Obsession (6 page)

Chapter Ten

Alex opened the bedroom door and peeked in on Tess for the third time in an hour. Her face was pale with bright splotches of color on her cheeks and her breath rattled in her chest. He eased the door closed and made his way into the living room, Othello following close at his heels. He understood she needed to finish the gift baskets and cookie trays. He understood about wanting to complete a job, yet, for the first time in days, she was sleeping without coughing.

He rubbed the stubble on his jaw and veered into the kitchen, eyeing the new cabinets and counters. The fax machine on the built-in desk beeped and spit out a few pages. Other pages littered the floor under the machine. For the most part, he’d ignored the fax when it rang. Now he gathered up the pages.

Othello padded out of the kitchen and scratched at the front door. Alex followed, feeling guilty for not waking her when she’d asked him to. Othello scratched at the door again and whined.

“Quit that, O. That’s a new door.”

The doorbell rang, O barked. Alex limped to the door as fast as he could, shushing O before he woke Tess.

In the pool of yellow made by the porch light, Tony was crouched down, looking at a small pile of blood and gore congealing on the Santa Claus doormat.

“O bring you home a gift?” Tony asked.

“What the hell?” Alex stared at the mess.

Othello poked his nose between Alex’s legs and sniffed. The dog’s hackles rose and he growled. Using his cane, Alex shoved him back in the house and shut the door.

Straightening his injured knee and bending his good one, Alex sank down to Tony’s level and inspected the mess. Tiny bones poked out from broken skin and fur, blood spreading over Santa’s hat and beard.

Tony found a stick and started poking through the mess. “Hamsters.” Tony tossed the stick into the yard and stood.

Alex had come to the same conclusion. A massacred family of hamsters. Or maybe gerbils. He leveraged himself up using the cane, grimacing at the twinges in his knee, and looked out over the quiet street. “I’ll give you one guess who did this.”

“You think the same person who ran through your backyard?”

“And painted my front door.”

“Why would a killer do shit like this? It doesn’t make sense. Why would he torment you like this? Why not hightail it out of here while he had the chance? Or better yet, kill you before you remember?”

“Maybe he likes toying with me.”

“Or maybe it’s not the same guy.” Tony raised an eyebrow as if challenging him.

“You don’t believe me.” Trusting each other’s gut instincts had saved their lives more than once, so for Tony to doubt him now smacked of betrayal.

Tony rubbed a hand across his bald head and sighed. “Hell, AJ, I just don’t know. It seems you’re seeing things you want to see without looking at the facts. That’s not like you.”

Alex gripped his cane until his knuckles hurt. “It’s never been personal before. None of the dirtbags I’ve dealt with have come to my home and threatened my—” He swallowed. Emotions he’d been living with for six months welled up inside him, one standing out over the others. Fear. If anything happened to Tess, it’d be his fault. He couldn’t live with that. “Threatened my family.”

“Yeah, that’d make me crazy too, but you gotta look at the facts, and the facts don’t indicate a person who’s organized enough to run a drug ring.” Tony pointed to the mess on the porch. “This suggests kids, or maybe some wacko with a vendetta.”

“No. It’s the same guy. My gut tells me that. Son-of-a-bitch!” He wanted to get his hands on the asshole and wrap his fingers around the guy’s neck.

“So what are you gonna do about this?”

“Call it in. Get a report.” He waved a hand at the mess. “We need to get this out of here before Tess wakes up. Damn, she’ll notice the missing doormat.”

Tony looked at him in surprise. “You’re not telling her about this?”

“Hell, no. She’s upset enough with the other stuff and besides, she’s sick.”

“Sick?” Concern creased Tony’s brows and his mouth turned down.

“Pneumonia. Which reminds me, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Why?”

“I need your help.” Alex looked around the neighborhood again and spied his truck parked on the street. “You brought my truck?”

“The landlord said it needed to be moved. Plus, I thought Tess could drive it now and then to keep it running. I’d hoped Tess could drive me back home.”

“No can do. She’s wiped out. Can you call someone?”

“I’ll just jump a ride with the patrolman who comes to take the report.”

***

Tess groaned and tried to roll over, but Othello had settled on her legs and she couldn’t move. She blinked before her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the nearly darkened room. Stifling a yawn, she glanced at the clock, but it wasn’t there. Somewhere in the back of her mind a faint thought whispered that she needed to do something, but her body ached and her eyes were so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. She snuggled into the covers and was almost asleep when it all came back.

