T he wedding was held in Donovan and Beth’s home. Besides the bride and groom and justice of the peace, the only guests were Beth and Donovan and Brittany’s friend Janie. Brittany didn’t throw her tiny bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath, nor did anyone toss rice at the newlyweds.
Brittany listened to the solemn words of the ceremony, her head bent, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. This wasn’t the way she’d dreamed of her wedding. There should have been laughter and lots of guests, .and she should have been wildly happy.
And Dan should have been standing beside her.
She stared at her fingers lying in Michael’s. His hand was so much larger than hers. There was strength there. And compassion.
“Do you, Michael Patrick Sinclair, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, to love and to cherish from this day forward as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
How could he sound so confident, so calm? It was all a lie. They weren’t going to love and cherish or have and hold. Those words were meant for other couples, couples who were in love, who were marrying for the right reasons.
“Brittany?” The minister’s quiet voice broke into her circling thoughts, calling her back to the matters at hand. She realized it must be time for her response. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t promise those things.
Michael’s hand tightened over hers, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. She could lose herself in those eyes, clear blue and as deep as the ocean. His eyes promised her that everything was going to be all right. He’d make sure of it. She looked into his eyes and clung to his hand.
“I do.” The response was hardly a whisper, but it was enough.
She didn’t hear the rest of the ceremony, was barely aware of the minister pronouncing them man and wife. She never took her eyes off Michael’s, feeling as if they were the only lifeline she had. Michael’s head lowered, his hand gently squeezing hers. This must be the part where he was supposed to kiss the bride.
She felt a momentary panic, as if, in some way, having him kiss her were more frightening than the ceremony itself. His free hand came up, his palm slightly rough against the softness of her cheek. She closed her eyes as his mouth touched hers. It was a gentle kiss, given without demands. His mouth was warm against hers, and she found herself relaxing, returning the kiss in the same spirit.
Her lashes came up as he lifted his head. There was something in his eyes. She couldn’t quite read. A question? A need? The expression was gone so quickly, she thought perhaps she’d imagined it.
“Congratulations.” Beth was the first to come forward, her smile contrasting with the worry in her eyes. Brittany returned her hug, grateful for the show of support. In the few days since Michael had brought her here, she’d found his parents to be warm and supportive.
They might not agree that marriage was the best thing but they’d accepted the reality of it and had gone out of their way to make Brittany feel comfortable.
It had been Beth who had insisted that Brittany have a wedding gown. And Beth who’d taken her shopping, helping her choose the simple ivory dress she now wore.
“Welcome to the family,” Donovan said, and Brittany lifted her cheek to accept his kiss. Donovan wasn’t as easy to know as Beth. There was a reserve about him that reminded her of Michael. But there was an underlying warmth, too.
“Congratulations, Brittany.” Janie’s words were a little hesitant, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether or not congratulations were in order.
“Thank you.” Brittany glanced at her friend, then she returned her gaze to the small bouquet she held. Donovan had handed her the bouquet just before the ceremony, his smile kind, as if he’d sensed the panic she was feeling. She smoothed a rose petal with one shaking finger, thinking of her own parents.
“Well, I think we should have some champagne to celebrate,” Beth said, her tone hearty.
Despite the effort everyone put forth, the mood could not have been called exactly jovial. Odd little silences were prone to fall and then be broken just as suddenly. Beth sat very close to Donovan, as if needing the support of his nearness.
Brittany said very little. She couldn’t seem to get words out past the tightness in her throat. None of this felt real. She felt like an actress in a play, only she couldn’t quite remember her lines.
Janie left as soon as was polite. Brittany saw her to the door.
“You keep in touch,” Janie told her, giving her a rather fierce hug.
“Of course I will.” Brittany returned the hug, feeling a tiny crack in the wall that separated her from the rest of the world.
“I think your Michael is terrific. Give him a chance, Britt.”
She was gone before Brittany could say anything, hurrying down the steps. Brittany watched her go, her fingers tight around the edge of the door. She was oblivious to the cool evening air as she watched the taillights of Janie’s little compact disappear. She felt as if she were seeing the last trace of her old life vanish—the life she understood.
Stupid. That life had ended when the child she was carrying was conceived. And Dan’s death had made her realize she couldn’t go back. Not ever.
