
 
I swallowed.

“Um, your sweats are clean, if you
want to wear those.
 
In fact, let me
go find them for you.”
 
I
disappeared into the bedroom and went through the drawers trying to find
clothes for him to wear.

He followed me, tossing his suit
coat on the bed and unbuttoning his shirt.
 
“Sweetheart, I'm not angry with you.”
 
It was my turn to stare at him.
 
“Okay, maybe a little.
 
I'm concerned, and worried.
 
You don't need to be afraid of me,
ever.”
 
He wadded up his shirt and
threw it over to the hamper I bought in his absence.
 
He put on the sweatpants I held out to
him, and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me into his lap.

I put my arms around him, and
wiggled to get comfortable.
  
“I'm not afraid of you.”

“Then why didn't you tell me Alan
was harassing you?”

My wiggling turned
uncomfortable.
 
“I didn't want you
to get mad.”

“And why didn't you want me to get
mad?”

“'cause it's bad to be upset.”

“What?
 
Honey, who told you that?
 
It's normal to be upset and mad.
 
What's bad is when you let those
emotions take control over your actions.”

I didn't say anything, just curled
up small in his lap and buried my head in his neck.

“Have I given you any reason to
fear me?
 
No, don't ignore the
question, I'm serious.
   
Was it the spanking?
 
Again,
I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again.
 
Have I given you other cause to be afraid of me?”

“I wish you would let that go,” I
muttered into his throat.
 
“The spanking
was nothing.
 
I liked it, it turned
me on, and I'm ashamed that I want you to do it again – purely as a
sensual experience.
 
Drop it.
 
I'm not afraid of you.”

“Then what's going on,
Schroeder?
 
Talk to me.
 
Was it Richard—Roger?” He
corrected himself.

I didn't want to talk about him,
and I was glad when my stomach rumbled.
 
“Can I get changed?”

“Fine, I'll make some dinner.”
 
He kissed me on the cheek, and stood me
up and gave me a swat on my behind.

“Hey!”

“I thought you said you liked it?”
He teased, and left me to be alone.

Fifteen minutes later I entered the
kitchen, face and body scrubbed pink from the shower.
 
I hoped he couldn't see the evidence of
my crying in the shower, but with the look on his face I saw quickly before he
schooled his expression, he did.

“Can I help?” I asked, peering
around him into the steaming pot of water.

“I'm good.
 
Spaghetti okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.
 
I'll clear off the table.”

“What is that stuff, anyway?” He
asked, stirring the sauce.

“Ooh, glad you asked.”
 
He groaned good-naturedly.
 
“I was thinking about what we could
bring with us when we travel.
 
What
would be invisible to people, or however you want to put it.”
 
I put the items into the pack and set it
over on the coffee table to go through with him later.

“Good idea, babe.
 
I got something for you, too.
 
It's in my laptop case.
 
Stir this, and I'll get it.”

I hopped over to him and kissed him
on the cheek while taking the spoon from him.
 
“What'd you get me?”

“It's called a surprise for a
reason.
 
Hold your horses.”

He disappeared into the foyer and
dug in his bag, returning with a small picture frame.
 
“Here.”

I strained to read the faded script
on the framed paper.
 
“I can't read
this, hon,” I admitted.
 
“What is
it?”

“It's our marriage record.”
 
My jaw dropped, and his eyes crinkled
when he smiled at me.
 
“We were
married in Notgrove, Glouchestershire in 1621.
 
They have their records online, and I
found it just doing a Google search.
 
No one would ever think it's us – you can put it on your desk, and
people would just think we found another couple with the same name.”

My eyes filled with tears, and I
knew this time he wouldn't mind.
 
“What are the odds?”

“Exactly, which is why I knew it
was ours.
 
It helps that I found the
ring maker --
 
Charles Davies, by
the way -- was from that town.
 
I
just went from there.”

“So it's really real.
 
We do go back in time, to our own
world.”
 
I stared down at the ring
on my finger.
 
Eddie put his arms
around me from behind and stirred the sauce.
 
