The Marriage Wish (3 page)

How old would he have been? Thirty? Thirty-five? “It was unexpected,” Scott said, stating the obvious.

“Very.”

He looked at the wedding ring she wore. He had noticed
it ten days ago, a small heart of diamonds, and it looked like it belonged. “Was there any warning? High blood pressure? A history in his family?”

She shook her head. “No. He had passed a complete physical not more than six months before.”

“I’m sorry, Jennifer.” It was such an inadequate response. Her life had been torn apart, and all he could convey was words. She would have felt the loss like a knife cutting into her, especially if they had been a close couple. “You loved him a great deal.” Scott made the observation, more to himself than her, but she answered him, anyway.

“I still do,” she replied calmly.

He heard her answer and was envious that love could be so enduring. Not many couples had that kind of closeness. No wonder the anniversary of his death had been so painful for her.

She set down her cup of coffee and changed the subject abruptly. “I’ve decided to end the series of books.”

Scott didn’t know what to think, both of the abrupt change of subject and the statement she had just made. She couldn’t be serious. She had been writing the series for almost ten years. She wanted to end it? “Thomas Bradford is going to get killed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not the same without Jerry.”

“You wrote the books with your husband?”

She nodded.

Scott didn’t say anything for some time. It wasn’t wise to make such dramatic life changes when you were grieving. But the books had to be a continual reminder to her of what she had lost. “You’ve been writing the series for years. Are you sure, Jennifer?” he finally asked.

“I’m sure. I’ve known for months it’s something I needed to do.”

“What are you going to do once the series is finished?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He frowned, not liking one possibility that had come to mind. “You are still going to write, aren’t you?”

“It is the only profession I know.”

He leaned back in his chair, thinking, studying her. He had never known a writer before, and it was hard to make any sort of intelligent judgment about the decision she had to make. The sadness he saw in her expression made him frown. She needed some help. She needed to recover. She needed someone to ensure she ate. He forced himself not to follow that line of thinking any further.

“Do you know when you start how the book is going to end?” He had always wondered that. He assumed that knowing in advance would be helpful as far as clues and situations were concerned, but on the other hand, knowing the ending would make writing the book less interesting. Like seeing a movie for the second time.

Jennifer couldn’t stop the memory from returning—

“Jerry, you can’t kill the gardener. He’s the man who stole the will to protect Nicole’s inheritance. Kill the gardener and the will disappears forever.” Jennifer didn’t like the twist Jerry had added to the well constructed story. They had spent two months hammering out the details of a tight story plot and Jerry was changing the game plan a hundred pages into the book. They were out in the backyard, Jerry reclining in his hammock watching the 49ers and Rams game on his portable TV, Jennifer having come outside to find him. She dropped into the lawn chair beside him, retrieving the two pillows on the ground to use as a headrest. She was dis
tracted momentarily as she realized she had missed the start of the game.

“Who said the gardener was dead?” Jerry asked, handing her a diet soda from the cooler beside him.

“Thanks,” Jennifer said, accepting the cold drink. She flipped open the dog-eared manuscript. “Page ninety-six, and I quote, ‘The bullet entered the man’s chest and did not exit. He fell forward into the cold waters of the lake without anyone seeing his departure from among the living.’” She dropped the script on his chest. “That sounds like dead to me.”

The 49ers threw a deep pass which was caught inside the twenty. The discussion paused while they both watched the replay.

“Did I ever say the man in the boat was the gardener?”

Jennifer thought about it carefully. “No. The killer assumed the man in the boat was the gardener.”

Jerry grinned. “Exactly.”

“Okay Jerry, what are you planning?”

“I don’t know,” he replied seriously.

Jennifer tossed one of the pillows at him. “Why do you always insist on adding wrinkles to our nicely planned books?” she demanded, amused.

Jerry smiled. “I have to keep you guessing somehow, don’t I?”

Scott watched as Jennifer struggled to come back from somewhere in the past and answer the question he had asked. It was not the first time he had seen memories cross her eyes, and he wondered what memory had just made her smile. “Every book we wrote had at least one major change in the plot by the time we finished writing the story. We would construct an outline for the book, then take turns writing chapters. Invariably Jerry would create a few extra twists in the story.”

Jennifer rested her hands loosely around the coffee mug
and was amazed at how easy it was to talk to Scott about the past. Normally sharing about her life with Jerry brought back the pain, but not today. They were memories of good times, and she had thought they were gone forever.