Her Michael? He wasn’t her Michael. Or at least, if he was, it was only temporary, As if he were on loan. Like a library book. She giggled at the thought. The hysteria underlying the sound startled her, and feeling self-conscious, she put a hand over her mouth.
“Brittany?” She jumped at the sound of Michael’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She shut the door carefully before turning to look at him. “Just a little tired, I guess.”
“We can go home now, if you’d like.”
She pushed back a tendril of hair that had fallen loose from her chignon, suddenly aware of how tired she really was. It had been so long since she’d been able to rest without some worry nagging at her—since she’d realized she was pregnant.
“I’d like that, if your parents wouldn’t think it was too rude.”
Michael gave her a crooked smile. “I don’t think this has been any easier on them than it has on us. They’ll probably be glad to see us go.”
***
Michael’s house was on the outskirts of Remembrance, backed by rolling fields. It was land he’d bought from his father and he’d built the house himself, much of it with his own hands.
Approaching it in the darkness, Brittany could make out only the shape of it. A high peaked roof outlined against the night sky, wide windows that reflected the headlights as they pulled into the driveway. Michael shut off the engine, and silence suddenly became a third presence.
He didn’t say anything or seem to expect her to. He thrust open his door, coming around to open hers while she was still staring at the house. Brittany took the hand he held out to her, feeling, as always, the strength of him. This time, it sent a shiver up her spine. Staring up at him in the darkness, she could make out nothing beyond the shape of him—tall, broad shouldered.
Why hadn’t she ever noticed how big he was? Maybe even an inch or two taller than Dan’s six foot. He seemed to tower over her in the darkness.
What had she done? She barely knew this man. Oh, she knew he’d been Dan’s friend, the quiet one of the duo. And she knew he’d been kind to her. But she didn’t really know him.
And she’d just married him.
She shivered and Michael felt it through the hand he still held. Mistaking the reason, he drew her closer.
“I guess autumn is really here. It’s chilly after the sun goes down. Let’s get you in the house. I can get your suitcase later.”
Brittany let him lead her toward the house simply because there was nowhere else to go. She was overwhelmingly aware that she’d just made a major commitment to this man—a near stranger.
Michael unlocked the door, flipping on a light as they stepped through.
“The living room is through here.”
Brittany went in the direction he pointed, stepping onto thick carpeting. A huge stone fireplace dominated one wall; the rest of the room was almost stark in its simplicity. It was a man’s room—heavy leather furniture designed for comfort, a few paintings and none of the quirky little touches a woman might have added. Brittany felt like an alien presence.
“It’s pretty austere, I suppose.” She turned to see Michael frowning as he looked around the room, as if trying to see it through her eyes.
“Oh no. It’s beautiful, really.”
He shrugged. “I furnished it for comfort, not style. You’re welcome to make changes if you want.”
“Oh no. I wouldn’t dream of rearranging your home.”
“Brittany, it’s your home now. Even if it’s only for a while. I want you to be comfortable here. Besides, the place could probably use a little sprucing up.”
“Home,” she repeated, looking around the big room. Home. It didn’t feel like home. But then, she couldn’t imagine what would right now.
“I didn’t know you played guitar.”
Michael followed her gaze to the guitar that sat propped in a corner. “I don’t. At least not very well. It’s something I like to relax with once in a while. You can let me know if it bothers you.”
He crossed to the fireplace, kneeling to set a match to the wood pile that already lay there. Flames devoured the crumpled newspapers and licked up through the stack of kindling before reaching the small logs.
“It’s a little early in the year for a fire, but I like the look of it.” He stood up, dusting his hands together as he stared down at the small blaze.
“I guess it’s just now occurring to me what a disruption this is going to cause in your life,” Brittany said slowly.
He turned, arching a brow when he saw that she was still standing in the middle of the floor. “There isn’t a whole lot to disrupt, believe me. Have a seat. You look like you’re getting ready to leave. You want something to drink or eat? You didn’t eat much at supper.’
Brittany sank onto the sofa, her eyes skimming the room again, trying to develop a picture of the man she’d married. She’d given so much thought to what this marriage was going to mean to her and so little to what it was going to mean to him.
“You know, I never even asked if you had a girlfriend who might object to this arrangement.”
“I don’t.”
“But I should have asked,” she said. “I’ve only been thinking about how this is going to affect my life. I’ve given hardly a thought to what it’s going to do to yours.”
“I told you before, I’m perfectly capable of looking out for my own interests. You don’t have to worry about me, Brittany.”
