His 1-800 Wife (28 page)

She sat down on the closed toilet, taking long breaths until her heart calmed and her legs allowed her to stand.

They were married, Catherine thought. She picked up the card and read the quote one more time. Her reaction wasn't as violent the second time, but she felt the chords inside her pull tighter.

She took the card with her when she went down­stairs dressed in slacks and a long sweater. Jarrod was in the kitchen. The table was set for two. A large vase of flowers stood in the center of it. Pink, yellow and red roses, baby's breath and green leaves filled the glass container.

"Where did you find flowers at this time of the morning?"

Jarrod turned. "I didn't know you were up."

Catherine came around the center counter. She stood on the side near the stove, near Jarrod. She went directly into his arms and he kissed her.

"I think the bread's ready," she whispered when they parted.

Jarrod turned quickly and took the pan of rolls out of the oven. They were golden brown and perfect.

"What would you like to do today?" Jarrod asked the question when they were seated at the table. Catherine flushed. She slid the card across the table with all its meaning in tact.

The next two days were idyllic. They spent time watching the rain, lying in front of the fire, walking in the woods and along the path to the small town of Standish. They talked for hours, held each other without speaking for hours and made love like honeymooners.

This had been their honeymoon, Catherine thought when they were back in the Newport house. It wasn't the planned time after the wedding, where nervousness was part of the package, but the close time where they got to know each other, when they talked and ate, made passionate love, spent hours watching each other sleep and, in her case, received love notes from her
husband.

She had used the word many times before. She'd heard other people refer to Jarrod as her husband. She had referred to him using the same word, but she'd never thought of it having a meaning, a connec­tion, a bond that identified them as a couple.

Catherine never expected to be part of a couple, a wife. She felt differently now. Jarrod was changing her, making her think differently, feel differently.

Stopping in the middle of her bedroom, a shudder ran through her. She turned fully around, checking every corner, every shadow of the room, making sure it was still her room, that she, like all wives, had not been lost somewhere within the lace curtains and chintz comforter.

***

The same cold wind that had Jarrod and Catherine wrapped in each other's arms in Maine swept down onto Rhode Island and seemed to drive a wedge between them. Jarrod sat on the stone wall, looking out on the Atlantic. He'd come here a lot lately. Why, he didn't know. It was Catherine's spot, where she came to be alone and think through her problems. Maybe he thought he'd meet her here one day and find out what had happened, but in the two weeks since they'd returned from the stone house he was at a loss to understand what was going on.

There was nothing he could put his finger on; they still talked, still made love, but the closeness they'd achieved had been left in the stone house in Maine. He'd asked Catherine if anything was bothering her, and she said there was nothing, but he could feel the change. He thought they were growing closer, that the dates were achiev­ing his purpose, but now he wasn't sure.

Was it just a case of them getting used to each other, adjusting to routine and waiting for time to pass? It was already Halloween, and he felt he wouldn't be any closer to convincing her to stay mar­ried to him in February than he was now.

Maybe it was his confession.
I love you
had burst from him on a storm of surprise. Catherine couldn't have been more shocked than he was when he'd told her. How often had his heart tried to tell him the truth and he'd ignored it? The storm raged that day, drowning out all other sound, making it possible for him to hear what his heart had been telling him for years.

Jarrod faced the ocean. It was dark and gray, stretch­ing to the sky, which was streaked with shades of gray, blue and white. He listened to the sea, wanting it to institute a dialogue with him, offer him its secrets, gossip, even lecture him, as long as it told him every­thing it knew about his wife.

"Jarrod, what are you doing here?" Robert Wells hunched his shoulders against the ocean spray. "It's freezing out here."

Jarrod looked surprised to see his friend.

"I saw the Jeep," Robert explained.

Jarrod had picked up the Jeep from Robert's dealership the day after he returned to the United States. While those around him went for the classic cars or the latest models, he preferred the Jeep. And it served him well in his business.

"So what's wrong? Don't tell me there's trouble at home. You two are my ideal couple."

Jarrod knew his friend could be trusted. Most peo­ple thought of Robert as talkative and unable to keep a secret, while Jarrod knew he could tell him anything and it would remain with him and go no further. But he hadn't told him about Catherine. Maybe Cather­ine wasn't hiding anything when she said there really was nothing wrong. Maybe it was all in his imagina­tion.

"Just working out some kinks," he finally said.

"You might have picked a warmer day for it." Rob­ert sat down on the Rhode Island rock next to his friend. The most prevalent building material in New England was stone. Consequently, many of the eigh­teenth and nineteenth century builders used it to construct homes and factories. Throughout the area, stone houses and fences stood as they had for over two hundred years.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Robert asked. "I've always known there was something strange about your quick marriage, but I didn't know what. Catherine isn't pregnant, is she?"

Jarrod shook his head. "She's not pregnant." The question returned his mind to the spot several feet from where they sat, where she'd followed him after he accused her of keeping it a secret that she might be carrying his child and the devastating disclosure that he was in love with her during their storm-whirling lovemaking.

"Then what?" Robert prompted.

Jarrod took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I'm her 1-800-HUSBAND."