Cookies.

Gift baskets.

Deliveries.

If lifting her arms took too much effort, how was she supposed to do all of that? She coughed then groaned as pain sliced through her ribs. Pulled muscles, the doctor said. Pulled muscles, broken ribs, they all felt the same to her.

Promising herself a few more minutes of rest, she burrowed under the covers and tried to kick Othello off her legs. He didn’t budge. She turned her head and went still. It wasn’t Othello pinning her to the bed. Alex lay beside her, one hand under his pillow, his leg thrown over hers.

He sighed and shifted, frowning in his sleep when he moved his bad knee. She wanted to touch his cheek, smooth the hair off his brow, kiss his lips. For a few moments, she let herself think what it might have been like if everything had worked out.

But a husband who hadn’t been there for her, a lonely marriage—
that
was her reality.

Tess closed her eyes to the steady cadence of Alex’s breathing.

She brushed a stray tear off her cheek. She wanted more than what she’d had. She wanted a husband who put their marriage before his career. A husband who would be there when she needed him and not just when he could fit her into his busy schedule.

His arm came around her, turning her until her back met his front and she decided that tonight she wouldn’t think about all the bad stuff. She fell asleep with his hand cupping her breast and her bottom brushing his erection.

***

Tess woke to sunlight pouring in the slats of the closed blinds and an incredible thirst for root beer. She rolled over, feeling better but still like she’d gone a round or two with her electric mixer.

Voices drifted through the closed bedroom door. She turned her head to find Alex’s side of the bed empty, his pillow indented where he had slept.

The sharp, unpleasant odor of burnt food seeped into the room and she wrinkled her nose. Pans clattered in the kitchen and a muffled curse was followed by a crash and Othello’s yelp.

Tess sat up. The room tilted and instead of the small of her back aching, her entire back ached. She had a vague recollection of searching for the clock in the middle of the night. Damn Alex! He’d hidden the alarm clock so she would sleep longer. Now she understood what he meant when he’d said, “I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

She threw the covers off, groaning with each creak and moan of her muscles. When she coughed, her lungs rattled less but her ribs ached more.

Another muffled curse from the kitchen had her moving as best she could into the hallway where the stink of scorched cookies hung thick in the air.

She stopped in the doorway to her kitchen. Alex sat at her desk, gold wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he read a recipe card. Two days of beard growth covered his cheeks and jaw. Flour and a yellow sticky substance she didn’t want to identify were smeared over his jeans and T-shirt.

Papers spit out by the fax floated onto a pile on the floor. Othello was in the corner, scarfing down black, charred cookies while Tony stood in the middle of the kitchen, an oven mitt on each hand, looking at her with wide, innocent eyes.

She tried to focus on it all, but her mind refused to comprehend the utter destruction. “What are you doing?”

Alex jumped, dropped the card and whipped the glasses off. Othello hacked, then began to lick crumbs off the floor. Tony slowly removed the oven mitts.

“We’re finishing up your orders,” Alex said.

“You’re what?”

Alex grabbed his cane, which was covered in a fine dusting of flour, and pulled himself up. “We’re finishing your orders. We figured we’d bake the cookies and Barbara agreed to come over and help us decorate.”

Tess’s gaze went from Alex to Othello, who dropped to the floor with a deep groan. Alex moved to block her view. “That was our first attempt. We’re better now.”

“He’s going to get sick.”

“Then I’ll clean that up too.”

His thoughtfulness made her want to cry. Everything made her want to cry. He must have been up for hours. Standing so long wasn’t good for his knee.

“It’s time for your medicine and you’re probably thirsty too. Are you hungry?” he asked.

The oven timer beeped and Tony removed a tray of perfectly baked cut-out cookies. Alex turned to her with a questioning look and smiled when he saw her staring at the cookies. “Didn’t think we could do it, huh?”

Tess shook her head, too stunned to speak.

“Just don’t tell the guys at work,” Tony grumbled, expertly sliding the spatula under the cookies and lifting them off the cookie sheet.

Othello stretched his neck and sniffed the new cookies, his tail thumping the floor.

Alex limped over, a glass of orange juice in his hand and the bottle of medicine tucked into his shirt pocket. “Drink this. Take your medicine and go back to bed.”

Tess swallowed the medicine. “I’m feeling much better. I can take over from here.”

“You don’t think we can handle this?”