“But I should have thought about it.” Her eyes reflected her distress. Michael came and sat on the huge glass-topped coffee table in front of her. In the dim eight cast by the fire, his eyes appeared midnight blue.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything but yourself and the baby. The whole purpose of this is to make sure the two of you are okay.”
Her eyes dropped to where her fingers were restlessly pleating the ivory silk of her dress. “I can’t just not think about it. You’re doing so much for me.”
“I told you before that this is something I want to .do.” He reached out, catching her hand in his. “I want to do this for Dan. And for you and the baby.”
It was the first time either of them had mentioned Dan’s name in days. Reminded of her loss, Brittany felt the familiar wave of grief wash over her. But it was gentler now, more a deep sadness than raging pain. Maybe she was starting to come to terms with the loss.
Perhaps Michael felt the same rush of pain. His fingers tightened over hers for an instant. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. Outside, an owl called mournfully as if seeking something forever lost. Michael drew a deep breath, forcing a light note into his voice.
“Besides, you make it sound like I’ve sentenced myself to hard labor. I can think of worse fates than to be married to a beautiful woman. I’ll be the envy of all my friends.”
Brittany withdrew her hand from his, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back. Her smile might be a little wavery around the edges, but she was determined to follow his lead.
“In a few months I’m going to look like a water buffalo. I don’t think your friends are going to be terribly envious then.”
“Sure they will. None of them have a water buffalo in the house.”
She glanced up, catching the teasing light in his eyes. Her mouth curved up in the first genuine humor she’d felt in weeks. The movement felt rusty.
“Thanks. Just wait till you have to install a hoist to get me out of the tub, and then see how you feel.”
“I’m sure I’ll cope.” He stood up abruptly. “I’m going to make some cocoa.”
“Cocoa?”
“Sure. The perfect thing to sip by the fire. Besides, aren’t pregnant women supposed to drink lots of milk?”
He was on his way out of the room as he spoke, apparently feeling that a reply wasn’t essential. Brittany looked after him, wondering if she’d said something to upset him.
In the kitchen, Michael pulled open the refrigerator door with such force that a bottle of salad dressing tumbled out, cracking on the tile. Muttering a curse, he took out the milk, pouring it into a pan and setting it on the stove before grabbing a towel to mop up the mess on the floor.
This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought it would be. He’d had it all planned. They’d live together, platonic friends rather than a real husband and wife. He’d make sure that she got the care she needed—the only thing he could do for Dan now.
In a year or so their lives would go in different directions. Sure, there’d still be ties, but this would just become a rather peculiar interlude in both their lives.
It had only taken Brittany’s joking words to tell him that it wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d tried to believe. The thought of her in the bath created vivid and unwelcome images in his mind. Her skin would be moist, little drops of water pearling on her shoulders and breasts.
It would be a bubble bath in which the fluffy white foam would float over the surface of the water, offering tantalizing glimpses of creamy skin. She’d have her hair up in one of those casually twisted knots on top of her head, but several tendrils would be loose, caressing the nape of her neck.
She’d look up at him, those wide gray eyes all soft and wanting. And her mouth—her lower lip would be just slightly thrust out in anticipation of his kiss. He’d kneel beside the tub and—
A stab of pain slashed through the image. With a curse, he dropped the piece of glass, staring at the blood welling up at the base or his thumb. Standing up and moving to the sink he thrust his hand under a stream of cold water. What he really needed was a cold shower.
What was happening? He had no business conjuring erotic fantasies about Brittany. She was Dan’s girl. And your wife.
But that was just an arrangement to take care of her. It was temporary.
But you never discussed the sleeping arrangements with her.
They didn’t need to be discussed. He’d already cleared out a bedroom for her. He shook his head, wishing he could clear out his mind.
The wedding today hadn’t been what he’d expected. When they’d decided to get married, he’d looked on it as a necessary step. He hadn’t given any thought to the actual marriage. Although, if he had thought about it, he wouldn’t have expected the ceremony to have any effect on him. It was just a minor detail—something that had to be done before they could go on to more important things.
Then he’d seen Brittany in her wedding dress. It wasn’t a real wedding dress, with yards of lace and ten feet of train. There’d been no veil, no ruffles. Just plain ivory silk, high at the neck and long sleeved, with a full skirt that fell to past her knees.