She had been so embarrassed by her panicked flight, her reluctance to explain exactly how she had gotten the black eye. It had taken over a week to put the incident into the back of her mind, get past the embarrassment, and thankfully accept the fact she would never have to see Scott Williams again. The next morning her agent had called. Jennifer had wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Her one consolation had been the mistaken belief that Scott would have at least let the incident go. It had taken her forty-eight hours to work up the nerve to come back to this beach. She was glad now she had. Glad that now he knew the truth.

“You know what I do for a living, what about you, Scott?”

“I’m CEO of an electronics firm called Johnson Electronics.”

“Really?” She had expected him to be high up in some corporate setting, but she had not expected this answer. “How long have you been CEO?”

“Three years. They’ve been good years for the industry, so I haven’t had to weather my first downturn in the business. How well we do then will determine how good I am at this job.”

Interesting answer. A man who considered his performance under adversity to be the true measure of this worth. “You’ve been at Johnson Electronics a long time?” He was young to be a CEO.

“Eighteen years. I started out as a draftsman during my junior college days. I worked as an electrical engineer, got an MBA and moved into management.”

Jennifer asked him about every facet of the business she could think of—products, competitors, partners, financial numbers. She found the picture he presented of his company fascinating. He shared the smallest details, and she found his grasp of the business remarkable. It was obvious he loved his job. They talked for another thirty minutes before Jennifer rose to her feet and said it was time for her to be leaving.

“Jennifer, I’ve got tickets for the musical
Chess
next Saturday night. It’s an old play, kind of dated, but it’s a benefit performance and will be well attended. Would you like to join me?”

His offer caught her by surprise. She had to think about it for a few moments. She had not been on a date since Jerry died. She’d had no desire to. “Thank you, Scott, I would like that,” she finally replied. She was lonely. She knew it. And he was good no-pressure company. A night out would be a welcome diversion.

“The play starts at eight-thirty. I’ll pick you up at seven and we can have dinner first?”

She smiled and wondered how far he would extend the invitation if she let him. Dinner before and coffee afterward? “Sure, we can do dinner first,” she agreed.

He grinned and she liked the grin. “Good. I want an address and a phone number.”

She laughed. “I like my privacy, hence the unlisted phone number.” She wrote down the information on a piece of paper he pulled from a notepad beside the phone.

As he walked with her across the back patio and down to the beach, she slipped on her jacket and freed her long hair from the collar. “Thank you for breakfast, Scott.”

“It was my pleasure, Jennifer. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock Saturday.”

S
he was late. Jennifer rushed up the front walk of her home, fumbling with her keys. Scott was going to arrive in less than an hour. Her detour to Rachel and Peter’s to drop off a book had been a mistake. Her brother had wanted to debate the wisdom of her ending the Thomas Bradford mystery series and she hadn’t been able to invent an adequate excuse to leave. She knew better than to mention Scott and a date. She would never have gotten out of there. Peter took the responsibility of being her older brother very seriously.

Jennifer pushed open the front door to be met with the fragrant smell of roses. The bouquet sitting in the center of her dining room table had arrived Wednesday. Three dozen red, white and peach roses. The card had simply said “Looking forward to Saturday—Scott.” Jennifer had started crying. She couldn’t help it. It had been a long time since anyone had sent her roses.

“Jerry, I got a special delivery today.” Jennifer was curled up beside her husband on the couch, using his shoulder as a pillow. The credits of the late, late movie were beginning to roll by.

“You did?” Jerry asked, feigning surprise. His finger gently traced the curve of her jaw.

She smiled. “I think it was a bribe.”

“What was it?”

“Two dozen red roses.”

“It was a bribe,” Jerry agreed. “You know how much red roses cost these days?” he asked, amused.

She giggled.

“So what do you suppose this mystery person wants?”

Jerry leaned down to kiss her. “That’s hard to say,” he said softly. “I suppose you had better ask him.”

Jennifer turned on the couch to face him. “So what do you think my husband would like in return for two dozen red roses?”

The memory stopped Jennifer in the doorway. She sighed. These memories were going to drive her crazy.

She dressed with care. She had shopped for a new outfit. Those in her closet held too many memories. She had found a light green, long-sleeved dress. It looked expensive, moved with grace, and it helped her badly shaking self-esteem. She had bought a purse and new shoes to go with the dress. The gold necklace and earrings she wore had been a gift from Jerry.

She was ready before Scott arrived. To keep from pacing back and forth Jennifer went into her office, picked up the black three-ring binder on her desk and the red pen beside it. She turned on the stereo, already tuned to a favorite jazz station. Finding the page marked with a paper clip, she picked up the work where she’d left off, soon forgetting the time.

The doorbell rang. Quickly slipping the paper clip onto the
top of the page she was on, she set the book back on the desk and went to answer the door.

