Home Front(18)

Jolene got into bed beside her. Betsy eased sideways to make room and then leaned against her.

“What’s his excuse this time?”

What could Jolene say? That Michael’s work ethic and sense of duty sometimes trumped his family? She could hardly fault him for that: it was one of the things they shared. And he’d learned it from his father. The Zarkades men could disappoint their wives and children, but they never let down a client. “Ah, baby … sometimes we have to forgive the people we love. That’s all there is to it. And you know how important his work is. People’s lives depend on him.”

“I don’t care anyway,” Betsy said, but her eyes filled with tears.

Jolene held Betsy close. “Of course you care. You’re mad at him, and you have a right to be. But he loves you, Betsy.”

“Whatever.”

“You pretty much rocked today, you know that, right?”

She felt Betsy relax a little. “I sort of did.”

They lay there for a long time, saying nothing of importance. Finally, Jolene kissed her daughter’s temple, said good night, and went downstairs.

She sat on the cold brick hearth, with the black, empty fireplace behind her, and stared down at her hands. In her mind, she yelled at Michael, railed at him for disappointing their daughter.

This time, she’d say it all. She’d get his attention and make him understand that there were moments in life that could simply be lost. Too many and a relationship could founder.

It was just past nine o’clock when she heard his car come up the driveway. Moments later, he walked into the kitchen, looking harried. “Hey, Jo. Sorry I’m late, but once I missed the track meet, I figured, why hurry home?”

Jolene got to her feet. “Really. Is that what you thought?”

“I had to—”

“You had to do something. How utterly surprising. And in a balancing of needs, yours won out. I’m shocked.”

“Damn it, Jo, it wasn’t intentional. If you’d just listen—”

“You hurt her feelings,” she said, moving toward him. He was a tall man—six feet, but in her shoes, Jolene was only an inch shorter. “Why aren’t we important to you anymore, Michael?”

A change came over him. He took a step backward, eyeing her hard. “Don’t start a conversation you don’t want to have, Jo.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t care why I did it, and you don’t trust me to have a good reason. An important reason. I’m tired of you defining every second of our life. We live here because it’s what you wanted. You make all the rules—where we live, where we vacation, how we spend our weekends. When was the last time you asked what I wanted?”

“Don’t you dare try to turn this into my fault. We picked this house together, Michael. You and me, back in the days when we did things together. And if I manage our family, it’s because someone has to. All you ever seem to care about lately is your work.”

“You’re not even listening to me. I’m trying to say something here.”

“What could you possibly say, Michael? Your daughter needed you today, just this one time. You should have quit whatever you were doing and gotten here. But no, you put us on the back burner again.”

She hadn’t meant to say us; she’d meant to say her. Our daughter. This wasn’t about them.

“Damn it, Jo, it’s a track meet, not her wedding. My dad didn’t make it to every game, but I knew he loved me.”

“Is that the kind of father you want to be? Like yours? He was too busy to get to your high school graduation.” She knew instantly she’d gone too far; she saw it in the way he stiffened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know how much you loved him, but…”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said softly, shaking his head.

Jolene frowned. “Do what?”

“I don’t want this anymore.”

“What the hell is going on here, Michael? You screwed up tonight. Why can’t you—”

He looked at her. “I don’t love you, Jo.”

“What?”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“But…” It felt as if something inside of her were tearing apart, ripping muscle from bone. She grabbed the counter edge for support. In the roar of noise in her head, she heard a small, indrawn breath. She turned slowly, slowly, slowly, thinking, please, God, no …

Betsy stood in the family room, holding her second-place ribbon. She gasped quietly, her eyes widening slowly in understanding. Then she turned and ran up the stairs.





Five



Michael couldn’t believe he’d said the words out loud.

I don’t love you anymore.

He hadn’t meant to say it; the words had formed in anger and spilled out without warning. But they’d been there, waiting for him, building inside him. And he’d thought them before, more often than he’d like to admit.

He could say he was sorry and she’d forgive him, maybe not instantly, but soon. Their family, this family, was everything to her, and she loved him. He knew that, had always known it; even tonight, as he’d wounded her, she still loved him.

He wanted to love her. But that wasn’t the same thing, and it wasn’t enough for him anymore. If he backpedaled now, retrieved those sharp words and softened them, shaped them into something different, nothing would change. He would keep living this life where too often he felt constricted by her rules and regulations, emasculated by her strength.