The Good Wife(116)

“That was fun,” he’d said as they drove home Thursday afternoon, holding her hand as he steered with his left, comfortable with the tight curves on Highway 17 in his big black SUV. He didn’t drive the mountain pass often but he was a good driver, and he loved this car. Loved his big cars . . .

And just like that, Sarah found herself thinking of that woman he’d hooked up with. He’d had a big SUV then, too. And they’d done it in the car . . .

Sarah had pulled her hand free from Boone’s and put it to her mouth, suddenly sick.

Why had she thought of that? She hated remembering! Stupid brain. Stupid thought process. If only she could just take a pill and forget . . . forget all the bad stuff . . .

“Carsick?” Boone had asked, slowing down and moving to the right lane. Ever since they’d had Brennan, Sarah had been motion sensitive. “I can pull over.”

“I’m all right,” she’d answered, taking a quick breath and sitting taller as the tall evergreens whizzed past them on the side of the road.

“Don’t look around. Stare straight ahead,” he’d said, shooting her another concerned glance. “We’ll be out of this soon.”

“It’s all right, babe.” She’d swallowed, trying to push away the bad memories and reclaim the good. She pictured the beach house and the buttermilk pancakes she’d made that morning. Pictured them eating pizza on the beach last night. Pictured all four of them yesterday working so hard to decorate Ella’s sand castle with broken shells, sea glass, and pebbles. She tried to feel the bright, hot sun and smell the tang of salt and hear the cry of seagulls over the crashing waves . . .

It’s what Mom had always done. Remember the positives, focus on the positives, and almost always, the positives outweighed the bad.

And in Sarah’s case, it was true. She loved her family and she wasn’t going to let something that had happened three years ago destroy their happiness now

Sarah tore open an envelope from the electric company, glanced at the bill, pleased to see it was less than what they’d spent in Florida with all their air-conditioning. They used air conditioners here, but not as much, and that might be the only good thing about their rental house.

It was just so ugly on the inside.

She’d known the décor was tired when she’d previewed it, but now, living in it, she found it hard to like it. Virtually every room needed a makeover.

The owners were still hoping the Walkers would buy the place.

Not a chance.

* * *

Sunday morning, Lauren’s alarm went off at four. She opened her eyes with difficulty, not wanting to wake up so early anymore. Not wanting to work her weird hours.

It’d be nice to have a normal job . . . eight to five, or something like that. It’d be nice to be free every evening and hang out with Chris . . .

Not that Chris was free every evening.

Not that Chris was ever free evenings.

Not that Chris was even home. In fact, he’d been gone all weekend, in Minneapolis for a series against the Twins. And before that, he’d been in Kansas City for the All-Star Game. He’d played well, too, and he’d texted her after the game saying that next year he was bringing her with him.

Next year.

She hadn’t known what to think when she read the message, but later, after the shock wore off, she liked it. Liked it a lot.

Liked him a lot. And he was good about texting and calling and he’d made her install Skype on her phone, but she hadn’t installed it right, so he promised to look at it when he returned.

Then he sent her flowers, masses of red roses, to the café, with a card saying he didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten her.

She’d laughed and tucked the card into her apron and had later scolded him for the extravagance, but secretly, she loved the flowers.

She’d never received flowers before . . . at least, not like this. Lush, romantic, long-stemmed roses. Dozens of them. It was a statement, Bette had said.

Lauren didn’t think she cared about roses or statements, but they mattered. Because he was making her feel as if she mattered. And it was doing something to her heart, making it skip . . . making it smile . . .

She’d forgotten hearts could smile.

Lauren stepped into the shower, turned the water on cold to stop thinking about Chris. They’d had dates, lots of them, and she’d stayed at his place, and they’d made out, a lot, but hadn’t gone all the way. Come close a couple of times. And she’d come many times. But then, how could she not when Chris knew just what to do with his hands and tongue?

She was ready to do more.

Ready to make love.

And that’s why they’d waited. Chris didn’t want to have sex with her. He wanted it to be more than intercourse, wanted to be sure it felt right, not just in her body but in her heart and head.