He stood there, looking at the profusion of flowers growing around her porch, elegantly dressed in black slacks and an ivory dress shirt, contained, comfortable. A pleased smile lit his face as he turned and saw her. “Hello, Jennifer.”

She smiled back. “Hello, Scott.” She stepped back to let him enter her home. “Thank you for the flowers.” She motioned to the arrangement, already nervous.

“You’re welcome,” Scott replied easily. “Did you have a good week?”

“Quiet,” she replied. “Let me get my purse and jacket and I’ll be ready to go.”

She entered the living room, and he followed her. It was a simple room. A fireplace, couch, coffee table, easy chair, two end tables, display shelves. A prominent bookshelf held all the Thomas Bradford first editions.

The pictures caught Scott’s attention. There were several on the fireplace mantel, one on the end table. Her wedding picture. Jerry. Scott looked at the picture for several moments. His competition. He was surprised at the feeling, but it could not be ignored. He was competing with Jennifer’s memories of Jerry. Jennifer looked different in the pictures. She looked young. She looked happy. The past few years had taken a great toll.

“I’m ready,” she said quietly.

He turned to find she had joined him again. He smiled. “Then let’s go.”

Scott held her jacket for her to slip on. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said softly. The soft green dress had caught his attention the moment she’d opened the door, and he’d been watching it flair around her, wondering at the elegance she presented and how many more surprises she had in
store for him. She was beautiful. Her face had healed, and while she still looked thin, there was color in her face and life in her eyes tonight.

She flushed. “Thank you.”

He gently slipped her long hair free from the collar of the jacket.

After she locked the front door, Jennifer walked beside Scott to his car, an expensive sports car. He held the passenger door, and Jennifer slipped inside. Her car was comfortable and dependable. This car was pure luxury.

“How does Italian sound?” Scott asked, looking over at her inquiringly.

“I love it,” Jennifer replied.

Scott nodded as he started the car. “I know a great place.”

Jennifer began to relax. Scott drove well, and she found it was a relief to be able to sit back and let someone else manage the traffic. They shared a comfortable silence, rather than the strained one she had feared.

“I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week,” Scott said, breaking the silence.

Jennifer looked over at him, and a chuckle escaped. “The week was that bad?”

Scott gave a slight smile. “I’ve had better,” he admitted.

He reached down and turned on the radio, his eyes not leaving the road. Jazz. Jennifer grinned. Okay, at least they had music in common. He clicked the volume down low. She studied him as he drove and wondered what had made his week so rough. She would have to ask him later. She liked a great deal the fact he was not threatened by the silence between them. She wasn’t one to chatter, and silence gave one time to think.

They arrived at the restaurant he had chosen, and the parking lot was crowded. Jennifer had heard of the place,
but had never been here before. Scott found a place to park and clicked off the ignition. “Stay put,” he told her with a smile. Jennifer took a deep breath as Scott came around the car to open the door for her. She forced herself to smile. It was not Scott’s fault that her stomach was beginning to turn in knots again. This was a date, a real, honest to goodness, date. She had conveniently forgotten that fact. Scott offered her his hand to help her from the car, clicked a button on his key ring and all the car doors locked. He offered her his arm. Somewhat embarrassed, Jennifer accepted. He was picking up her nervousness and his smile was kind.

“Relax,” he said gently.

“Sorry, Scott. I hate first dates,” she admitted, then wished she hadn’t.

They were almost across the parking lot. He squeezed her hand. “I know what you mean. Trouble is, you can’t have a second one without it.” As they reached the door, Scott’s arm moved down to around her waist and Jennifer found the touch both disconcerting and comforting. He kept it there as they were escorted by a smiling maître d’ to the table Scott had reserved. The restaurant was elegant, the tables spaced for privacy, the lights slightly subdued. Scott helped her slip off the jacket, held her chair for her. He took a seat across from her. Jennifer forced herself to meet his eyes. She knew she was flushed, her face felt hot. All he did was offer a soft reassuring smile. He handed her a menu. “The veal here is very good. As is the quail.”

Jennifer nodded and gratefully dropped her eyes to the cloth-covered book that was the menu. She opened it. No prices.

“Jerry, there are no prices in this menu.” Jennifer nearly giggled. “Do you suppose everything is free?”

Jerry just smiled and motioned the waiter over. “Could we have two coffees please?” He didn’t need one. Jennifer did.

His wife had had too much champagne.

He wasn’t annoyed. Far from it. She had been petrified of attending the party their publisher had hosted for several writers introducing new books for the Christmas season. She had gone despite the fear and done a magnificent job. When they left the party shortly after eleven, it was with the knowledge that several nationwide bookstore chains would be prominently displaying their seventh book. Their agent, Ann, had sent a bottle of champagne to their hotel room with her congratulations. Jennifer had drunk three glasses. Jerry, who knew Jennifer had been too nervous before the party to eat, had wisely escorted her to the hotel restaurant. She needed to unwind.

