The Officer Says "I Do" (18 page)

***

Tim opened the front door, cursing when it slammed back at him.

“What the hell?” He pushed harder and finally managed to squeeze in. When he shut the door behind him, he saw the culprit.

A shoe had bested him. A tennis shoe must have fallen from the mountainous pile of Skye’s footwear and wedged itself under the door when he pushed open. He kicked the offending shoe back into the pile, only to watch five more tumble down and litter the entryway. He turned to leave, then couldn’t. Lining all the shoes up along the wall made him feel slightly better about them being where they didn’t belong. Slightly.

On his way to the kitchen, he smelled something different. Definitely not the air freshener Madison had left behind when she moved out. It was too earthy. He sniffed again, following his nose Toucan Sam-style until he halted in front of the fireplace. Incense. A lot of them. Lined up on the mantel between pictures of his family and little statues of… someone. He picked one up, amazed by how heavy it was. Definitely not the fat Buddha guy. But it looked like some pagan god of some sort. He placed it back warily and took a step back, almost tripping over a stack of magazines.

His house was booby-trapped. Against him.

Finally he made it to the fridge for some water when he saw the check hanging by a magnet.

“Skye?” he called out, waiting for a response, the check between two fingers like he was holding a vial of deadly swine flu and wanted nothing to do with it. “Skye, where are you?”

“Back porch!”

Tim walked out the back door of the kitchen to find his wife lounging on one of the patio chairs in the sun. Sunglasses shaded her eyes, her arms were tossed over her head as if she were napping. One knee was bent, the other straight out in an unconsciously provocative pin-up girl pose. If she had been wearing an old-fashioned 1940s bikini, his heart might have stopped. As it was, the thin tank top and ripped denim shorts had his heart skipping a few beats.

“Skye, what’s this?”

“Dunno.” She didn’t even turn toward him to see what he was referring to.

He sighed and walked in front of her. When she didn’t move, didn’t even tilt her head, he gently reached over and pushed her glasses to the top of her head. They left a cute red mark on the bridge of her nose. The sun had bronzed her skin, highlighting a few freckles over her cheeks. What would she do if he—

“Looks like a piece of paper to me. Too far away to see more.”

Her answer snapped him back. “It’s a check. Written to me.”

Her nose scrunched at that. “If you know what it is, why are you asking me? I was taking in a nice afternoon nap.” Her eyelids dropped and her voice became husky. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, as you well know.”

He did remember last night. And the night before. The past several nights, actually, and it was taking all his willpower not to roll on top of her on the lounge chair and repeat the performance.

Jesus, Tim. Sex outside? Seriously? This isn’t you.

He dropped into the other patio chair… very much out of arm’s reach. Take that, temptation. This situation was going to be annoying enough without battling a raging erection. “It’s a check from you. What’s it for? Why are you writing me checks?”

“Oh.” At the clarification, she sat up and brightened. “It’s for this month’s mortgage payment. I took a peek at the statement when I saw it sitting on your desk. No, don’t get mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes you are. Your jaw looks so tight it might snap. I live here too. I should know what it takes to keep this place running.”

Tim rubbed the ache that started to form between his brows. “Okay. Besides the fact that you snooped through my mail—”

“Not snooping. It was just sitting there on the desk and I noticed it. And it saved me the effort of asking you about—”

“Aside from that,” he repeated, “why are you writing me a check for half the payment?”

She looked at him, her head tilting like a dog being given a command it didn’t understand. “Because I live here too.”

“I never asked you for any money.”

Her expression cleared, as if realizing the problem. Then she patted his knee and pushed her glasses back down on her nose. “I know. But I fixed it. So now I know what I need to contribute every month. We’re all set.”

He stared at her, no clue where to go from there. “Um, no. We’re not all set. You’re not some roommate, Skye. You’re my wife.”

No response.

“So as my wife, you’re not obligated to pay rent.”

“It’s not rent. It’s a contribution. If you just let me know when you get the electric, I’ll do my best to get you a check fast. Although I really should call my old bank and have them issue new checks with the new address on them. Do you think I should switch to a local bank here? Or maybe open an account at whatever bank you use…”

“Skye.”