There was nothing exceptional about the dress. Yet, in the first moment that he’d seen her coming down the stairs, she’d taken his breath away.
During the ceremony, he’d found his eyes drawn to her. The words the minister was saying, words he’d more or less expected to ignore, had suddenly seemed full of meaning. To love and cherish, to have and to hold. They were just words, but he couldn’t deny that he’d felt a pang as he took the vows, something that might have been a wish that the words were true.
Angry hissing made him jerk his hand out of the water and turn toward the stove. Milk foamed over the top of the pan, bubbling onto the stove top with evil pleasure, there to burn to brown crust. Michael’s hand was numb from having rested under the cold water so long, but it wasn’t so numb that he couldn’t feel the pain when he unthinkingly grabbed the pan’s handle with his bare hand.
He yelped, jerking back, upsetting the pan, creating the final disaster as it tipped, spilling scalding milk down the front of the stove. Nursing his wounded hand, he stared at the mess. This was his punishment for having lascivious thoughts about a woman he had no business having such thoughts about.
“Wages of sin,” he mumbled, thrusting his uninjured hand through his hair. By now, Brittany was probably wondering if he’d had to milk a cow to get the milk for cocoa.
When Michael stepped into the living room, prepared to tell her that the only way she was going to get cocoa was if she wanted to go to the all-night café a few miles down the road, he saw that explanations weren’t necessary.
The fire still burned, sending tongues of flame up the chimney, but Brittany wasn’t watching it. She’d kicked off her shoes, curling her legs under her. Her head was propped rather awkwardly against the arm of the couch, and she was sound asleep.
Looking at her, Michael felt a wave of emotion he couldn’t quite define. She looked so small and vulnerable. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe.
“A lousy protector you’d make,” he muttered jeeringly. “You just about killed yourself in your own kitchen.”
But the feeling persisted, irritating him. He reached out to shake her awake but drew back without touching her. She looked so tired. The past few months seemed to have drained all the energy from her.
Mumbling at his own stupidity, he bent and scooped her up into his arms. She stirred as if waking and then settled more comfortably against him, turning her face into his neck. Her weight seemed insubstantial as he carried her into the bedroom. She was going to have to start eating more. He didn’t know much about pregnant women, but he was willing to bet that Brittany hadn’t been eating the way she should.
Michael sat her on the bed and then straightened up. Looking at her, he hesitated. She wasn’t going to be very comfortable the way she was.
“Brittany?” He called her name quietly, giving one shoulder a gentle nudge. She mumbled in her sleep but didn’t wake. “Brittany?” He tried again but it was clear it was going to take more than that to wake her. Even when he clicked on the bedside lamp, she didn’t twitch. In this light, the smudgy purple shadows under her eyes were easy to see.
With a sigh, he turned her until he could see the row of buttons at the back of her dress. Manipulating the tiny globes through loops that seemed one size too small, he tried not to think about what he was doing: He didn’t need to remember that it was his wife he was undressing or that this was their wedding night or just how beautiful she looked when she smiled.
Unbuttoned, the dress was not difficult to ease off, leaving her clad in a pale slip and panty hose. Michael hesitated only a moment before deciding not to push his luck. The hose could stay precisely where they were. Rolling Brittany to one side, he pulled back the covers-before lifting to lay her against the sheets.
She stirred as the cool cotton touched her bare shoulders, her mouth curving in a smile of sensual sweetness. Her eyes still closed, her hand lifted, seeking. Michael caught it, feeling the fragility of her fingers against his.
”Mmm?” This time her murmur held a questioning note, and her lashes stirred as if she were trying to wake.
“Go back to sleep.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead with his free hand, wondering at the softness of the tendrils that clung to his fingers. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.
The sound of his voice seemed to relax her. As she sank deeper into the pillow, her mouth remained tilted up at the corners. She sighed.
“Dan.”
Michael’s fingers froze against her forehead. For a slow count of five, he didn’t move. Then he slowly lowered her hand, tucking it carefully under the covers. His face was without expression as he reached out to snap off the lamp and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
The fire still flickered in the living room, though it was burning low. Crossing the room to a shallow cupboard built against one wall, he took out a bottle of whiskey and poured a shot into a small glass, then without hesitation, knocked it back neat. It burned in his throat before settling in a warm lump in his gut. He poured another shot before capping the bottle and putting it away.
Carrying the glass over to the fire, he stumbled over one of Brittany’s shoes. Sinking into a chair, he reached down to pick it up. Such a tiny foot.