“It’s not that. It’s just—” she waved her hand, indicating the kitchen and the cooling cookies, “—this is my business and I should be the one slaving over the hot stove.” She swung to Alex. “Oh my, God! What about the pies and cakes? What time is it?”

“Taken care of. I called the restaurants this morning, explained the situation, and they all agreed to make do for one day.”

Tess sank into the desk chair Alex had vacated and put her head in her hands.

“They said that?” The restaurants had given up their desserts. Barbara was giving up her Christmas Eve. Tony had given up his day off. And Alex, who’d never really said one way or the other what he thought of her growing business, was directing them all. For him to acknowledge that her business was important brought a fresh load of tears.

Alex placed his hand on her forehead, then helped her up. “It’s time you went back to bed. You’re still a little warm and the doctor said you need rest.”

Tess paused on her way out the door. “What about the deliveries? You can’t drive.”

“Tony will drive, I’ll navigate.”

“I…” She was so overwhelmed, she wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you.”

He smiled that smile that tilted only one corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Eleven

Tess opened her eyes and pushed the hair out of them to look at the clock but it still wasn’t there.

“Damn, Alex, it’d be nice to know what time it is.” She couldn’t really be angry at him. Not when he’d gone to such lengths to finish her Christmas season for her.

If watching him struggle to bake cookies hadn’t told her how much she loved him, then curling up next to his warmth last night had.

She didn’t know how many times he’d woken her, forcing her to swallow her medicine and drink the fluids the doctor recommended. His thoughtfulness surprised her, and yet she remembered a time, long ago, before careers got in the way, when he’d been the same man he was last night—tender, thoughtful, generous and loving.

A lone tear leaked out of her clenched eyes. It wouldn’t last. It never did. He’d go back to his career and slowly drift away from her.

Rolling to her side, she pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes again, willing herself back to the oblivion of sleep.

Small things broke her concentration. The slam of a car door, the slurp-slurp of Othello drinking out of his water bowl, the low murmur of the television, the soft hiss of the furnace right before it kicked on.

As sure as sunshine in July, she knew Alex was somewhere in this house. How often had she awoken with that knowledge?

Not often enough.

She was reluctant to face him, yet knew she couldn’t hide forever. What would they talk about?

Face it, Tess, you have nothing in common with your husband.

They’d been living together for almost two weeks. Two weeks of constant activity between baking, delivering, shuttling him from doctor appointments to physical therapy. Weeks of avoiding the topic of divorce. They hadn’t sat down and had a normal conversation in months. Now she feared they’d forgotten how.

Thirty minutes later Tess emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and wearing clean flannel pajamas under her robe. Her bones felt like rubber but she was tired of lying in bed so she headed for the living room.

The flickering of the television screen mingled with the flickering of the tree and fireplace. Alex was slouched in one corner of the couch, his bad leg resting on the coffee table, the other leg bent at the knee. A longneck bottle of beer dangled from his hand. Ragged jeans hugged his thighs and lay loose across his abdomen. A faded gray University of Cincinnati sweatshirt hitched up slightly to reveal a small sliver of skin between the jeans and shirt. His hair looked like he’d been raking his hands through it.

“You look better.” His brown eyes reflected the fire in the grate.

“That’s some compliment, coming from you.”

He smiled and set the beer bottle on the table beside the couch. Using both hands, he grasped his bad knee, lowered his leg to the floor, grabbed his cane and stood. “You’re probably hungry. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“I can get it.”

He hobbled to the kitchen, his gait stiff until he’d walked a few steps. “No problem.”

Tess followed. “What time is it? I think someone stole my alarm clock.”

“That would be me. Want to file a report?” He looked over his shoulder and threw her a grin that had her stopping in her tracks and trying to regain her breath. It’d been a long time since she’d seen that grin and Lord, how she’d missed it.

She cleared her throat and continued on to the kitchen. “What good would it do? You’ve got an in with the cops around here.”

He laughed—a rich, deep sound that vibrated through her and made her heart ache. They used to laugh like that all the time. Before things fell apart.

“Did you get the cookies delivered?” She looked around the pristine kitchen. Every speck of flour had been wiped away. Every pan cleaned and stored. The appliances gleamed.

Alex opened the refrigerator and stuck his head inside. “Yup, all done.”

Tess glanced at the digital clock on the stove. Eight o’clock. “You managed to make all the deliveries
and
clean up by eight?”

