Used-To-Be Lovers. Linda Lael Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ It certainly wasn’t the first night she’d been driven out of the bedroom by memories, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

      In the den Sharon made up the sofa bed, tossed the comforter over the yellow top sheet and plumped her pillow. Then she crawled under the covers, reaching out for the remote control for the TV.

      A channel specializing in old movies filled the screen. There were Joseph Cotten and Ginger Rogers, gazing into each other’s eyes as they danced. “Does Fred Astaire know about this?” Sharon muttered.

      If there was one thing she wasn’t in the mood for, it was romance. She flipped to a shopping network and watched without interest as a glamorous woman in a safari suit offered a complete set of cutlery at a bargain price.

      Sharon turned off the television set, then the lamp on the end table beside her, and shimmied down under the covers. She yawned repeatedly, tossed and turned and punched her pillow, but sleep eluded her.

      A deep breath told her why. The sheets were tinged with the faintest trace of Tony’s aftershave. There was no escaping thoughts of that man.

      In the morning Sharon was grumpy and distracted. She made sure the kids had packed adequate clothes for the visit to the island and was dishing up dry cereal when Tony rapped at the back door and then entered.

      “Well,” Sharon said dryly, “come on in.”

      He had the good grace to look sheepish. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, as Briana and Matt flung themselves at him with shouts of joy. A person would have thought they hadn’t seen him in months.

      “We’re going to the island!” Matt crowed.

      “For three whole days!” added Briana.

      Tony gave Sharon a questioning look over their heads. “Great,” he said with a rigid smile. When the kids rushed off to put their duffel bags in the station wagon, the car reserved for excursions involving kids or groceries, Sharon poured coffee into his favorite mug and shoved it at him.

      “I was going to tell you,” she said.

      He took a leisurely sip of the coffee before replying, “When? After you’d gotten back?”

      Sharon hadn’t had a good night, and now she wasn’t having a good morning. Her eyes were puffy and her hair was pinned up into a haphazard knot at the back of her head. She hadn’t taken the time to put on makeup, and she was wearing the oldest pair of jeans she owned, along with a T-shirt she thought she remembered using to wash the roadster. She picked up her own cup and gulped with the enthusiastic desperation of a drunk taking the hair of the dog. “You’re making an awfully big deal out of this, aren’t you?” she hedged.

      Tony shrugged. “If you’re taking the kids out of town,” he said, “I’d like to know about it.”

      “Okay,” Sharon replied, enunciating clearly. “Tony, I am taking the kids out of town.”

      His eyes were snapping. “Thanks,” he said, and then he headed right for the den. The man had an absolute genius for finding out things Sharon didn’t want him to know.

      He came out with a payroll journal under one arm, looking puzzled. “You slept downstairs?”

      Sharon took a moment to regret not making up the hide-a-bed, and then answered, “I was watching a movie. Joseph Cotten and Ginger Rogers.”

      Tony leaned back against the counter. “The TV in our room doesn’t work?”

      Sharon put her hands on her hips. “What is this, an audit? I felt like sleeping downstairs, all right?”

      His grin was gentle and a little sad, and for a moment he looked as though he was about to confide something. In the end he finished his coffee, set the mug in the sink and went out to talk to the kids without saying another word to Sharon.

      She hurried upstairs and hastily packed a bag of her own. A glance in the vanity mirror made her regret not putting on her makeup.

      When she came downstairs again, the kids had finished their cereal and Tony was gone. Sharon felt both relief and disappointment. She’d gotten off to a bad start, but she was determined to salvage the rest of the day.

      The Fates didn’t seem to be on Sharon’s side. The cash machine at the bank nearly ate her card, the grocery store was crowded and, on the way to the ferry dock, she had a flat tire.

      It was midafternoon and clouds were gathering in the sky by the time she drove the station wagon aboard the ferry connecting Port Webster with Vashon Island and points beyond. Briana and Matt bought cinnamon rolls at the snack bar and went outside onto the upper deck to feed the gulls. Sharon watched them through the window, thinking what beautiful children they were, and smiled.

      Briana had been a baby when her bewildered, young father had married Sharon. Sharon had changed Bri’s diapers, walked the floor with her when she had colic, kissed skinned knees and elbows to make them better. She had made angel costumes for Christmas pageants, trudged from house to house while Briana sold cookies for her Brownie troop and ridden shotgun on trick-or-treat expeditions.

      She had earned her stripes as a mother.

      The ferry whistle droned, and Sharon started in surprise. The short ride was over, and the future was waiting to happen.

      She herded the kids below decks to the car, and they drove down the noisy metal ramp just as the heavy gray skies gave way to a thunderous rain.

      2

      Holding a bag of groceries in one arm, Sharon struggled with the sticky lock on the A-frame’s back door.

      “Mom, I’m getting wet!” Briana complained from behind her.

      Sharon sunk her teeth into her lower lip and gave the key a furious jiggle just as a lightning bolt sliced through the sky and then danced, crackling, on the choppy waters of the sound.

      “Whatever you do, wire-mouth,” Matt told his sister, gesturing toward the gray clouds overhead, “don’t smile. You’re a human lightning rod.”

      “Shut up, Matthew,” Sharon and Briana responded in chorus, just as the lock finally gave way.

      Sharon’s ears were immediately met by an ominous hissing roar. She set the groceries down on the kitchen counter and flipped on the lights as Bri and Matt both rushed inside in search of the noise.

      “Oh, ick!” Bri wailed, when they’d gone down the three steps leading from the kitchen to the dining and living room area. “The carpet’s all wet!”

      Matt’s response was a whoop of delight. His feet made a loud squishing sound as he stomped around the table.

      “Don’t touch any of the light switches,” Sharon warned, dashing past them and following the river of water upstream to the bathroom. The source of the torrent proved to be a broken pipe under the sink; she knelt to turn the valve and shut off the flow. “Now what do I do?” she whispered, resting her forehead against the sink cabinet. Instantly, her sneakers and the lower part of her jeans were sodden.

      The telephone rang just as she was getting СКАЧАТЬ