“I mean I don’t think a joint account is the right thing to do right now, but maybe if we—”

“Skye.”

“No, you’re right. I’ll just find a bank that I like myself. No need to—”

“Skye!” Jesus, she could go on for hours.

Her head snapped back. “What?”

He ripped the check in two and let them fall to her stomach. And had the satisfaction of watching his wife’s mouth drop open without a word to say. Speechless. For once. Maybe he should grab a calendar and write it down.

That lasted a whole ten seconds.

“What was that for?” She stood up and thrust the patio chair back. “I only have a few checks left that have to last me until the new ones come in. What the hell, Tim?”

“My wife doesn’t pay rent. I provide.”

Once again, her mouth hung open like a flytrap. Then it snapped shut with such force he was shocked she didn’t wince with pain. “You forgot to scratch yourself and mutter in Prehistoric Caveman while you said that. Oh my God, did you spear us a mastodon for dinner too, dear?”

“Look, don’t get all feminist about this. It’s just the way O’Shays work. Husband provides. I am more than capable of providing the roof over my wife’s head.”

With the sunglasses shading her eyes, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. But from the way she was trembling, he could easily guess she wasn’t thinking about sunshine and rainbows. Then she raised her shaking fists, tilted her face heavenward, and let out a strangled, blood-curdling scream. Tim barely resisted the urge to cover his ears.

“Christ, Skye. The neighbors are going to think I’m out here murdering you!”

Without notice, she walked barefoot down to the small patch of grass they called a backyard and started to pace. And pace. And pace. Tim could have sworn steam actually poured out her ears. The entire time, her mouth was moving, and he could faintly hear her voice. But the words were undetermined. He didn’t have to hear them to know that they wouldn’t be flattering to his ego.

He wanted to tell her that people would be staring out their windows and thinking she was crazy, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Chestnut hair flowing behind her with every turn, body vibrating with energy—even angry energy—legs eating up the ground with purposeful strides… she was magnificent. Even if she was causing a scene for anyone in the townhouse complex to see. His body tightened in response, even as his brain was shouting to stay alert because with Skye, who knew what she would throw at him next?

Finally she stopped, turned on a dime, and stared at him. With precision and care, she lifted her glasses with one finger and stared at him. Her voice was calm—too calm—when she spoke.

“I am a capable, intelligent, independent woman.”

She paused, as if giving him time to either agree or fight. Tim kept his mouth shut. This would be what his father called a no-win situation for males.

“I am completely able to contribute to the house that I am staying in. It just so happens that this house is my husband’s home. My helpmate. Isn’t that what a spouse is? There to help? Well, I want to help.”

Tim wanted to say she helped in other ways, by cooking and cleaning and seeing to the domestic chores. But that’d be a lie. She didn’t cook any more than he did, and her idea of cleaning was to shove everything under the nearest piece of furniture to hide it from view. It should bother him. It didn’t.

“I refuse to be a dead weight around here.”

“That’s what you think? That you’re dead weight?” Tim thudded down the wooden patio stairs to stand in front of her. Though it was a risk, touching someone who still looked like a live wire of energy, he put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s not the truth at all. This is just how I was raised. That the man—”

“Provides. Takes care of the women. Yeah, I know.” Skye rubbed her temples and gave a shy grin. “I’m sorry. I get a little upset at the whole male macho 1950s routine.”

“This is you a
little
upset?” The screaming, the pacing, the calm-before-the-storm attitude?

God help him if she ever got well and truly pissed at him. And why did that thought make him want to smile?

She shrugged then walked up the stairs to the patio chair she’d vacated ten minutes earlier as if nothing happened. “So will you let me help with the bills?”

He rubbed a hand over his hair, feeling completely trapped. To say yes meant going against his entire upbringing, an upbringing he happened to believe in. But saying no obviously didn’t yield desirable results with his wife.

As if sensing his problem, Skye waved him to sit down in the other chair again. When he did, she held out a hand until he placed his in it. Her skin was soft, warm from the sun. He wanted to see if she was warm all over.

“Please.” It was all she said, and he felt helpless to deny her at that point.

He raised their hands and kissed the back of her fingers. “Okay.”