Alex backed out of the refrigerator, the makings of a ham sandwich in his hands. “That was yesterday, Tess.”

“Yesterday? Are you saying I slept over twenty-four hours? That means today is—”

“Christmas.” He slapped thick slices of ham on rye bread and slathered it with mustard, just the way she liked it.

“I slept through Christmas Eve? And Christmas day? Oh, Alex, I’m sorry. You were all alone on Christmas.”

“No need to apologize. I’ve done the same to you once or twice.”

Taken aback, she just stood there, twisting the belt of her robe in her hands. What could she say? He
had
abandoned her on many a Christmas Eve, but for him to acknowledge it was a huge step and one that left her confused.

He reached into the fridge again, pulled out a can of root beer and handed it to her. “You’ll have to carry this. I only have one free hand.”

Tess followed him into the living room, matching her pace to his. He placed the plate on the coffee table and sank into the couch with a sigh. She stood in front of him, still stunned she’d slept so long and missed most of Christmas.

Alex held his arm out, indicating the spot next to him where she could curl into his side. “Sit beside me, Tess.”

She clutched the cold can and looked at his outstretched arm. Her wobbly legs gave out and she sank into the opposite end of the couch.

Alex’s arm dropped, disappointment evident in the crease of his brow. Tess reached for her plate and ate her sandwich, chewing methodically while not tasting anything.

They watched
It’s a Wonderful Life
in silence while the fire crackled in the grate and the dog snored at Tess’s feet. The heat from the flames made her drowsy, but she refused to fall asleep. She wouldn’t abandon Alex on Christmas night too.

After the credits stopped rolling and an infomercial began, Alex turned the TV off, but he continued to stare at the blank screen, occasionally lifting the beer bottle and taking a swallow.

The sandwich sat heavy in Tess’s stomach. She took a sip of root beer to calm the churning.

This is what you dreaded, isn’t it? Not the lack of communication, but the lack of having anything to
say
to each other.

Her gaze darted around the room, flitting here and there, everywhere but at Alex. She settled on the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. Her attention sharpened, focused. She pushed herself up from the couch and walked with slow, hesitant steps to the tree where she touched the apple-shaped bell, sending a merry tinkling through the still house. Her gaze shifted to the bear pulling a tree behind him and then to the red glass globe painted with the Cincinnati skyline.

Memories hit her with enough force to double her over in pain. Only the weight of Alex’s watchful gaze kept her back stiff.

When she swung around to face him, his brown eyes bore into hers, daring her to say something.

“When did you do this?”

“Two days ago.”

“You had no right—”

“I had
every
right.”

“How do you figure? We’re—”

“Still married.”

She took an involuntary step back, startled at his angry tone. He had a tight hold on the beer bottle and his shoulders were tense. He acted as if he hadn’t known. Surely his attorney had told him she’d canceled the court date. Surely Alex had known she would never dissolve their marriage while he was in the hospital.

His lips thinned into a tight line, his eyes narrowed.

He hadn’t known.

But he knew now.

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry. I thought your attorney told you.”

“He did. Two days ago.”

The day he put the ornaments back on the tree. “I would never do that. Divorce you while you were in the hospital.” She sat on the couch.

The pinched look around his eyes softened. He plucked her hand away from her robe and held it in his. The warmth of his skin heated her in a way the flames from the fire couldn’t.

“When I moved out, I was angry,” he said. “Angry because you couldn’t accept me for who I was. But I thought, given time, you’d realize… Hell, I don’t know, Tess. I guess I thought you would ask me back.” He turned her hand in his, so their fingers intertwined and she felt the smooth band on his finger. When had he put his wedding ring back on and why hadn’t she noticed until now? “Why didn’t you ask me back, Tess? What’d I do that was so awful you’d throw me away forever?”

Her heart rolled in her chest at the vulnerability echoed in those words. For so long she’d concentrated on her own pain that she’d pushed Alex’s to the back of her mind. After all, he’d been the one who refused to compromise. He’d been the one who refused to see his faults.

Maybe she should have demanded less, requested more. Maybe if she’d asked him to go to counseling instead of assuming he’d refuse, they’d be looking ahead to a lifetime together instead of back at a failed marriage.

“Pride,” she admitted, surprised at how easily the admission slipped out. “Damn, stupid pride.”

“I can understand pride.”