Dan.
He took a swallow of whiskey. Whose name did you expect her to say, dope? Yours? Not bloody likely. Besides, he didn’t want her muttering his name in her sleep, anyway. This whole arrangement was temporary. It would soon be over. It wouldn’t do to forget that.
It also wouldn’t do to forget that the only reason Brittany had agreed to marry him was because the alternative was even worse than the solution. As soon as she’d had the baby and had a chance to get her feet under her, she was going to be out of the marriage as fast as you could say divorce. Or annulment. Hell, he didn’t even know which it would be.
He took another swallow of whiskey, frowning at the shoe in his hand. Right now, she needed him. When she didn’t need him anymore, she’d be gone. Which was exactly the way he wanted it.
He tossed back the last of the whiskey, then he set the glass down with a thump. Everything was going to work out just the way he’d planned it. He’d help Brittany for Dan’s sake, a last favor for a friend. That’s all there was to it.
Dan.
The shoe hit the far wall with a satisfying thump before bouncing back onto the carpeting.
***
The first thing Brittany was aware of was feeling rested, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She kept her eyes closed, snuggling deeper into the pillow.
The bed had never felt better. She wanted nothing more than to lie just where she was, eyes closed, the rest of the world a distant annoyance.
But once awake, there was no coaxing sleep back. With a frown, she buried her face in the pillow. Memories were intruding on the sleepy content she was trying to cling to. The bed, though comfortable, was unfamiliar. The light came from the wrong direction.
Michael. With a groan, she turned over, opening her eyes. She’d gotten married yesterday. She was in Michael’s house—her husband’s house. The ceiling was open-beamed pine, giving the room a feeling at once rustic and airy. The furniture was also pine. The overall motif was country without being cutesy.
Pulling herself upright against the pillows, she pushed her hair back from her face, trying to piece together how she’d gotten here. The last thing she remembered was Michael going off to make cocoa. She’d been staring into the fireplace, too tired to even worry about the huge step she’d taken. That was the last thing she could remember. She must have fallen asleep on the sofa, and Michael had brought her in here.
Spotting her dress draped over the back of a chair, she realized that that wasn’t all he’d done. She pushed back the covers, relieved to find that he’d stopped with the dress. The thought of Michael undressing her was disturbing. It seemed so intimate. She shook her head. Her full slip was more modest than a lot of things women wore on the street.
Sitting up straighter, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, waiting for the vague queasiness to subside before she tried to stand up. She’d been lucky so far. Morning sickness hadn’t been a problem. Hopefully, it would stay that way.
There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom and Brittany took time to wash her face and comb her hair before venturing back into the bedroom in search of clothes. There was no sign of the suitcase she’d brought from Beth and Donovan’s after the wedding, but the boxes in the corner held the rest of her things. Michael had brought them over two days ago.
It didn’t take long to slip into a pair of jeans and a shirt. She wore the shirt out, letting the long tails hide the fact that she couldn’t snap her jeans anymore. She was going to have to buy some new clothes. She frowned as she finished buttoning the shirt. Finances were another thing she and Michael hadn’t discussed in detail.
In fact, it was only now—after they were married—that she was realizing just how few things they had discussed. Brittany frowned at her reflection in the mirror as she pinned her hair back off her face. Maybe accepting the idea that she was going to marry him was all she’d been able to deal with at first. Now that that was a reality, she was starting to wonder about the details of this arrangement.
The first thing to do was to get up the courage to leave the sanctuary of the bedroom and face Michael. Her husband. Michael was her husband. She was his wife. No matter how she phrased it, she couldn’t make it seem real. The ceremony the day before was already vague, dreamlike, as if it were part of someone else’s life.
Only it wasn’t. She, Brittany Winslow, was now Brittany Sinclair, and she might as well get used to the idea. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
Sunlight spilled through a bank of high, narrow windows along one wall, making the hallway much brighter than she’d expected. There was a door at the far end that she assumed must lead to Michael’s bedroom. From the stillness of the house, it appeared that he was still sleeping.
As it turned out, he was asleep but not in his bedroom. Brittany was halfway across the living room before she realized that she wasn’t alone. Michael was sprawled in the wide leather chair in front of the fireplace, his long legs draped awkwardly over the arm, his neck at an impossible angle.
