Rock Wedding(47)

Abe placed one big hand on her leg, the touch one of comfort rather than sexual. She knew she should push him away, but she closed her hand over the warmth of his. She needed comfort today, needed to hang on to something or someone lest she shatter.

“We could watch a movie,” Abe suggested.

“No, I need to do something or I’ll lose my mind.” She rubbed her face. “I’m going to clean my house from top to bottom.” It would keep her hands and legs busy, hopefully distract her brain.

“I’ll help.”

“There’s no need.” She had to grit her teeth to make herself break the connection between them, gently nudging his hand back to his side of the vehicle. “I’ll call soon as the doctor gets in touch.”

“I’ll go nuts waiting on my own.” Abe shot her a look that hid none of his own tension, and she remembered there were two of them in this.

“And,” he added, “I bet you never shift all the furniture to clean underneath because some of it’s too heavy.”

The chambers of her heart seemed to fill with nails, sharp and painful, at the same time that stubborn flickers of hope whispered awake inside her. She tried to shove them aside, the pain and the hope both. “I’ll make you vacuum.”

“I can take it.”

Sarah wasn’t sure she could.

Having Abe home, the two of them doing a domestic chore together, had been one of her stupid daydreams during their marriage. Instead of dreaming about going to big, glamorous events as his date or experiencing exotic vacations by his side, she’d dreamed small, domestic dreams.

And today, when she was at her most vulnerable, her most defenseless, one of those dreams was going to come true.





CHAPTER 18



TWO HOURS LATER, Abe felt like he’d moved every piece of furniture in Sarah’s home. His arms ached, but the ache was a glorious one. In spite of her threat, she hadn’t actually made him vacuum, but she had made him pick up and individually dust each of her books as well as her bookshelves. Sarah had a lot of bookshelves.

She, meanwhile, had changed into shorts and a tee and vacuumed with a vengeance.

When he saw her getting ready to spray some cleaning liquid on her already squeaky clean bathroom tiles, he grabbed the bottle. “Wait a minute. This type of stuff has all kinds of chemicals in it.” He scowled at the laundry list of impossible-to-pronounce ingredients. “I don’t think you should use this. Just in case.”

Leaning slightly against him, Sarah looked down at the bottle with a worried eye. “Do you really think so?”

“Go. I’ll do it.”

When her face dropped, his wife obviously lost with nothing to occupy her, he said, “How about you make those egg-and-spinach things for lunch? I’ve got a craving for them.”

Her eyes lit up. “I think I have everything I need to whip up a batch.”


REFUSING TO NEUROTICALLY CHECK THE PHONE in her pocket for missed calls, Sarah concentrated on cooking the frittatas. They weren’t difficult to make, but she took precise care with every one of the steps, from blanching the spinach, to setting the oven to exactly the right temperature.

When Abe came into the kitchen a half hour later, having stowed the cleaning supplies and washed up, she pointed to the table where she’d just put a jug of fresh lemonade and a glass. “Thanks for doing that.”

Abe shrugged and poured himself a glass of the cold, refreshing drink. “It was pretty easy since you’re so hyperclean anyway.”

Sarah knew she was a bit OCD on the cleaning front, but when you’d spent time on the streets, cleanliness took on a whole new importance. At least she’d channeled her tendencies into a successful business. “What time is it?” It just slipped out.

“Just past noon.” Putting down his glass after finishing his lemonade in one go, Abe hummed a tune. “Tell me what you think of this.”

Butterflies erupted inside her at the slow, bluesy sound of his voice. Abe rarely sang on Schoolboy Choir albums, but she’d always loved listening to him when he mucked around at home. The sound sank into her bones, the lyrics wrapping around her, a man speaking of dreams that shatter under the weight of harsh reality.

“It’s sad,” she said after he finished. “But… it gets you right here.” She touched her fingers to her heart. “Did you write it?”

Abe shook his head. “David—in his pre-Thea period, when he thought he’d never have a shot with her. He and the others want me to be lead vocals on it.”

A smile took over Sarah’s face, her obsession with the phone pushed aside for the moment. “That’s wonderful.”