Sleeping Alone (26 page)

“Nothing is certain yet,” Dee said, “but things are finally looking up for all of us.”

John,
Alex thought happily. It was all thanks to John. His passion. His persistence. His courage.

“So when’s the wedding?” Dee asked. “They’re taking bets again. Sally has the July Fourth weekend covered, but Vince is pushing Memorial Day.”

“You know the story,” Alex said. “First I have to get a divorce.”

“So get a divorce.”

“It’s not that easy.” She’d spent the last three days waiting for the phone to ring, and every time it did, she expected to hear Griffin’s cultured, disapproving tones. “Brian must have called him by now,” she said.

“You’ve taken the fun out of his revenge,” Dee said. “With the Sea Gate deals falling apart, he has other things to think about.”

Which meant it could drag on forever. “That’s it,” Alex said, reaching for the telephone on the stand next to her hospital bed. “I’m going to call him.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Dee asked. “Maybe you should have a divorce attorney make the call. These things can get pretty sticky.”

Alex pressed 9 for an outside line, then began to dial the city and country codes for London, England. “I didn’t bring anything into the marriage,” she said, “and I don’t want to take anything out of it except my freedom. The whole thing should be cut-and-dried.”

It was all academic. His secretary told Alex that he was out of town on business, and she didn’t know when he was expected back.

“I’m going to let you rest,” Dee said. “Once you’re home, you’ll be thinking about this interlude with longing.”

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” Alex said. “I should be back at the Starlight by Monday.”

“Don’t rush things,” Dee warned. “Take your time. The Starlight will still be there.”

Alex smiled. That was one of the best things about Sea Gate. You could count on things and people being there when you needed them.

She felt restless after Dee left, unsettled. John was busy repairing the
Kestrel
for a weekend trip down to the Chesapeake. He wouldn’t be in for a few hours. She hated daytime television. The thought of being reduced to watching Jerry Springer made her break out in hives.

Closure, that’s what she was looking for. She was anxious to get on with her life, to move forward. She wanted to marry John, to stand up before God and make those beautiful promises. She wanted—

“Alexandra.”

She turned toward the door. “Griffin!” She recognized his suit; it had cost almost as much as her new roof.

He stepped into the room. “I would have telephoned, but some things are best done in person.”

* * *

John left the marina around four o’clock. He hadn’t finished the repair work on the
Kestrel,
but the need to see Alex, even for a few minutes, was too strong to ignore. He got to the hospital a little after four-thirty and was striding through the parking lot toward the entrance when he bumped into Dee as she was about to climb into her car.

“Look at you,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re so much in love it’s disgusting.”

He grinned and tugged at a lock of red hair. “Your turn’s coming, pal,” he said. “You and Sam seem to be hitting it off pretty well.”

“He has possibilities.” She gave John a quick hug.

“What’s that for?”

“For being happy,” she said. “I’ve waited a long time to see that smile on your face again.”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” he said to his old friend. “Guess I’m proof that anything can happen.” They chatted for a couple of minutes about Mark and Eddie, then John said he’d better go in and see Alex.

“Some Cary Grant type stopped me in the hall when I was leaving,” Dee said. “He asked which room was Alex’s.”

“A Cary Grant type?”

Dee wrinkled her nose. “You know the type I mean. Tailored up the yin-yang, too good for the rest of us.”

John took off at a run. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator; instead he took the stairs to the third floor two at a time. Brian had made good on his threat, and now Griffin Whittaker had come to town to claim his wife. A nurse gave him a fish-eyed look as he barreled down the hallway toward Alex’s room, but he didn’t give a damn.

A red mist of rage exploded behind his eyes as he thought of the last night Alex had spent as Griffin Whittaker’s wife. He wanted to get his hands around the son of a bitch’s throat and make him pay for what he did to her.

The door to her room was closed. He didn’t bother to knock. He grabbed the knob and swung the door wide. Alex was sitting on the edge of her bed, a glass of orange juice in her hand.

“John.” Her face lit up with her smile. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He stepped into the room. “Whittaker,” he said. “Where is he?”

“You’re too late.” She motioned for him to sit down next to her, and he did. “He’s gone.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile growing brighter. “You could say that.”

It was hard to shift down from anger to relief. “He didn’t stay long.”

“He didn’t have to. We settled our business pretty quickly.” She met his eyes. “He doesn’t want me, John. I’m free.”

It took a second for her words to penetrate, and even then he couldn’t quite believe it was over. “You’re free?”

