All They Need(85)

She told herself that when the flash point came she had to be prepared to give Flynn his freedom. He wanted something from her that she could never give him, and it would be selfish of her to hang on to him on that basis. Selfish and greedy and ultimately destructive, for both of them.

She brooded on the subject on a rainy Wednesday night five weeks after he’d offered her his house key. She was in her car in front of Flynn’s place, waiting for him to come home from work. He’d already called so she knew he’d left the office on time, but she’d had a good run on the freeway and arrived earlier than she’d anticipated. She kept the engine running to ward off the chill, staring out her windshield, thinking about Flynn and all the good times they’d shared together.

The more she thought, the glummer she got, until she got to the point where she had to give herself a mental shake.

What’s wrong with you? You’ve got exactly what you wanted—Flynn, on your terms. What on earth is your problem?

She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had a pervading sense of doom. The happiness she felt whenever she was with Flynn couldn’t possibly last.

Could it?

She frowned, disturbed by her own thoughts. Had she become so used to disharmony and unhappiness in her marriage that she now expected it everywhere? Was the ability to be happy and content something else that Owen had stolen from her, along with her trust and her confidence and her sense of self? Headlights swept into the street and she glanced into her rearview mirror as Flynn turned into his driveway. He flashed his headlights at her and she grabbed her overnight bag and made a run for the door.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long?” Flynn asked as he joined her on the stoop.



“Just got here,” she fibbed.

He kissed her briefly before opening the door. Warm air rushed out at them and she made an appreciative noise.

“I put the timer on the central heating,” he said. “What do you want for dinner? Pizza? Italian?”

“I thought pizza was Italian,” she said as she watched him shed his coat and suit jacket. She loved how rumpled he always looked at the end of the day.

“Smart-ass,” he said, reaching for her.

They kissed long and languorously. After a few minutes he drew back to look into her eyes.

“Have I told you lately that you’re one hot tamale?” he said.

“I believe you have. But feel free to compare me to other foodstuffs,” she said.

He laughed and gave her a pat on the backside before walking away from her.

“Just for that we’re having pizza, my choice.”

“I was going to say pizza, anyway, so it’s my choice, too,” she called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Perfect. Two happy people, one pizza,” he called back.

She stared at the doorway, the smile slowly fading from her mouth. Two happy people. God, she hoped that was true. She really, really hoped that the tight feeling in her chest was just her being neurotic and anxious out of habit, and that he really was as content with the status quo as he seemed to be. Because if he wasn’t, he was going to leave a huge hole in her life. In her heart.

They ate pizza in front of the television while watching a documentary on Edna Walling that Flynn had unearthed. They fooled around on the couch a little afterward and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Mel struggled to wakefulness out of a dark, claustrophobic dream to find her face pressed against the back cushion of the couch. She jerked instinctively, gasping for air, then realized where she was.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes as Flynn’s hand landed in the center of her back.

“You okay?”

“Just a bad dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” There was no demand in his voice, no insistence. He was offering, openhandedly. The way he did everything.

She started to shake her head. Then she paused. “I can never remember much. Just patches, like flashes.”

She told him about her dream in fits and starts, about the memories it stirred up. He listened and rubbed his palm across her back and made a couple of observations and after a few minutes the panicky feeling began to ease from her chest and throat and belly.

“Thanks,” she said, laying her head on his chest. “That helped.”

“Good,” he said simply.

They went upstairs to bed and he curled his body around hers and held her against his chest. She was on the brink of drifting into sleep when he spoke, his voice barely audible.