Though it gave him a little twist in the gut, her smile unraveled it and soothed the churning. He still felt like he barely knew her. But to see her smile like that, Tim knew he would do almost anything.

He waited until she relaxed before he scooped her up in his arms. And he walked the shrieking, laughing woman back up to their bedroom to spend the rest of the afternoon finding other ways to make her smile.

Skye plodded into the kitchen, eyes blurry and droopy with sleep. Reaching in the cabinet, she pulled out the makings for tea. Right now, coffee would be nice. Except she didn’t drink it. But the kick it could give her was enviable. Instead she picked the strongest tea she had and started the water.

Her day off, and she’d slept half of it away. Then again, understandable since she’d had a late night. A private party kept her at work two hours past expected close time. And Tim had kept her awake well into the early morning hours.

Skye’s skin tingled as she remembered the rapt attention he’d paid to her body in the dark. The tireless energy he’d used over and over, pushing her past every physical, sexual limit she thought she had. The man definitely knew which buttons to push. That part she couldn’t complain about. The lack of sleep though… that was going to be something to get used to. Every night since the dinner party at the CO’s house, she’d averaged less than half her usual shut-eye.

You’ll take catnaps. If the payoff in bed is
that
good, you adjust. So, adjust already.

The phone rang as she took her first sip of fortifying tea, and Skye reached blindly for the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Skye, it’s Beth. How are you?”

Skye smiled and stretched her sore muscles. “Good. Really good. How are you?”

“Panicking. I’m desperate.”

That shook her out of her private sexual gloating. “What? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Huh? No. No, nothing like that.”

Skye breathed a quick sigh of relief. “Okay, start from the top.”

Beth took an audible breath and blew out. “My in-laws are coming to town for a
surprise
visit.” Her friend’s tone told Skye exactly how welcome the surprise was.

After the shocking visit she’d had with Tim’s family, she could relate.

“All right. Not everyone’s favorite situation in the world, but survivable. What do you need?”

“I need you to host the spouse coffee.”

“Host the what?”

“The monthly spouse coffee. It’s my turn to host this Saturday, but with Toby’s family in town, I can’t. I just can’t. I love them, but they’re embarrassing and pushy and it would make everyone miserable. Me more than anyone.” Beth sounded close to cracking. “Please host the coffee. I will help you with anything you need. Just provide the place and play the hostess. I beg of you. If I have to host this thing with Toby’s parents around, men in white coats will be dragging me out the door.”

Skye stared into her mug of tea. “But I don’t even drink coffee.” Regrettably, on mornings like this.

At that, Beth laughed. “No. I mean yeah, there’s usually coffee. It’s just called a coffee. But it’s basically a get-together of the spouses. A little meet and greet. Ten to twenty women, usually. I’d bet more this time, just because people will want to meet you. We chat, we catch up, we find out the good gossip from around the battalion like deployment changes and training dates and stuff. And then we go home.”

“I don’t know. I mean—”

“I would ask someone else, someone who has experience with these. But everyone I know has already hosted one recently and I feel bad imposing on them.”

“Just not bad about imposing on the new girl.”

“Well, you’re new. You need friends, so you can’t hold a grudge against me.”

She laughed at that. “Point taken.”

There was silence. Then softly, Beth said, “Please.”

Skye sighed and stirred her tea. Time to talk Beth down from the ledge. “And you’ll help me plan everything? It’ll be a hands-free thing?”

“Yes! I will give you my outline down to the last detail. It’s really simple, I promise. Don’t panic.”

“That’s your job, right?” Skye asked.

“Exactly.” Beth’s voice was relieved, even upbeat now. “I’ll email you the plans I created. It has the food list, though you could make substitutions if you have a good cookie recipe or anything you might want to put out.”

Skye thought of her favorite stone ground crackers and soy veggie dip. Probably not a crowd favorite.

She hung up the phone a few minutes later, promising to call Beth later to confirm the plans. Beth, for her part, would take care of changing the invitation and informing everyone.

Letting her head drop to thunk against the fridge door, she beat it gently a few times. The stainless steel was cool against her skin, helping to douse the flush of nerves.