“He has a new pregnant mistress. He wants to marry her. My belly and I are a major embarrassment to him, and he wants me out of his life ASAP.”

“He’ll give you a divorce?”

“At the speed of light.” She looked a little sheepish. “Remember what I said about not taking a settlement from Griffin?”

He nodded.

“Apparently his guilty conscience got the better of him, and he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Six months from now I’ll be a free woman with seed money for the catering business I’d like to start with Dee.”

“You and Dee?”

“We’ll make a great team. She’ll keep the books; I’ll cook the food. I had to depend on Griffin for everything,” she said, “even my self-esteem. That’s too much to ask of a marriage, John.”

“So what are you saying?” He couldn’t keep the uncertainty from his voice. Maybe when push came to shove she didn’t believe marriage was a viable option for her.

“I’m saying I’m a different person now. I’ve learned I’m not weak or powerless or any of the things I thought I was when I was Griffin’s wife. I’m strong and I’m smart and I can handle just about anything life throws my way.”

“And where does that leave us?”

“Married,” she said, “if you’ll ask me again.”

He met her eyes. “I’m asking.”

“And I’m saying yes,” she said, placing his hand on her belly. Their baby stirred beneath his palm, tiny hands and feet kicking hard, and he knew a moment of profound happiness he’d never expected to feel again. “We both say yes.”

One word.

One syllable.

And a new family was born.

Mark didn’t much care for weddings, and for the most part babies were invisible. But when the wedding was John and Alex’s and the baby was their brand-new Emilie Rose, even Mark had to make an exception. Besides, you didn’t often go to a wedding and christening on the same day.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he’d gotten a little misty when Father O’Laughlin made that speech about love and families and how sometimes God sent happiness your way after you’d stopped believing He even remembered your name.

It almost hurt to look at John, as if you were invading his privacy. He’d never seen a happier man. And Alex. Well, she always looked beautiful, but there was something real special about brides, and she was no exception. When she’d walked down the aisle carrying six-week-old Emilie Rose, there hadn’t been a dry eye in the church. Even tough Vince Troisi had blubbered into his handkerchief.

“Come on,” Eddie said, waving to him from the church steps. “They’re taking a family picture.”

Mark looked from his grandfather to his mom. She and Sam Weitz were standing on the top step with the Gallaghers, smiling like they’d won the Lotto.
My family,
he thought as he joined them. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe it.

It had felt funny at first, calling Eddie “Grandpa,” but he got used to it real fast. Nobody had expected Brian to show up for his brother’s wedding, and he didn’t disappoint them. But it didn’t matter that much to him anymore. He was one of the Gallaghers now, and he didn’t need Brian to make it possible.

He knew where he belonged.

He was connected to all of them. To Eddie and John. To Alex and Emilie Rose. To his mom and maybe even to Sam Weitz, if things kept going the way they’d been going. No matter what happened in his life, they would be there for him, because they were his family.

He would be there for them, too. Not because he had to be, but because being part of a family was a whole lot better than being alone.

He took his place between his mom and Eddie. She smoothed his hair with her hand, and the look of love in her eyes made a big fat lump form in his throat.

“C’mon, Ma,” he said, pretending to be annoyed. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

She smiled at him, and he knew that she understood what he was really saying. There were limits to just how sappy a guy was going to get with his mom.

“You’re looking pretty impressive,” Eddie said with a grin. “You clean up good.”

“So do you, Grandpa,” Mark said. There was a rough road ahead for Eddie, but Mark was going to be there for him every step of the way, same as Eddie had always been there for him.

“Remember we’ve got that fishing trip tomorrow morning. Don’t stay up partying too late. I’m going to work your butt off on the
Kestrel
.”

“Okay, everybody.” The photographer positioned himself and raised his camera. “Get your game faces on. On the count of three, I want you all to say—”

“Family,” John broke in. He looked down at his bride and his new baby, and the smile he gave them made Mark happy to be alive. “The most beautiful word in the English language.”

Mark couldn’t have said it better himself.

The Crosse Island Harbor Time Travel Trilogy

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Destiny’s Child

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Charmed: A Sugar Maple Short Story

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Sleeping Alone

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Barbara Bretton
is the USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of more than 50 books. She currently has over ten million copies in print worldwide. Her works have been translated into twelve languages in over twenty countries and she has received starred reviews from both
Publishers Weekly
and Booklist.

Barbara cooks, knits, and writes in central New Jersey with her husband.

How to contact Barbara:

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