Marrying Mr. English:The English Brothers #7(26)

"Father."

"Have you come to your senses?"

Tom flinched, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath to swallow  the words he wanted to say, Fuck you, sir holding a place of pride at  the top of the list.

"If you're asking if I'm still married, I am."

"Tom, be reasonable."

"I just wanted to give you my address."

"We could talk to your grandfather together. We could-"

"If any scenario you have in mind includes me annulling my marriage or divorcing my wife, then we have nothing to discuss."

His father was silent.

"We are living at 33 Stony Brook Road in Weston, Connecticut, near-"

"Kinsey," said his father. "What the hell are you doing all the way up there?"

"I got a job," said Tom, "at Kinsey. Teaching English."

"Teaching!"

"Yes."

"Teaching kids English?"

This time, Tom was silent.

"Well, thanks so much, Thomas. We'll be the laughingstock of the club  when everyone finds out. First you marry some anonymous little slut from  Denver, and then you-"

"Shut. Your. Mouth!" bellowed Tom, his spittle covering the mouthpiece  of the phone. "You will not-I repeat, sir-you will not speak about my  wife in that manner. I know well your contempt for marriage, as  evidenced by your three discarded wives. But you will not talk about  mine without respect."

"You're digging a deep grave, Tom," said his father sadly. "Your  grandfather regrets how things were left between you. He missed you at  Christmas. He's pliant now. If you'd just-"

"I love her," said Tom quietly, owning the words with every breath he drew, every beat of his heart. "I won't give her up."

"Then there's nothing more to say." His father sighed. "Happy New Year, Tom."

"And to you, Father. Good-bye."

He hung up the phone quickly, still shaking from his fury, the words  anonymous little slut making him see red. All he wanted after that was  to leave the library and race home to her, hold her in his arms, smell  her wonderful maple syrup smell, and reaffirm that the sort of love he  bore her was the kind that would continue to grow and last a lifetime.

Instead, he was walking home through two-foot snowdrifts.

As their little house finally came into sight after a ninety-minute  walk, Tom noticed that the house didn't look bright and cheery, but dark  and quiet. The front light, which Eleanora always left on, was off.

He pushed his key in the lock and turned the knob, stepping into the living room.

"Eleanora?" he called.

It didn't smell like eggs and hash browns or pancakes and bacon. It  didn't smell like anything at all. And though he'd expected Eleanora to  race to the door and greet him, his wife was nowhere to be found.

He peeked into the kitchen, flicking on the light. She wasn't there,  though there was a foil-covered plate on the table with a taped note on  top that read "Dinner."

"Eleanora?" he called again, walking up the stairs to their bedroom on the second floor.

Pushing open the bedroom door, he found the room lit up with the ambient  light from the black-and-white, secondhand TV on the dresser. Eleanora  sat up in bed, under the covers, staring at the TV.

Tom sat down on the bed beside her. "Hey, baby. Car wouldn't start, huh?"

She didn't look at him, just cleared her throat like he wasn't there and continued to stare at the news.

Tom flinched. "Eleanora?"

"Your dinner's on the table," she said, her voice dull and cold.

He reached for her face, turning her head gently to face him. Even in  the dim light, he could tell that her eyes were puffy and sad.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Baby, you're scaring me."

She jerked her head away, looking back at the TV.

Tom swung his legs up on the bed and scooted closer to her. "Eleanora, talk to me!"

"You want to talk? Okay. Let's talk." Her voice was furious-more angry  than he'd ever heard it. It lashed his ears like an ice-cold wind. "I  saw her. I saw that woman with you at the library this morning. I gather  she's someone you've known for a while. I know you're supposed to see  her tomorrow. I know that we only got married out of convenience and  you're staying with me out of some misguided sense of honor, but you  don't have to do that, Tom! You can go and . . . go and . . ." Her voice  broke as it was enveloped in sobs and her shoulders shook from the  force of her weeping.                       
       
           



       

Without asking her permission, he whipped the covers down, picked her up  in his arms and deposited her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her  and holding her as hard as he could without crushing her. He dropped his  lips to her sweet-smelling hair over and over again, kissing her as she  sobbed, as she let go of all the ugliness she'd been holding on to all  day.

Apparently, she'd seen him talking to Charity this morning.

And gotten the wrong idea.

"I do want to talk," he said gently, rubbing her back. "When you're ready to listen."

"I . . . I know I'm y-young and I'm not very c-cultured. B-but I would've tried my b-best to make you h-h-happy, Tom."

"You do make me happy, sunshine."

"Then why . . .?" she sobbed, dropping her forehead on his shoulder, but trying to push him away at the same time.

He held on tightly to her. "Whenever you're ready to listen . . .," he said again.

She took a jagged, sobby breath and stopped fighting him, letting her  body go slack against his. And he held her, resting his lips against her  hair as his hands made lazy strokes up and down her back.

"F-fine," she said. "Talk."

"You saw me talking to Charity Gordon, who is Dean Gordon's daughter and whom I've known since I was a student at Kinsey."

She took a deep, ragged breath and sighed. "S-skinny-dipping?"

He forced himself not to laugh. "Her, not me. She was skinny-dipping  with a couple of guys from our class. Van and I stole their clothes. End  of story."

"So she . . . she never saw you naked?"

"Nope," said Tom, gentling his hold on her.

She squared her shoulders.

"Why are you seeing her tomorrow?" she asked, her voice accusatory.

"Because you and I were invited for dinner at the dean's house on New  Year's Day, and I forgot to mention it to you. I see your face every  evening, and I get so distracted. It slipped my mind."

She leaned back and looked at him, searching his face with puffy, red, watery eyes. "D-dinner? With the d-dean?"

Suddenly, she launched herself back into his arms, shuddering with the  force of her tears, and Tom was so confused, he was almost alarmed.

"Baby? Why are you crying? There's nothing between me and Charity.  Eleanora, I swear to you, there never was, but there definitely isn't  now. I'm in love with you. I'm in love with my wife. I can't even  imagine wanting to be with another woman. Sunshine, you have to believe  me. You're everything to me."

"And you're everything to me," she mumbled against his shirt, which was wet from her tears. "I love you so much, Tom."

"Then please tell me why you're still upset. There's nothing going on  between me and Charity. You and I love each other. It's okay, right?"

She shook her head and said "No" in a very small voice.

"Look at me, baby." She leaned back, and he tipped her chin up. "Why isn't it okay?"

"Because I lied to you. There's nothing wrong with the car," she said, looking guilty and sniffling at the same time.

"You made me walk home because you were mad?"

She nodded.

He took a beat to think this over. It kind of sucked that she hadn't  given him the benefit of the doubt, but the reality was that they'd  hadn't known each other that long. Trust was something that still needed  to be built between them.

"Try to trust me next time?"

She nodded.

"Good, because it was a cold walk."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"We okay now?"

"Mm-hm," she said.

"Smile for me," he said, leaning forward to brush her lips with his. "There's no one for me but you. Don't you know that?"

"I do now," she said.

He slipped off the bed, taking off his jacket and hanging it up before  looking back down at her. "So, what's for dinner? I saw it on the table  downstairs. I was thinking you might have made your breakfast casserole  special since it's New Year's Eve."

She winced, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth.

"Oh no," she groaned.

"What?"

"Remember this morning? The, uh, the Paul Newman quote? The one you told  me?" she asked, looking downright sheepish before dropping his eyes.

He nodded, sitting down on the bed beside her, not sure where she was going.

"Yeah."

"Dinner is . . . hamburger," she said softly, staring down at her lap.  Then, lifting her chin, she met his eyes and added, "A big plate of raw  hamburger."