Her first urge was to retreat to the bedroom, which already seemed a haven. She squelched it immediately. She couldn’t run every time she saw Michael. Besides, he didn’t even know she was here. Despite herself, she was drawn closer, studying his sleeping face.
He looked younger. Sleep eased the maturity from his face, leaving him vulnerable. Odd, she’d never really noticed just how handsome he was. She’d always been vaguely aware that he was attractive, but all her attention had been for Dan.
If she’d been asked, she’d have said that Dan’s sandy-brown hair and light blue eyes were surely the epitome of male beauty. Yet, there was something appealing in Michael’s darker good looks.
A lock of tobacco-brown hair had fallen across his forehead, and she reached out to push it back, surprised by the silky feel of it against her fingers. She drew her hand back, oddly disturbed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see him like this—soft, vulnerable, more human, somehow.
She’d had this vague idea that, even after they were married, they’d remain somewhat distant from each other. She hadn’t thought about what it was going to be like to live with him, to see him across the breakfast table, to bump into him after a shower, to see him vulnerable as he was now.
Brittany turned away, uncomfortable without being able to put a precise name to what it was that bothered her. She was just imagining things. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to be prone to flights of fancy? So she’d seen Michael asleep. So what?
All it took was seeing the kitchen to bring her solidly to earth again. It was basically a rather nice kitchen. Compact but designed so that it looked bigger than it actually was. It wasn’t the decor that brought her to a halt.
On the floor in front of the refrigerator was a puddle of blue cheese dressing, a broken bottle floating forlornly in the middle. On the counter were two cups and a box of cocoa. On the stove was a pan, and all over the stove was what must have been the contents of the pan.
She was on her knees mopping up the dressing when a small sound made her glance up. Once Michael came around the corner, he stopped dead, obviously surprised to see her.
“Brittany.” He thrust his fingers through his hair, rumpling it into soft dark waves. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”
“I’ve been up for a little while.” She returned her attention to the dressing, picking pieces of broken glass out of the mess and dropping them into the dustpan she’d found behind the door.
“Here, you don’t have to do that. I should have cleaned it up last night.” He crouched beside her, reaching for the dustpan, but she moved it out of reach.
“I’ll do it.”
“I’m the one who broke the bottle.”
“And let the milk boil over.” She looked up in time to see his guilty glance at the stove.
“Things didn’t go so well last night. It’s just as well you fell asleep. But I didn’t leave the mess for you to clean up. I was going to do it myself.”
“But you fell asleep.”
“Well, I’m awake now and I can take care of it.”
Brittany reached for a roll of paper towels and started to sop up the sticky dressing, ignoring Michael’s halfhearted attempt to take paper towels away from her.
“You know, I was actually rather relieved to see the kitchen like this.”
“Relieved?” He said, looking surprised. “You like filthy kitchens?”
“Not particularly.” She threw the wet towels into the trash can and sat back on her heels, looking at him. “But it was nice to find out that you aren’t entirely perfect.”
Surprise flared in his eyes. “You must be thinking of someone else,” he said at last. “ ‘Perfect’ is not a word even my own mother would apply to me.”
“Well, these past few days, you’ve been so calm. In complete control. It can be a little intimidating.”
He reached out to catch her hand when she moved to stand up. “Do I intimidate you?”
Brittany stared at their linked hands. The plain gold wedding band on her third finger caught, the sunlight pouring in through the window over the sink.
“Not ‘intimidate,’ precisely,” she said quietly.
“What ‘precisely’?” he pressed.
“You seem to know exactly where you’re going and exactly what you want. I feel like I’ve been floundering for the past couple of months. Since...since Dan’s plane went down, I haven’t been able to focus on much of anything.”
“I think that’s understandable.” His thumb rubbed the wedding ring. “You’ve had a lot to wade through.”
“I suppose.” She sighed, looking up at him: “Why do I have the feeling that, if you were in my shoes, you would have managed better than 1 did?”
“If I were in your shoes, I’d have been in every medical journal in the country.’
He said it so seriously that it took a minute for his meaning to sink in. When it did, she felt a smile crack, and then laughter welled up. The sound was rusty but it was definitely a laugh. It felt wonderful. As if she’d been only half-alive for a long time. Now life was pouring back into her veins.
Kneeling there on the kitchen floor, her hand still in Michael’s, their shared laughter mingling in the morning air, Brittany felt a surge of optimism. Life did go on. Maybe it could even be good again.