Tortured by Her Touch. Dianne Drake

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СКАЧАТЬ idea of eating with him but she didn’t want to sound too anxious.

      “Maybe an apology for being such a jerk today.”

      “Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

      “Married, divorced from a lousy cheater, work longer hours than any other doc at Gallahue. I’m betting your evening consists of a microwave dinner and reading medical journals until you fall asleep.”

      “I do watch the eleven o’clock news.”

      “The epitome of a boring life. Which is why I thought dinner with me is better than dinner with the microwave. Besides, I have some questions to ask you.”

      “If they pertain to the hospital, ask Jason.”

      “Don’t you find him a little boring?” Marc asked.

      “As a chief of staff or as my brother-in-law? Because I’m actually quite fine with him in both capacities.”

      “Ah, a family tie.”

      “He’s married to my twin sister, so that makes him family.”

      “And you spend all the holidays with them, right?”

      “How did you know about my divorce?” she asked.

      “People talk.”

      “But you haven’t even started to practice here yet.”

      “And like I said, people talk.”

      “They talk to people who give them a warm and fuzzy feeling, and you haven’t got a warm or fuzzy feeling in you.”

      “Then it has to be the other thing.”

      “What other thing?”

      “People don’t see you when you’re in a wheelchair. For some reason, you’re invisible to them, so they talk around you.”

      “And people are talking about me?”

      “About how your divorce became final recently. Apparently, he’s been fighting you for everything, but you won. Left the man practically destitute.”

      “People know too much,” she snapped. “It was an ugly divorce. But since he’s the one who deserted the marriage and left me holding a whole lot of hard feelings, and debt, what can I say other than I’m glad he got everything that’s coming to him?”

      “And you’re going to get …”

      “First, sell my house. Then buy a nice little cottage, maybe take up gardening. I’d like a cat, too.”

      “A cat?”

      She smiled. “Everything that makes life nice.”

      “No man?”

      “Absolutely not! Been there, don’t want to go back.”

      “Good, then I’m not taking out another man’s woman to dinner tonight.”

      “I didn’t accept your invitation, and I don’t intend to.”

      “Because we’re not compatible?” That was an understatement.

      “Because I don’t particularly like you.”

      Rather than being angry, Marc smiled. “Do you realize how many people actually put up with me and my attitude just because I’m in a wheelchair? They find that if they deny me or do something other than what I want, they’re doing something deeply wrong or offensive. The man’s a wounded war veteran and it’s important to appease him.”

      “Appease you? Let me tell you, your wheelchair’s not off-putting, Marc. But your attitude is. So thanks for the invitation but I’d rather curl up with a good medical journal than suffer another meal with you.” With that, she strode away, the sound of angry heels clicking on the floor tile. Rather than frowning, though, a slight smile actually turned up the corners of her lips. This was going to be interesting.

      “Well, then, we’ll stick to the plan. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.”

      She turned back to give him a stiff glare, but what came off was more confused than anything, and she hated wearing her emotions on her sleeve, as they always sent out the wrong impression. “Not if your life depended on it, Marc Rousseau,” she said, trying to remain rigid, although her insides were quivering. “Not if your life depended on it!”

      Anne snuggled down on her sofa with a glass of white grape juice and a medical journal and a soft Schubert quintet playing in the background. She wasn’t really so physically tired as she was mentally stressed. Nothing had gone well today. Two of her patients had had emotional breaks—big ones. One had tried to jump out her window until he remembered her office was on the first floor, and then he’d simply smashed furniture. After which he’d apologized and offered to pay for the damages. The other had sat in her office and wept uncontrollably for over an hour, until she’d finally had him sedated and checked in for a night of observation.

      Shutting her eyes, she rotated her ankles for a moment, then sank further back into the sofa pillows, not sure if, when the time came, she’d be able to get up and make it all the way upstairs to the bedroom.

      She really did hate this house. Hated everything in it because it stood for a happier time—a time when love had been fresh and exciting and she’d known it would last forever. And it wasn’t like Bill hadn’t known she’d be serving overseas when he’d asked her to marry him. He’d be good with it, he’d claimed. There was nothing for her to worry about.

      Stupid her, she’d believed him. And on her first leave, she’d come back to a marriage she’d believed was as stable as it had ever been in their three years. But on her second trip stateside he’d seemed more remote. He’d claimed he was tired, too much work, just getting over a cold … there’d been a whole string of excuses, but by the end of her leave, things had been normal again, and she’d returned overseas happy to know that the next time she came home it would be for good.

      But when that day came, she’d found earrings in a drawer on her side of the bed. And a bra. And panties. It had seemed, as the days had gone by, there had been more and more excuses for Bill to invent. None of them plausible. Then her neighbor, an older lady, had commented on the succession of housekeepers who’d come and gone at odd hours of the day and night. “Sometimes two, three times a week!” Mrs. Gentry had exclaimed.

      One check with the cleaning service confirmed her suspicion. The cleaning service cleaned every Friday morning. Once a week. No more, no less. Her accountant had verified that with the checks that had been written. He’d also recommended the best lawyer in Port Duncan, New York.

      “Protect your assets, Anne. Bill’s been doing a lot of spending while you were gone, and if you want to keep anything for yourself, it’s time to lawyer up.” Said by James Callahan, the attorney she’d hired that day.

      Through it all, though, Anne had been numb. She had been unable to function. Betrayal. Fragments of memories left over from Afghanistan. Things she hadn’t been able to forget … or fix. No, it hadn’t made sense, but it had seemed like her world had been closing in around her. СКАЧАТЬ