Homecoming Wife. Joan Kilby

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СКАЧАТЬ does this mean now she wants to remarry?”

      “She says not.” Nate reached for a handful of dried fruit and nuts from the bowl on the table between them. “She says it’s time for us to get on with our lives.”

      “Maybe she’s right,” Aidan mused. “You’ve always wanted a family and you’re not going to get one while married to a woman you don’t live with.”

      “Yeah, I guess.” He stared out over the valley. Below, a shaft of the setting sun broke through the dark clouds to reflect off a bend in the poetically named River of Golden Dreams, a slow-moving stream that meandered through low bushes between Alta Lake and Green Lake, flanked by the paved Valley Trail.

      Aidan sipped his beer. “What did she say? How did she seem?”

      Nate summarized the encounter for him, finishing, “She was just so…Angela.”

      Aidan smiled. “Sassy? Sexy?”

      Nate breathed out on a long sigh. Angela was to sexy what scent was to a rose, what juice was to a mango. She was also strong, ambitious and determined. A late riser, a junk-food eater, a smart-mouthed runaway bride. Okay, newlywed; counting their whirlwind courtship they’d lasted nearly six months.

      “You’re still in love with her,” Aidan said, making his own deductions from Nate’s silence.

      Jolted out of his thoughts, Nate twisted around in his chair to glare at Aidan. He’d never told anyone he pined for Angela, not even his family. He had his pride. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

      Aidan chuckled. “You poor deluded sap. You should hear yourself when you talk about her.”

      His brother’s jibe irritated Nate. “When you get over Charmaine long enough to pull down all the froufrou and lace in your house then you can talk to me about Angela.”

      Aidan’s smile faded. His focus dropped to the bottle he twisted between clenched hands. “Charmaine—” He broke off, unable to speak of his late wife, dead these past six years.

      Nate winced at his thoughtless cruelty. “Sorry, buddy, that was out of line. As for Angela, no way am I still in love with her. Nor will I make the mistake of falling in love with her again.”

      Aidan gave him a disbelieving glance and wisely skirted away from the subject of wives. “Have you heard from Marc lately?”

      “Mom got a letter from him yesterday. Apparently he’s in Pakistan trying to round up a cameraman brave enough to venture into the tribal areas with him. I’ve heard the police won’t even go in there.” Nate shook his head in dismay. They sometimes joked that Marc had a death wish because he sought out the most dangerous spots on the planet to go looking for a story. Nate met Aidan’s gaze. The joke just wasn’t funny anymore, if it ever had been. “One of these days his luck’s going to run out.”

      Aidan took a swig of beer. “He’s going to try to make it back for Mom’s birthday this weekend.”

      “That would be good.” Nate paused, then asked after Aidan’s young daughter. “How’s Emily?”

      “She can ride her two-wheeler without trainers, and she’s already getting excited about starting first grade in the fall.” Aidan dug through the remaining nuts to pick out the cashews. “What are you going to do about Angela? Will you contest the divorce?”

      “I doubt if I have any grounds to do so.” Nate blew softly into the top of his beer bottle, sending out a haunting sound that mingled with the sweet tinkle of the wind chimes at the end of the balcony. Dusk had come early and with it, the rain. A few drops fell onto the rail, making dark round splotches on the wood.

      Setting the bottle aside, he said, “Angela dumped me in the most hurtful way possible, not to mention she makes me crazy. But here’s the thing…when I’m with her, I feel alive in a way I never do without her. She brings more excitement to my day than the adrenaline rush of the slickest single track.”

      Aidan frowned, trying to understand. “I thought you said you weren’t in love with her. Are you telling me you are going to attempt to reconcile?”

      Before Nate could reply, the squall broke in a noisy rush and spattered the balcony with soaking rain. Nate and Aidan quickly gathered up their bottles and dragged the chairs under the overhanging roof. Nate glanced at his watch. After nine o’clock. It wasn’t too late to call Angela but he felt drained and too confused to tangle with her on the phone. Tomorrow would do.

      He brushed the water off his head and noticed Aidan was watching him, still waiting for an answer.

      “If I make a mistake once, I can learn from it,” Nate said. “Make the same mistake twice and I’d be a fool, wouldn’t I?”

      “Yeah, I guess,” Aidan said. “Too bad, though. I always thought you two were great together.”

      So had Nate. He sighed. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

      ANGELA LEANED BACK from her laptop, yawning and stretching. Ricky was being awfully quiet. Then she glanced at the clock. Could it really be eleven p.m.?

      Nate hadn’t called.

      She saved her work and, pushing back her chair, went to the living room. Ricky was asleep on the couch in front of the TV where a movie unsuitable for ten-year-olds was playing. Recriminations flooded through her. She shouldn’t have let him stay up this late. She should have monitored what he was watching.

      “Ricky, wake up. It’s time to go to bed.”

      The boy yawned and mumbled sleepily. “Just a little longer.”

      “No, it’s after eleven.” Angela reached for the control and clicked the TV off. In the silence she could hear the patter of raindrops being blown against the windowpane. “Tomorrow we’ll do something fun, I promise.”

      Suddenly he looked wide awake, a crafty light in his eyes. “Mom always reads to me before bed.”

      “But it’s so late.”

      “I’m on holiday.”

      “Aren’t you old enough to read by yourself?” She suspected he was stalling but she couldn’t be sure. Janice had left pages of detailed instructions regarding Ricky that Angela hadn’t had time to go over yet.

      “Yeah, but I like it when Mom reads.”

      “Oh, what the heck. Go get ready for bed first.”

      Ricky disappeared down the hall and came back a few minutes later dressed in his pajamas and smelling of toothpaste and soap. He looked sweet, not terrifying at all.

      Angela followed him to his bedroom and sat on the bed. “Do you have a book?” she asked, expecting him to produce something like Lassie Come Home.

      He handed her a slim volume with a lurid cover. She read the title. “The Day My Bum Went Psycho? Are you serious?”

      “It’s really funny.”

      “I’ll read one chapter, okay?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