The firelight played across the walls. The Christmas tree lights twinkled. Othello snored from his post at the hearth. The cozy comforts of home made it clear they’d come to a crossroads. They could continue to bicker or they could lay it all on the line, tell the whole truth, reveal the hurts and disappointments and see where it took them.

Tess had been down the one road for far too long. The time had come to view the scenery from a different path. She shifted so her back rested against the corner of the couch.

Alex grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and fussed with it, pulling her legs up and tucking it under her feet. He wouldn’t have done that six months ago. Or even one month ago. The baking, the care he’d taken of her illness and the wedding ring had her wondering if his injury had changed him for good. Could she bargain her heart that it had?

Finished fixing the blanket, he looked at her with a sad smile and squeezed her foot. In that simple, tender gesture, Tess had her answer.

Yes.

Yes, she’d willingly bargain her heart to discover if he’d changed for good.

“Tell me something, Alex.”

His expression turned guarded and he removed his hand. “What?”

“If I’d asked you to come back, would things have changed?”

He frowned and looked into the fire. “I never really understood what you wanted from me, Tess. I never cheated on you. I didn’t gamble or drink excessively. I had no real vices except the occasional cigarette and a beer in the evenings. When I wasn’t working, I was here. Yet you always wanted more.”

He looked lost and lonely. Confused. Maybe his absences would have been easier to bear if there
had
been women or he’d had a gambling or drinking problem. Instead his mistress had been his job, his vice the adrenaline of working a dangerous job.

“Time,” she finally answered. “I wanted your time.”

“I gave you my time, Tess. Every minute not spent working, I spent with you.”

“I got what was leftover and only on the condition that work didn’t need you.” Painful memories of the times she’d needed him crowded her thoughts. There had been several, but two stood out among them.

“That’s not true.” His tone was angry. He always got angry when they discussed this.

“Yes. It’s true.”

“When? When was I ever not there for you?” He held up his hand to forestall her response. “Apart from the baby.”

Ah, the baby. Here was where the water got deep, but she pushed those thoughts away. “I asked,” she whispered. “So many times. Remember the lake?”

His brows creased and her heart sank. Of course he wouldn’t remember the lake.

“I asked you to go to the lake with me. I was… I needed you, Alex. I needed you with me. I needed to talk to you.”

“I had to work, Tess. I took the time off, but work—”

“It was always work. Don’t you see that? You used it as a crutch, as an excuse not to be with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Do you know why I asked you to move out, Alex? Do you really want to know why? Because I was already living alone. Because you had left me a long time ago.”

“Ah, Tessie. That’s not true.”

“It is.” She wiped the tears off her cheek and looked at the Christmas tree of memories. “I’m sure I wasn’t the perfect wife. Maybe I asked too much. Maybe I was too clingy. Too needy.”

“No. I didn’t…” He cleared his throat and looked down. “I didn’t know what to say to you after. I didn’t know what you needed from me.”

“You never asked. You just closed yourself off and never asked. Never spoke of…her.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“I felt like you just wrote her off. That you didn’t care.”

His head jerked up. “Of course I cared. My God, Tess, what do you think I am? Some monster?”

“No. Not a monster.”

In her heart she knew it hadn’t been his fault. A quirk of fate. At the same time their daughter was sliding out of her body, way too early to survive on her own, Alex had been in a field, chasing a felon. During the foot race he’d lost his radio.

When he finally came, his grief had been written in the shadows of his eyes and the tremors coursing through his body. He’d held her and apologized, but already her heart had begun to harden. In her own grief, she’d lashed out, irrationally believing if he’d been there, she wouldn’t have gone into premature labor in the first place.

Moreover, it was still there. That anger. That grief. “Say her name,” she said. “I’ve never heard you say her name.”

His jaw muscle clenched and he looked away. “I can’t.”

“You can’t, what? Say her name?”

He shook his head, one quick jerk. “I’ve never said it out loud. I can’t.”

Thousands of times she’d cried over the fact she’d never hear the word “Mommy” from her firstborn’s lips. She’d never stopped to wonder if Alex mourned the loss of his first “Daddy”.

“Margaret,” she whispered. “Maggie.”

He blinked rapidly, as if clearing tears from his eyes. Tess didn’t have his self-control. Her tears rolled down her cheeks.

“There’ll be others,” people had told her. It’d taken two years for her to get pregnant with Maggie. Yes, maybe there could have been others, but there’d never be another Maggie.