Second Honeymoon. Laura Abbot

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ didn’t know who had been more hurt tonight by Scott’s absence—her or Justin. Oh, Justin didn’t want to let on. “No big deal,” he’d said. But his downcast eyes and silence in the car on the drive home had spoken volumes. She knew how he felt. Even though it was years ago, she remembered with painful clarity her humiliation at the Girl Scout father-daughter banquet. She’d sat red-faced, the only girl without a father, wondering how he could have just up and died before she ever really knew him.

      Scott’s failure to come to the open house tonight was the final link in a long chain of disappointments. This was no marriage. The kids deserved better—and so did she.

      Yet the prospect of separation terrified her. That was one step closer to divorce. What would that mean for the kids? For her? Was it what she really wanted?

      But the reality was that she and Scott couldn’t continue on as they were. Living in an armed camp was no kind of life for any of them.

      She flipped her pillow over, then lay back down, forcing herself to remember the good times, those heady days long ago when the mere sight of Scott could stop her breath, and the many nights they’d spent wrapped in each other’s arms, when they’d lose track of time, so insistent was their need for each other. That all seemed eons ago. Some other life.

      A single tear moistened Meg’s cheek, and unrelieved tension stiffened her body.

      When had romance faded to familiarity? And familiarity to contempt?

      Silently she wept for what used to be. And for the inevitability of what was to come.

      FRIDAY MORNING Justin groaned, then rolled over, burrowing his head under his pillow and ignoring the patter of his favorite disc jockey on the clock radio. He didn’t move, dreading his mother’s customary “Justin, are you up?” and then he heard her calling up the stairs. Well, she could yell all she wanted. He wasn’t moving. His stomach hurt. Big-time.

      He didn’t have a soccer game today, so what did it matter if he stayed home from school? Mom would be running all her errands and going to meetings and stuff, so he could hang out watching TV and trying to get to the next level in his Nintendo game. Those other suckers could go to class. Take the stupid math test. Present their stupid oral book reports.

      His stomach tensed as he remembered his father questioning him about his book. Dad would kill him if he found out he hadn’t read past the first two chapters.

      “Justin?” His mother’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Then she was standing in his doorway. “Get up. You’ll be late.”

      He moaned for effect. “I’m sick.”

      She approached the bed. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

      “I have a stomachache.”

      “Is there a bug going around at school?”

      Heck if he knew, but he glommed on to the excuse. “Uh, yeah. A bunch of kids went home yesterday.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it probably happened almost any day.

      His mother placed a cool hand on his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Are you nauseated?”

      Crap. He didn’t want to think about throwing up and the grotty taste afterward. “No, it’s more like a pain.”

      His mother sat on his bed looking worried. “Is it on the right side?”

      Jeez, he wasn’t angling for an appendectomy. He just wanted to stay home.

      “No, it’s kinda all over.” He scrunched up his face, hoping she’d figure he was in agony.

      Just when he thought he had her convinced, she put on one of those mother looks, like she could see straight through him. “I’ll tell you what. Get dressed and come downstairs. Try to eat something. Then we’ll see.”

      He hated it when she said, “We’ll see.” That almost always meant no.

      “You’ve worked so hard on your book report. I don’t want you to miss school today.”

      “I’m not supposed to give my report until next week.” She didn’t look convinced. He tried one last ploy. “What if I go to school and puke?”

      “I’ll come get you.”

      Great. Now he’d have to take the dumb math test and worry about how to fake his book report in a few days. If his dad knew his current grade in English was a D, he’d flip.

      But what else was new? Everything in his life was off track. The coach had moved him from goalie to center, his grades were in the toilet, his father was never around and when he was, all he did was criticize him. But Dad wasn’t the Lone Ranger. Both his parents nagged all the time. And argued with each other. He was sick of it. Some days he wondered why they’d gotten married in the first place. If that’s what love was like, no question about it—he’d stay a bachelor his whole life.

      He closed his eyes. That might be okay. Yeah, he’d be a big-league pitcher or a pro soccer player and have lots of blond girlfriends with big boobs. But he wouldn’t have to marry any of them. Ever.

      “Now, young man. Up.”

      His mother ripped off the sheet, leaving him exposed. Thank God he didn’t have an early-morning boner. But that was the only good thing about the day so far.

      SATURDAY EVENING Meg sat at the linen-covered table, nursing a gin and tonic, listening to the Earl Hines Orchestra and trying to muster a smile for Ward Jordan seated to her right. He and his inane wife, Melody, were their guests for the country-club dance. More importantly, they were potential clients. Meg bent forward to hear the punch line of Ward’s joke, finding it in questionable taste but managing to keep her mouth shut. Scott had come a long way. The chain of department stores the Jordans owned was well known locally. Now they were expanding throughout the Southwest, and Scott’s firm was bidding for the ad campaign. Meg sighed. More work, more travel for Scott.

      His success and their affluence were a mixed blessing. Growing up with her hardworking, widowed mother in a cramped house on the wrong side of town she could never have imagined all the luxuries her marriage provided—stylish clothes, exclusive memberships, a lovely decorator home. She should’ve been satisfied. But something was missing.

      She glanced over Ward Jordan’s head to see Scott steering Melody around the dance floor. The petite redhead had flung back her head to laugh up at Scott, who towered above her. They were flirting. Meg felt a pang of jealousy. Scott had that effect on women and he capitalized on his charm. Once, she’d been secure in his love and had found such innocent flirtation amusing. Not anymore.

      Back then, there’d been no Brenda Sampson to worry about. Scott claimed his creative director maintained her professional distance, that her easy familiarity was simply a result of their working closely together. Brenda was a knockout—a big-boned Scandinavian blonde, comfortable with her own sexuality. Of course, she and Scott needed to stay late some evenings to work. Or… Meg shook her head impatiently. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough problems without the disturbing mental picture that had just popped into her head. She paused, considering her choice of words. Disturbing because it highlighted yet another flaw in their marriage? Or because the image left a sudden emptiness in her chest?

      Around her she heard СКАЧАТЬ