He nuzzled my neck while he did
that.
 
I turned around into him, and
returned the hug.

“Yes, we have proof.
 
We do travel, and we did get
married.
 
Wife,” he added, giving me
a look of love and devotion that melted my knees.
 
He caught me before I fell, and turned
the stove off behind me.
 
He turned
us both around, and lifted me up on the countertop between the kitchen and
dining room.
 
Kissing quickly turned
into fondling, and I soon was fumbling to unzip his pants.

“We're good?” He asked, his hands
pausing at my waistband.

“Yeah, not fertile.”
 
I leaned on his shoulders as he removed
my pj bottoms.
 
My legs wasted no
time in locking around him, drawing him into my waiting heat.
 
I tightened up as he entered, and he
shuddered with pleasure at the tightness.
 
Our hips met as he thrust in and out, and I clutched his buttocks,
trying to thrust him in further.
 
The tank top went to join the pants, and Eddie rubbed rough fingers
across the hard nipples.

“Eddie,” I moaned as he came in me,
his pleasure causing me to join him in orgasm.

Eddie moved my hair, still damp
from the shower, off of my face, and kissed me.
 
“I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.”
 
The air conditioning turned on, blowing
right down on my exposed breasts.
 
I
hugged him close, stealing his warmth.
 
“Can you help me down?”

“No.”
 
He grinned, and opened drawers until he
found the dish towels.
 
He quickly
cleaned us off, then lifted me down, making sure my legs were securely under me
before letting go.
 
I gathered my
clothes from the floor and gave Eddie another kiss on the cheek before heading
into the dining room.

“Sorry, I gotta sit down before I
collapse.”

“No problem.”
 
He dropped the towel off at the washer,
then heated the stove back up.
 
“We'll get some food in you in a few.”

“Thank you for the marriage
record.
 
I don't think I said that
yet.”

“I'll forgive you.
 
You showed me your thanks.”
 
He winked at me as he opened a bottle of
red wine and placed it on the table.
 
I shakily poured myself a glass and downed it.
 
“Whoa, easy there.
 
Here, eat some bread with that.”
 
A loaf of asiago bread came flying at
me, and I snatched it out of the air and grabbed a slice.
 
He brought over a tall glass of ice
water before the pasta.

“So, we were going to talk about
Roger.”

I looked at the dinner in front of
me, suddenly not hungry any more.
 
I
pushed the plate away, and Eddie pushed it right back.
 
“If we talked about him after dinner,
would you throw it up?” He asked quietly.

I considered, then shook my head,
and started nibbling on the pasta.
 
We avoided deeper conversation, and chatted about the neighbors that I
had finally met.

“I really like Liz, she's a lot of
fun.
 
She owns a bakery up the road,
and makes the most amazing pastries.
 
This bread is from there, and there's some cookies on the counter for
later.
 
I got oatmeal raisin,
chocolate chip, and sugar – I didn't know what type you liked.”

“Mmm, any of those work.
 
Sugar is probably my favorite, but it
has to be a good one.
 
My grandma
made the best ones I ever had.”
 
He
smiled, remembering.

“Is she still around?
 
My grandparents have all passed away.”

He shook his head.
 
“Nah, she died when I was in high
school.
 
Mom still has the recipe,
and makes them for me when I come home.
 
I'll have you sick of them by the time you leave.”

This was the opening I had been
waiting for.
 
“Do you still want me
to meet them?
 
You haven't said
anything about us going up there.
 
It is up there, right?
 
Connecticut?”

He looked surprised.
 
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to not talk
about them.
 
Of course I want you to
meet my folks.
 
They are great,
you'll like them.
 
And yes, they are
in Connecticut.
 
My brother Tony and
his family live just down the street.
 
I've told them all about you, and they can't wait to meet you.”

I drank a swallow of my wine,
ignoring the frown he gave me.
 
“You
like to not tell me these things.”

“Do you really want to get into the
'not telling the other person things' discussion now, or wait until after you
have your first meal of the day?”
 
He pointedly did not mention Alan's name, but I got the picture.