Mrs. Miracle 01 - Mrs. Miracle(69)

“Yeah,” Jerry agreed on a sad note.

Giving up the pretense of reading, Sharon removed her reading glasses, set them on the end table, and turned off the lamp. The room went dark. For the last several nights they’d slept side by side, each as close to the edge of the mattress as they could manage. They’d acted as though touching each other would be akin to pulling the plug on a hand grenade and tossing it into a crowd.

Sharon lay on her back now, too, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Remember our first real Christmas tree?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Of course.” Clay had been barely two, and Neal had been a year old. Two babies within two and a half years. Living on one income, they’d had no money for luxuries like tree ornaments.

“You strung popcorn and cranberries.”

Sharon laughed softly. “Which the boys promptly ate.”

“We ended up putting the tree inside the playpen, remember?”

She laughed again. “Neal was so excited to open a gift, he ran around it three times and then tore into it like a Tasmanian devil.”

Soon Jerry was laughing, too. “Remember the time Pamela stuffed a bead up her nose and we had to take her to the emergency room to get it out? That damn bead cost us a fortune.”

“And ruined my favorite necklace.”

They were silent for a while, each caught up in the rich texture of their years together.

“Remember the time in church when some poor unsuspecting elderly woman sat down in the middle of a song?”

“And I was holding Clay on my hip and somehow he got hold of the woman’s wig and started shaking it like a dog with a dead rat.”

“You were mortified.”

“And you kept trying to put it back on the woman’s head, and her hands kept getting in the way.”

“Didn’t we change churches shortly after that?”

“I don’t remember, but I bet that woman did.”

Sharon started laughing, and soon the tears ran unrestrainedly down her cheeks. For the memory, true, but mingled in with the laughter was sadness and regret.

“Are you going to tell the boys?” Jerry asked a moment later.

“I thought we should do it together.”

“That would be best,” he agreed.

The silence was back, but neither of them rolled onto their sides as they had previous nights.

“We had some really great years.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and to her horror her voice cracked.

“Sharon?”

She didn’t answer, fearing she’d dissolve into tears if she did.

“Damn it, Sharon,” Jerry said, tossing aside the covers as if he couldn’t remove them fast enough. “I don’t want a divorce. I never did, but I was too damn proud to say so. Enough is enough. I’ve loved you all these years, and I’m not going to stop now.”

Wide-eyed, Sharon sat up, clutching the covers to her breasts.

“If you want to fight me on this, fine, but I’m telling you right now—”

Sharon ran her hand down his back. He jumped at the unexpectedness of her touch, then twisted around, moved in closer, and lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was filled with frustration and anger and need, and it took Sharon by surprise. It had been so long since her husband had showed her any physical attention that she momentarily shied away, but Jerry wouldn’t allow it. He deepened the kiss, and, sighing, she wound her arms around his neck. “Jerry?” she whispered when he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

“Are you surprised the old man’s still got some life left in him?”

“No. Oh, Jerry…I love you so much. I don’t want the divorce, either, but I can’t go on living the way we have been.”

“Me either.” She heard and felt his sigh, which came from deep within his chest. “I’ve been a stubborn fool.”

“Me too. I was the one who decided to sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“But I knew that you didn’t want that Panama Canal cruise. I was being selfish and pigheaded.” He raised his head just enough to meet her eyes. To her surprise, she found his beautiful dark eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Jerry,” she whispered, and gently pressed her palm to his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why we let this happen.”

Tenderly he held her hand to his face and kissed her fingers. “There’s never been anyone but you. I wouldn’t know how to love anyone else.” He reached down and unfastened the buttons to her pajama top. His hands shook with eagerness.

Smiling to herself, Sharon completed the task for him and then looped her arms around his neck. “Love me.”

“I do,” he murmured between deep, satisfying kisses. “I do.”

He took his own sweet time proving how very much he did love her. The years fell away and it was as though they were young again, their eagerness for one another as strong as it had been in the early years.

Some time later Sharon lay in her husband’s arms, her head cradled against his chest. “Do you think anyone heard us?”

“I don’t see how they could help it,” he teased, and kissed the side of her face. “You never could keep from making those little love noises. Thank heaven the twins are asleep.”