Chapter 4
Jonathan pulled his car to a stop against the curb and gazed up at the house Susan bought. One bedroom window upstairs was brightly lit. He saw Susan puttering about the room. Why hadn’t he realized before now how beautiful she was? He ached to take her in his arms, to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was for everything.
If someone told him he would be a father again at the age of forty-four and fetching ice cream and pickles in the middle of the night for his pregnant girlfriend, he would have scoffed.
What a mess he’d made of his life. What a fool he’d been.
He appreciated Susan now in ways he never had before. Wasn’t that always the case?
Maybe she would take him back. It wasn’t too late to stop the divorce. She would understand that in a moment of weakness he'd acted on an attraction. She would understand about the baby, too.
He trudged up the front walk, climbed the steps with a heavy heart and stepped to the front door, ringing the bell like a salesman. A moment later, the door swung open. It surprised him she answered the door without looking through a window first or asking who it was.
She wore a tank top, short-shorts and her hair was tousled. She never looked so good to him. The rosy hue of her cheeks, the spattering of freckles across the bridge of her patrician nose and her painted toenails had him wanting her back even more.
“My God, Jonathan, it’s almost midnight.”
He knew the time, but hadn’t expected that kind of welcome. Susan was gracious at all times, or at least used to be. “I know. I’m — ”
“What are you doing here?”
Her insolent tone surprised him. He hadn’t prepared an excuse, hadn’t thought he’d need one, and said the first thing that came to him. “I can’t find my record collection. Maybe the box got mixed with yours.”
“I’ll look for it tomorrow.”
When she made a move to shut the door, he stepped over the threshold. The door rammed his hip. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to see the house.” She didn’t return his smile. He couldn't understand her behavior.
“So you can tell me what a mistake I made buying it? I don’t think so. Good night, Jonathan. And next time don’t just drop by. Call first. And earlier would be better.”
The woman who stared him down was not the same woman who shared his life for the last sixteen years. He wasn't prepared to give up or give in. “May I come in?”
She hesitated a moment, then moved aside, splaying her arm in a wide arc. “What Jonathan wants, Jonathan gets.”
He ignored the remark and looked around as he strode through the hallway and into the living room. “You should have consulted me,” he said, grimacing at the sad state of the walls, ceiling and floor.
“Excuse me?”
“Shouldn’t I have had some say in what house you bought?”
“No, and what would you have said? Don’t buy it? Have you thought about resale value? It needs a lot of work? You can’t do it alone? They should be paying you to take it off their hands? No, Jonathan, you forfeited the right to argue against anything that involves me the moment you signed the divorce papers.” She paused to take a breath. “I did whatever you asked for sixteen years. I behaved the way you expected a wife to behave. I don’t have to do that anymore. I have a mind of my own. A good mind, an intelligent mind, and I’m quite capable of looking after the children and myself. I’m not dependent on you anymore.”
He never saw her so assertive or so angry and didn’t know what to make of it. “I could’ve helped.”
“Wouldn’t you have just loved to do that.”
“Why are you thinking the worst of me? You should know me better.”
“I do know you.”
This wasn’t going the way he expected. He inhaled deeply. “It would have been friendly advice.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been.” She wagged a finger in front of his face. “You still want to run my life like you did when we were married. I didn’t argue then because you didn’t give me a choice. I’m free to make decisions now, and love that I do.”
He flinched when she swiped her hand through the air. “I didn’t come here to argue or criticize you, Susan.”
“No? Then why did you come? And don’t tell me it was for your record collection. I’m not an imbecile. You want something. What is it?”
The woman standing before him with her hands on her hips and a steely look in her eyes was a stranger to him. He'd admit it to no one, but she frightened him a little. He stared at the cracked ceiling, then at the peeling plaster on the walls. “This place is a shack.” The words surprised him. What possessed him? Normally, he would have tried for diplomacy.
“Well, I see you’re still as diplomatic as ever. It may be a shack, Jonathan, but it’s my shack. And with a little paint and a little cleaning, it’ll be a home. My home and your children’s home.”
“You’re going to need some help getting it habitable. I can lend a hand.”
“No, thank you. I’ll do the work myself, and what I can’t, I’ll hire people to do.”
He felt sorry for her if she thought she’d be able to do this on her own.
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a sly look. “You always do that.”
“Do what?” He had no idea what she meant.
“Look at me like I’m crazy when I say something you don’t agree with.”
“Susan — ”
“Enough. Leave.”
He made a move toward her. She waved him away. He stepped back.
“Please go, Jonathan.”
“No, I won’t go. Not until I know Katie and Benjamin are being well looked after, are happy and — ” The breath was sucked out of him. He clutched his throat.
“What’s the matter?”
After a long excruciating moment, the pain subsided and his breath returned. “I . . . I don’t know. It felt like a knife sliced through my neck.” Now that he could, he inhaled deeply.
“Probably tension. You hate it when things don’t go your way.”
“That’s not true.” He raised his nose into the air. An odor, like death, filled the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Dampness from the basement.”
He wouldn't argue with her, but the odor was not caused by moisture. He'd smelled death often enough to recognize the scent. Something or someone had died in this house. Not recently, but at some time. “You might want to get the dehumidifier going.”
“Uh-huh. Are we finished here?”
Just then a searing pain tore through him before settling like pins in his backside. “Oh, God.” Without any thought to appearance, he clutched his butt and jumped around.
“What’s the matter now, Jonathan?”
With the pain subsiding, he sneaked a peek at Susan in time to see her crossing her arms against her chest. She seemed to be taking satisfaction in his trauma. Something was wrong with her and something was definitely not right with this house.
“Nothing.”
“You’d better leave before you blow an artery. Obviously, my buying this house without consulting you first is doing a number on your nerves.”
Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea. “Well, I guess I’ve overstayed ... yee-ow.”
He clutched his chest. “Something just stabbed me.” The words rushed from his mouth before he could stop them.
“It’s all in your head, as you so often told me. There’s only the two of us in the room, Jonathan, and I know I didn’t do anything to you.”
From the way this impromptu visit had gone and her expression, he'd bet she wished she'd caused his pain. He straightened and backed up, high stepping toward the door as needles pricked his entire body. “I’ll . . . ow . . . pick up the kids . . . yikes. . . . for the weekend on Friday at . . . Christ. . . . five o’clock.”
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