The American Wife. Kristina McMorris

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СКАЧАТЬ all right. You?”

      “Terrific, thanks.” The difference between their answers was that hers sounded genuine. “So,” she said after a pause, “who won?”

      It took him a moment to follow the question. He’d forgotten he was wearing his baseball uniform and jacket. He wished he could as easily forget about the game. “We did.”

      “That’s grand. You were pitching?”

      “Yeah.” He left it at that.

      “Then I’m not surprised.” She offered another smile, though this one wasn’t solid enough to block the awkwardness rising between them. She fidgeted with her purse handle and glanced down and away. It was the same look she’d given at the end of their last date, a look that said she didn’t expect to hear from him again. No question, she had put in effort. She’d tried to talk to him, to kiss him until he would open up. But his wall of fury had sealed her out.

      He realized now, more than a year later, that he’d never explained that to Cindy. Never told her it was nothing she’d done.

      A grizzled man in overalls wandered past with a shovel, the cash register rang out a sale, and TJ decided another place would be more appropriate for this conversation. “You know, maybe, sometime,” he said, “if you’re not busy—”

      Jo’s brother Wes was marching in TJ’s direction. The oldest of the five Allister boys, he’d been a quiet but popular linebacker. Latest word had it he was on a winning streak of boxing matches around the city. A guy you didn’t want to piss off by insulting his sister.

      TJ was about to speak up but didn’t make it that far. Wes took the first shot—by scooping Cindy up by her waist. “There you are,” he said, and nuzzled her neck, inducing a giggle.

      “Were you worried I’d gotten lost?” she teased.

      Wes gazed at her with pure adoration, oblivious to any others’ existence. “I’m all finished here with inventory. How about a movie at the Palace?”

      She groaned. “Is there any picture we haven’t seen this month?”

      He held her close and whispered in her ear, prompting more giggles, her face to blush. TJ did his best to pry away his focus. He felt intrusive, irritated, regretful. And yeah, jealous. Not of being with Cindy necessarily. Just of any guy who could truly be that happy.

      The couple headed for the door. As her boyfriend held it open for her, Cindy angled back. An afterthought. “It was good seeing you, TJ. You take care.”

      He nodded, staring after her. She’d moved on, as she should have. She was better off with someone who had his head on straight.

      “Anything I can help you with, sonny?” From behind the counter, old man Allister regarded him over the rims of his bifocals.

      Jo touched the man’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Gramps. He’s not one who takes kindly to help.” After flicking TJ a cool look, she pushed through the swinging half-doors of the storage room. It was then that TJ recalled why he’d trailed her through the store. Yet the urge to follow her was gone.

      

10

      Lane wasn’t aware his mind had been wandering until something hit him in the forehead. He jolted back in his cushioned leather chair. A wad of notebook paper had landed on his leg. He could guess the culprit before looking up.

      “At least we know he’s alive.” Dewey Owens smirked at the other two guys in their study group before turning to Lane. “I was getting worried that punch had bruised more than your eye.”

      Lane pitched the crumpled ball right back. But with Dewey’s eagle eyes, a match to his beak-like nose, he ducked in plenty of time.

      “Have to be faster than that!”

      A student in the corner of the common room sent a curt, “Shhh,” to which Dewey retorted, “Relax, bookworm. Finals ain’t till next week.” No doubt, he’d thrown out the grammatical error just to grate on the stuffy kid’s nerves; Dewey had been born to a wealthy L.A. family, same as Lane. Both saddled with the tedium of properness.

      “So where were we?” Lane flipped forward in his economics book. Envisioning his rendezvous with Maddie wasn’t going to speed up the week. “Did we already cover the graph on page one-o-one?”

      Dewey reclined with feet on the coffee table and addressed the classmate beside him. “Gotta love my roommate. Almost four years now, he’s been pretending to cram just for my sake. Bastard aces his classes without even trying.”

      “That’s not true,” Lane said.

      “Oh?”

      “I try. A little.”

      Dewey laughed. “Imagine what you could do if you were actually interested in your major.”

      Lane had imagined it all too often, and to no point. Political Science wasn’t an option according to his family’s conditional funding. In contrast, Dewey’s Economics degree—using numbers merely to support the conceptual and theoretical—would serve as a small rebellion against his father, the owner of an accounting firm.

      “Lane Moritomo in here?” some guy called out.

      “Yeah, that’s me!”

      “Girl’s on the phone for you.”

      Fighting a grin, Lane set aside his book. He had been hoping all afternoon that Maddie would ring him back once her brother left the house. “That’s gotta be my sister,” he told his study pals.

      “Pass along my thanks,” Dewey said, “for making those paper birds.” The origami cranes were what he meant, folded by Emma’s tiny hands to bring them luck on their exams.

      “Sure thing.” It drove Lane crazy not being straight with his roommate.

      Soon that would change.

      At the phone in the hall, Lane brought the handset to his ear. A pair of athletes in Cardinal sweatshirts strolled into the dorm. For privacy, he spoke just above a whisper. “Maddie?”

      “Am I speaking with Lane Moritomo?” It was indeed a woman, but he didn’t recognize the voice.

      “Uh, yes. This is Lane.”

      “Mr. Moritomo, this is Congressman Egan’s office.”

      “Yes?” he said again, thrown off guard.

      “Sir, I’m phoning to inform you that you’ve been chosen for an internship.”

      Her sentence lit a fuse. It traveled through him, gaining potency and speed, until he exploded with excitement. “I can’t believe it! My God—I mean, my gosh.” A small circle of students glanced over. Lane cranked his volume down. “I … don’t know what to say.”

      “How СКАЧАТЬ