The Darkest Hour(50)

She walked into the dark living room and stared fearfully at the  bookshelves. How on earth was she supposed to know where, between what  books? She had six bookcases and more books than she could shake a stick  at.

She switched on the lamp at the desk and then stared at the books. She  closed her eyes and tried to recall the dream. He was standing between  two and in front of one, so the one in the middle. Which side?

Encyclopedias. Shoulder level for him so a bit taller for her.

She crossed the room and rose up on tiptoe to pull out one of the  encyclopedias. Surprise, surprise, nothing there. She went down the row,  feeling more like an idiot with each volume she pulled out.                       
       
           



       

She was ready to give up when she got to the third from the last and a  set of folded papers fell onto the floor when she yanked the book out.

Her heart plummeted and she stared down at then like they were some hideous creature about to take her leg off.

Carefully, she reshelved the encyclopedia and stepped back, still  staring down. Squatting down, she picked up the papers and walked back  over to the desk so she could see in the lamplight.

She unfolded the papers, and at first couldn't make sense of what they  were. They were legal documents, that much she knew. It wasn't until  she'd read the first page three times that it sunk in.

Shock hit her with the force of a speeding train. Divorce. Ethan had filed for divorce.

She put one hand over her stomach as nausea bubbled and boiled deep in her belly. Oh God.

She closed her eyes as bits and pieces of that awful day came back to  her. So much of it was still fuzzy, but she couldn't get Ethan's furious  face out of her head.

He hated her. He wanted out of their marriage. God, some of the things he accused her of.

Her hand flew to her mouth. He'd accused her of having an affair with Garrett. Was any of it true? God, she couldn't remember!

She sank into the chair at the desk and buried her face in her hands as  more of that day bombarded her. Ethan said he was tired of living this  way. He hadn't wanted her to go on her mercy mission to South America.  He'd told her there was plenty to fix right here at home so why was she  going off to some shithole on some do-gooder mission?

It was more than that. His kind of unhappiness didn't happen overnight,  and she could remember her own misery, the feeling that no matter what  she did, she'd never make it right. That there was no hope for their  marriage. And yet it destroyed her when he pulled out those papers.

He hated her. He didn't love her anymore. And then she'd died. Had he been glad? Why the big farce now? Did he feel guilty?

His family didn't know. The thought popped into her head. She remembered  how trapped she felt because she didn't feel like she could go to his  family; she'd die before allowing them to know the extent of her marital  problems. Ethan wouldn't have gone to them either, so they wouldn't  have known how awful things were.

Oh God, so was that why he was now acting like she was the love of his life? Why? God, why?

There was too much she didn't know, that she needed to know. She had to  get out of this house before she screamed the walls down.

Garrett. He'd always been there for her. Always. But had they betrayed  Ethan? No. It wasn't possible. She'd loved Ethan. Had been devastated  when he asked for a divorce-no, demanded a divorce.

But Garrett would know. He'd have some of the answers. The time for her  to be silent and keep everything to herself was over. She had no one  else. Only Ethan, and now she knew she didn't even have him.

She choked back a sob as she got up. Garrett had left keys to his truck  on the kitchen table. Sam had come to pick him up so she and Ethan would  have transportation until they replaced Ethan's truck.

It was impossibly dark outside when she hurried out to Garrett's truck.  She hadn't bothered to check the time, and now as she drove toward the  same bridge she'd nearly gone off of earlier, panic gripped her.

Her palms were slick with sweat, and her breathing was so shallow she  felt light-headed. As she approached, she slowed and almost pulled over  to the side. She had a cell phone. Garrett's number was programmed. He  could come get her.

With a snarl of disgust, she stepped on the accelerator and barreled  over the bridge. She kept to the far inside lane and didn't spare a  glance at all the police tape and the barricades erected around the  gaping hole.

"No one can save you now but you," she chanted to herself. Maybe if she said it often enough it would sink in.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into the gravel drive of Sam's lake house  and parked Garrett's truck beside Sam's. With Donovan taking off so  late-or early-they probably hadn't gotten much sleep-if any-and now she  was barging in.

She searched her tattered memories for some idea that she was mistaken  about her relationship with Garrett, but all she could come up with was  the sense of a close friendship.

At the door, she hesitated and spent several long seconds working up her  courage. She rubbed damp palms down her sweatpants and mentally chided  herself for being such a wimp.

With shaking hands, she knocked and then rolled her eyes. Like they'd  hear that? She pressed the doorbell several times instead and waited,  anxiety eating a hole in her stomach.

The door yanked open, and she instinctively took a step back as she  stared warily at Sam. He wore gym shorts, no shirt, and he had a scowl  that made her swallow.                       
       
           



       

The scowl disappeared when he stared back at her. Worry instantly  replaced his irritation, and he too took a step back as if to not seem  more threatening.

"Rachel? Honey, is everything okay?"

She would not cry. Would. Not. Cry. She made painful facial contortions to maintain her composure as she stared back at him.

"I need to see Garrett," she said haltingly.

Sam opened the door wider then reached for her arm. "I'll get him. Come  in and have a seat. Where's Ethan? Is there something wrong?"

Again the threat of tears nearly undid her. She expelled her breath in  halting jerks, and she bit into her bottom lip as she followed him  inside.

"Ethan is at home," she said softly. "He's fine."

Sam's sharp gaze flickered over her, and it was obvious he didn't miss  that she'd left herself out of the "okay" equation. He motioned for her  to sit on the couch, but she couldn't. She'd go crazy.

He left the room, and just a few moments later, Garrett came barreling  into the living room, his hair mussed, concern creasing his forehead.  Sam followed behind now wearing a shirt and a pair of jeans.

No longer able to control the tide of emotion, she launched herself at  Garrett and buried her face in his chest. Tears seeped into his shirt  and she held on as all the anguish she'd tried so hard to keep in  spilled out.

"Hey, what's wrong, sweet pea?"

He wrapped his arms around her and held her as he stroked a hand through  her hair. After his first question, he didn't say anything. He just  waited as she wept all over him.

When she finally got control of herself and the sobbing had been reduced  to sniffles, he carefully pulled her away and tilted her chin up so she  looked at him.

"What's wrong, Rachel? Can you sit down and tell me about it? Where the hell is Ethan?"

At Ethan's name, she closed her eyes and blinked back more tears.

"Ah shit," Sam muttered from behind them. "Tell me that bonehead hasn't done something stupid."

She let Garrett guide her over to the couch and sit her down. He settled  beside her, perched on the edge and turned in her direction. She  gripped his hands, afraid to let go, afraid that she'd break down again  and she'd never get any of her questions answered.

"Do you want something to drink?" Garrett asked.

She shook her head and licked her lips, wondering how on earth she was  going to broach this subject with him. She took a deep breath and raised  her gaze to meet Garrett's.

"I need to ask you something," she asked painfully. "I need the truth."

He brushed his hand over her cheek and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Anything."

She swallowed and then put it out there. "Did we-did you and I-ever have an . . . affair?"

Garrett's eyes went wide with shock. Sam made an exclamation, but she  focused solely on Garrett. If his reaction was any indication, she was  way, way off base, and now she felt like the worst sort of idiot.

"God no," he exclaimed. "Why on earth would you ask a question like  that? Sweet pea, tell me you haven't been torturing yourself thinking  that you betrayed Ethan or that we betrayed him. Hell. You haven't, have  you?"

"He thought we did," she whispered.

"Who?"

"Ethan."

Garrett's mouth dropped open. He and Sam exchanged bewildered looks. Sam flopped onto the recliner catty-corner to the couch.