“Jerry, let’s not do that again, okay?”

“You did a great job, honey.”

“I have a headache.”

“Too much champagne.”

“Too many people,” Jennifer replied. “Did you see the lady with the diamond necklace, the one with six strands?”

“Lisa Monet. Her last four books have been on the bestseller list,” Jerry replied calmly.

“She was beautiful.”

“She couldn’t hold a candle to you.”

Jennifer smiled. Her husband meant it. “Thanks.”

“Sure, beautiful. Want to go dancing after we eat?”

“Could we? It’s awful late.”

“This from a lady who thinks three in the morning is a perfect time of day?” Jerry kidded gently.

“Only if Thomas decided he wanted to keep talking.”

Jerry smiled.

The coffee arrived.

“Jen, have you decided, or would you like some more
time?” With a start, Jennifer realized Scott was addressing her.

“The veal, please,” she replied, trying to cover the lapse of concentration.

He signaled the waiter, gave their order, having chosen veal for himself. “What were you thinking about?” he asked.

Jennifer blushed. “Jerry and I were at a restaurant much like this in New York a few years ago. I had forgotten that memory.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Scott replied gently. “What took you to New York?”

“Our seventh book came out about Christmastime. The publishers held a party for all the authors with new books coming out. A way to generate some publicity.”

“I seem to remember reading that that book was very popular.”

Jennifer nodded. “It sold well.”
That’s why we decided we could start thinking about starting a family.
She couldn’t prevent the look of pain that fleetingly crossed her face.

The salads arrived before Scott could question that look.

They ate in comfortable silence.

“Tell me a little about your family, Jennifer. Do they live around here?”

Jennifer set down her crystal water glass. “My parents died a few years ago in a car crash. I have one brother, older than me. Peter is married, has three children. Alexander is nine, Tom is eleven, and Tiffany is twelve.”

“You and Jerry never had children?” It was the wrong question to ask; Scott knew it as soon as he asked the question, but it was too late to take back the words.

“Jerry, can we get a Jenny Lynn crib?”

Her husband’s arms around her waist gave her a gentle hug. “Sure. Next month as a seven month present?”

“You’ll have the baby room painted by then?”

Jerry smiled. “Right down to the teddy bears around the door,” he assured her.

Jennifer gave her husband a hug. “Wonderful. I’ve been thinking about names some more. What do you think about Colleen for a girl?”

“Colleen St. James. I like it. Have a middle name yet?”

“Not yet.”

The raw pain Jennifer felt at the memory tore at her heart. Jerry had not lived long enough to see his daughter born. “No,” she finally whispered. “No, we never had children.”

Scott could see the pain in her eyes. “Jen, I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

She shook her head and forced a smile. “It’s okay. I’m not normally so touchy. What about you? Is your family in the area?”

“My parents live in Burmingham, about forty minutes away. I have one younger sister, Heather. She’s married and has two children, is expecting her third.”

They talked about family for a while, Jennifer laughing at the stories he told of his and Heather’s childhood.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Please,” Jennifer agreed.

“How is the book coming?”

“Not too bad. I’ve actually been working on it for some time. Another week of writing will finish the first draft.”

“You are still planning to end the series?”

“Yes. It’s best. The books are not the same without Jerry.”

Scott looked at his watch and reluctantly said it was time to leave for the theater. Jennifer would have been content to stay and talk for the evening, miss the play.

Scott escorted her from the restaurant, across the park
ing lot. When he held the car door for her, she was expecting it. “Thank you,” she murmured softly, slipping inside.

They were quiet during the few-minutes’ ride to the theater. “Have you ever been here, Jennifer?”

She shook her head.

“The theater has seats that circle the entire stage. The stage is an octagon, different parts of which can be raised and lowered during the play. An orchestra will provide the music.”

Jennifer smiled. “I’m going to love this, Scott.”

Scott held the door for her. They stepped into a massive lobby. Scott, a hand at the small of Jennifer’s back, led her into the crowd, angling them to the left. An usher accepted the tickets from Scott, handing back the seat assignment portion along with two programs. “You are in the fourth row in the blue section.”

“Thank you.”

The seats fanned out from the stage. Jennifer did not see what markers Scott was using until she realized the floor lights along each section were different colors. They were elegant theater seats of royal blue crushed velvet. Scott helped her slip off her jacket and laid it across the back of her chair. The program Jennifer opened was ten full pages of information about the play, the actors, the director, costumes and scenery.