What the hell had she just agreed to? Showing up to an event was one thing. But inviting people into her home… it was like an invitation to judge everything she’d done wrong… in their eyes, anyway.
Here, please have this intimate peek into my life, and go ahead. Tell me where I’m lacking, Mrs. Blackwater.

Wandering around the house, mug of tea in hand, Skye took stock of the home that would be infiltrated with women in a few days. What would they think?

Tim’s home was clean, though not pristine. With a quick glance around the room, she realized the last part was basically her own fault. A small pile of magazines sat stacked on the coffee table. A pair of shoes sat to the side of the couch. A pile of clothes she’d started to fold but never finished lay in a heap on the armchair. Her incense and goddess statues cluttered the fireplace mantel.

And yet, Tim never said a word. Her fastidious husband never complained about the wreck she’d created. How unfair was that to him? The more she looked around the room with an objective eye, the more it looked like a Skye-bomb exploded.

Skye set the mug down on the coffee table, then had a second thought, grabbing a coaster from the end table before putting it down again. She rubbed her hands and went to work.

An hour later, Skye flopped down on the couch and surveyed her work. The place sparkled. Or at least, the mirrors and windows did. Everything was neatly tucked away, polished, or vacuumed. Even her incense had found a new home, upstairs in the guest bedroom.

A small sense of pride pushed her to take one step further. Before she could change her mind and give in to the physical desire for a nap, she grabbed her phone.

“Madison? Hey, when do you work today? Okay, if you get off in an hour, can you meet me at the mall? I have some shopping to do.”

Skye shut her phone with a snap. No lounging in bed today. She had some serious work still ahead of her, and a deadline looming.

***

Skye fingered the collar of a simple white button-down shirt. No ruffles, no color, no design. Absolutely nothing that set it apart from anything else in the store.

She grabbed two.

“I’m still not sure why you need to go this far out,” Madison called.

She turned around to find her sister-in-law-turned-pack-mule behind a pile of clothing. “Because it seems like these functions pop up all the time. These spouseish things. And what I’m learning is in situations like this, it’s easier to swim with the flow than fight upstream.” She turned and started to rifle through another rack of clothing. “Especially when the answer is as simple as an outfit.”

“But I like your clothing,” Madison complained. “It’s you. It’s who you are. It’s not scrubs!”

Skye laughed. “Scrubs are adorable on you. You’re a nurse, after all. What else would you wear? Thanks for meeting me here after your shift, by the way. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“You’re right.” Madison plopped down on a riser holding a few mannequins dressed in what Skye could only call Country Club Chic. “ER is definitely not my favorite rotation. But when someone says shopping, I heed the call.”

“That’s why I love you,” Skye called out an aisle away.

“Can I start a fitting room for you?” a sales associate asked Madison.

“Oh, thank you, God.” She dumped the pile of clothing in the capable woman’s arms and dusted her hands. “Skye, I’m no expert with shopping, obviously,” she started, fingering her light blue scrub shirt and smiling, “but aren’t you buying a few too many clothes for the purpose? To have something on hand for those rare spouse occasions? One or two things should do it. But the way you’re picking out clothes makes it look like you’re on
What
Not
to
Wear
. Are Stacy and Clinton going to pop out from behind some rack of clothing and scare the shit out of me?”

“I don’t want to leave anything to chance. I just need to have a few different options.” Skye battled back the feeling of defensiveness. Madison was being kind, because that was who she was. There was no way she’d put Tim in the position of having to defend her or be embarrassed by her. She wanted to be prepared for any occasion.

“I still think you’re overreacting. I bet a lot of people think you dress cool. And if they don’t, then screw them.” She held out a vibrant green and purple tank and thin sweater set. Skye shook her head.

It was so simple for Madison. Skye envied her that. “Easy for you to say. How hard do you have to think about what you put on before you go to work?” Skye grabbed an oatmeal-colored sweater and held back the shudder.

“Point taken,” she conceded. “But still. My brother likes you for you. Clearly. He married you.”

Skye turned and stared at Madison, one eyebrow raised. There wasn’t any need to point out the obvious out loud.
He
married
me
drunk
off
his
ass. He didn’t know if he liked me.

