Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(16)

I waited without moving while Nick finished getting ready for work. I didn't stir even when I heard him call the Darlington and tell them I wouldn't be in that day. His wife was sick, he said regretfully. The flu or something, he didn't know what. He sounded compassionate and concerned. He chuckled a little at something the other person on the line said. "Yes," he said, "I'll take good care of her."

I waited until I heard the jangle of die keys, and the front door closing.

Moving like an old woman, I reached into the trash and pulled out my pills. I took one, and scooped water into my mouth with my hand, and downed it with a painful swallow.

I found the striped shirt on the floor of the bedroom, and I laid it out on the mattress. I couldn't see anything wrong with it. I couldn't find the flaw that had driven Nick berserk. "What did I do?" I asked aloud, my fingers trailing down the stripes as if clawing through iron bars. What had I done wrong?

The urge to please was a sickness in me. I knew that, and I did it anyway. I washed and starched and ironed the striped shirt all over again. Every thread in the cotton weave was pressed perfectly flat, every button gleaming and pristine. I hung it in the closet and I checked all the other shirts, and aligned his shoes and hung all his ties so the bottoms were all at the same level.

When Nick got home, the condo was clean and the table was set, and I had put a King Ranch casserole in the oven. His favorite dinner. I had a hard time looking at him.

But Nick came in contrite and smiling, bringing a bouquet of mixed flowers. He handed me the fragrant offering, petals rustling in layers of tissue and cellophane. "Here, sweetheart." He leaned down to kiss my cheek, the one he had struck earlier. The side of my face was pink and swollen. I held still while his mouth touched my skin. I wanted to jerk away from him. I wanted to hit him back. Mostly I wanted to cry.

Instead I took the flowers to the sink and began to unwrap them mechanically.

"I shouldn't have done that this morning," Nick said behind me. "I thought about you all day."

"I thought about you too." I put the bouquet into a vase and filled it with water, unable to face the prospect of cutting and arranging the flowers.

"It was just the last straw, seeing what you'd done to my shirt."

I wiped the counter slowly, moving a paper towel in tight circles. "I don't understand what was wrong with it."

"It had about ten times too much starch. I mean, I could have cut a slice of bread with one of those sleeves." A long pause, and then he sighed. "I overreacted. I know that. But like I said, it was the last Straw. So much other stuff has been driving me crazy, and seeing what you'd done to my shirt was too much."

I turned to face him, gripping the edges of my long sleeves over my fingers until they were shrouded like cat paws. "What other stuff?"

"Everything. The way we live. This place is never clean and organized. We never have home-cooked meals. There's always piles of crap everywhere." He raised his hands as if in self-defense as he saw me start to speak. "Oh, I know, it looks great right now. And I can see you've put dinner in the oven. I appreciate that. But it should be like this all the time. And it can't be, with both of us working."

I understood right away what Nick wanted. But I didn't understand why he wanted it. "I can't quit my job," I said numbly. "We can't afford to lose my salary."

"I'm about to get a promotion. We'll be fine."

"But . . . what would I do all day?"

"Be a wife. Take of the house. And me. And yourself." He

came closer. "And I'll take care of you. You're going to get pregnant soon anyway. You'd have to quit then. So you may as well do it now."

"Nick, I don't think — "

"We're both stressed, sweetheart. This would help take the pressure off, for you to handle all the stuff that never gets done." Reaching out, Nick took one of my hands gently, and brought it to his face. "I'm sorry about what I did this morning," he murmured, nuzzling into my palm. "I swear it'll never happen again. No matter what."

"You scared me, Nick," I whispered. "You weren't yourself."

"You're right. You know that's not me." With infinite care, he brought me against him. "No one could love you as much as I do. You're everything to me. And we're going to take care of each other, right?"

"I don't know." My voice was scratchy and tight. I had never been so torn, wanting to stay and wanting to leave, loving and fearing him.

"You can always get another job if you want," Nick said reasonably. "But let's try it this way. I want you to be free for a change."

I heard myself whisper, "Please don't do it again, Nick."

"Never," he said at once, kissing my head, my ear, my neck. His fingers came very gently to my reddened cheek. "Poor baby," he murmured. "I'm so glad I did it openhanded, or you'd have a hell of a bruise."

CHAPTER FOUR

Little by little our marriage closed around me. At first it seemed like heaven when I stopped working. I had all the time I needed to make the condo look perfect. I vacuumed the carpet so the polyester nap was arranged in symmetrical stripes. Every square inch of the kitchen was sparkling and clean. I spent hours poring over recipes, improving my cooking skills. I arranged Nick's socks in color-coordinated rows in the drawer.Just before Nick came home from the office, I put on makeup and changed my outfit. I had started to do that after he'd told me one night he hoped I wasn't one of those women who let themselves go after they'd caught a husband.