“Okay, well, I mean he’s
still
married to you. He would have left by now if he didn’t like you. Tim’s not one to surrender quickly, but he also knows when to cut his losses. They kind of drill that into their heads from the minute the ink’s dry on the commission paperwork.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. And it does make me feel better. But this is something I need to do.” For my marriage, she silently added and hauled a pile of shirts to the dressing room. She undressed and stared at the pile of colorless clothing on the bench. Screwing her eyes shut, she grabbed the first thing and pulled it on.
Okay. Time to open your eyes and look. Open. Open your eyes, Skye.

She cracked one lid and glanced in the mirror. The lumpy brown summer cardigan had no shape, no definition. The light, loose knit was woven into something resembling a swirling pattern over the front. It hung well past her hips. Okay. This could not be right.

“Come on, Skye. Do you have something on?”

“Um.” It was… something all right. Something horrid.

“Just come out so I can tell you it’s awful and we can move on.”

She stepped out of the dressing room to find Madison sprawled over a bench, shopping bags tucked under her feet. Her sister-in-law’s eyes widened almost comically, then she snickered.

“I’m sorry. Exactly what were you going for again? Crazy Cat Lady Chic?”

“Bite me.” Skye turned back into the dressing room and shut the door. Okay. Number one was a failure. But now that she looked at the sweater again, that’s because she just grabbed something at the end out of frustration. Time to try on something more normal. She slipped into a pair of black capris and one of the white button-down shirts. It wasn’t ugly. Turning around, she gave her butt a good once-over. At least it fit her. Braced for criticism, she stepped out.

Madison gave her a long look and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” After the stress of picking something out and trying to not look like someone’s shut-in aunt with too many felines, fine was no longer good enough. “Fine.”

“Yeah. It’s fine.” Unaware of Skye’s inner turmoil, Madison stretched and rolled her shoulders. “Don’t you wear something like that to work at Fletchers?”

She looked down, then in the three-way mirror at the end if the dressing room. “Oh my God. You’re right.”

Madison laughed again. “Trying too hard. Just pick out something you actually like.” She sobered a little. “You don’t really think my brother cares what you wear, do you?”

Skye glanced back at the pile of clothing and didn’t answer the question. “This might take a little longer than I thought. Do you mind?”

Madison sighed and sprawled across the bench, waving her hand toward the stall. “Shoo. Go find something. But you owe me ice cream after this.”

“Deal.”

***

Tim came home to a pristine living room. The floor was vacuumed, the tables were dusted, he couldn’t see a hint of clutter. It smelled cotton fresh, like laundry just out of the dryer. Even the couch throw pillows looked fluffed.

There was only one explanation.

Little elves had broken into the townhouse and cast some magical cleaning spell.

No, that wasn’t fair. She was more than capable of cleaning up the house. It just didn’t occur to her. Messes, a little clutter, disorganization never seemed to affect her like it did Tim. But then, Skye’s own mind seemed a tad cluttered at times, in the scatterbrained sort of way. It wasn’t laziness, just, well, Skyeness.

But at the same time, the sight of no cups or magazines or opened junk mail scattered around his home made him smile. Tim dropped onto the sofa and took stock of the clean room. She’d even polished the mirrors and glass on the entertainment center. It was amazing. Relaxing. Normal.

No. Not quite. Something was off. Tim couldn’t ignore the little voice in the back of his mind saying that something wasn’t right. He scanned the area, looking for things out of place. Something broken. Something missing.

Something missing. Skye.

Not the woman. The presence. Skye’s things were gone. It was always Skye’s junk mail and magazines cluttering the coffee table. Her mug of half-finished tea leaving a ring on the wood. Her clothes draped over various pieces of furniture. Her little stick things burning on the mantel.

It was all gone. As if all signs of her existence in his home, and his life, had evaporated. Someone walking in at this very minute wouldn’t have a clue he didn’t live alone. Where was she? Skye the woman, that was. It was her day off. He assumed she’d be lounging on the couch watching a movie when he came in, ready to snuggle until dinner.

“Skye?” he called, standing up and heading to the silent kitchen. No surprise, no Skye. He headed toward the stairs, listening for the run of water or a door closing. Something.