For a second his words didn't register. Then Robert gasped. "Her what?"

"Her 1-800-HUSBAND," he repeated.

"Catherine owns that number?" Robert was clearly amazed.

"Owned," Jerrod corrected.

I should have guessed. It's exactly like some­thing she would do, and I'll bet I could tell you why. It's so obvious, it's almost transparent." The smile that had been on his face disappeared. "I must be getting old, not to have known, and Elizabeth. . ." He stopped.

"Elizabeth knows," Jarrod said.

"She never said a word," Robert muttered.

Jarrod thought he was talking to himself.

"Other than Catherine and me, you two are the only ones who know."

Robert sobered. "So what is going wrong with the plan? Is it her falling in love with you or you falling in love with her?"

Jarrod stared at him. Robert was perceptive, and his job was reading people's emotions, but Jarrod didn't believe he could hit the mark on the first try.

"Don't look so surprised," Robert said. "I've known for years. I was wondering why you didn't figure it out."

"You've known what for years?"

"How you and Catherine feel about each other. At least how you feel."

Even with his best friend, a man he'd trust with his life, Jarrod still felt his defenses rise. "And how is that?"

Robert turned on the wall to face him fully. "All right, I'll spell it out. Her first date; you scrutinized the pimple-faced young man until he was so uncom­fortable I thought he was going to throw up."

"I did not."

Robert ignored him. "When she swam in the lighted pool at night, who stood in his bedroom win­dow watching her?"

"She was alone. I wanted to make sure she had a lifeguard in case she got a cramp or something."

Robert threw him a look that said he didn't believe that for a moment.

"Do you want me to go on?"

"No," he said. "Even though I have perfectly logi­cal explanations for everything you can bring up, the truth is, I am in love with her."

“Then I gather she does not return your affection.''

Jarrod honestly didn't know. He would swear on his life that she did when they were making love, but when they weren't he didn't know how to read her signals.

"I don't know," he answered.

"Have you asked her?"

"Not point-blank."

"Why don't you? If you catch her off guard she's bound to show it in the way she reacts."

Jarrod was quiet for a moment. The sea rolled in and the gulls cawed overhead. "If I ask the question," he began, "I have to be prepared for the answer. And I don't know if I'm ready to hear it yet."

Robert nodded in agreement. It was one thing to wish and hope, but they both knew people often acted one way and thought another. He had stood watching Catherine swim. She was alone in the pool and he'd had lifeguard training. If she got into trouble, he would be there to help, but he also liked watching her move. And he didn't think anyone had ever seen him looking.

Together they walked back toward their cars. "I'll see you at Elizabeth's tonight?" Robert asked.

"I'm going home to dress now."

Jarrod heard the soft tone he used when he said Elizabeth's name. It was the second time he'd noticed it. Had it always been there and he not known it before? There was more going on with his friend than he had told him. Jarrod had his secrets too, things he couldn't, wouldn't talk to Robert about. It appeared the same thing was true of Robert.

"See you there," Robert said in farewell.

Jarrod got in the Jeep and headed home. Elizabeth Wakefield's masquerade ball was tonight, Halloween. While the children of Newport traipsed from house to house, calling "Trick or treat," the adults dressed and played similar games. The entire town would be at Elizabeth's.

It didn't take Jarrod long to shower and dress. Cath­erine waited for him in the living room.

"Ready?" Jarrod asked, coming into the room.

Catherine was looking through the windows into the dark. She couldn't see anything. Jarrod wondered what she was thinking.

"You look wonderful." She smiled. He remem­bered her telling him that he was beautiful when they were standing on the grass in the rain, naked and about to make love.

"You're going to be the most beautiful woman there," he said. "In fact, I think we should stay home."

Catherine walked up to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "If Elizabeth wasn't my best friend, you'd have a date," she teased.

For a moment, he thought of the old Catherine, the one he'd been with two weeks ago. He looked into her eyes and thought he saw something there, something that scared him. He thought about what Robert had said. He wanted to ask her the question, but the thread between them was too fragile. A sud­den move could break it.

"Catherine, I know something is bothering you. Please tell me what it is."

She stared at him closely. There was concern in her eyes. "There is something," she admitted. "We'll talk about it tonight when we get back. It's time to go now."

She started to move past him. Jarrod tightened his grip. Catherine looked up at him. "You're going to have to fix your lipstick," he told her.

"Wha—"

She never finished the sentence. He cut her words off with his mouth. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. His arms went around her waist and he pulled her into his body. Catherine's arms hugged him and she returned his kiss with the power and need he gave her.

The old Catherine was back.

Chapter 13

Traditions, once begun, are hard to forget or forgo. No one remembers the first October Masquerade Bash given at the Westfields', but Elizabeth was obliged to repeat it annually on Halloween with a flair that outdid the previous ball and anything Audrey could put together. Rivalry also abounded in the small community that might account for the tradition. No matter its origin, it was an event not to be missed. Some people spent the entire year determining what to wear and who they planned to come as. The costumes were lavish, and the
decora­tions tastefully covered the entire house with spectac­ular arrangements of black and orange.

Catherine was dressed as Nefertiti in her Queen of the Nile regalia. She wore a huge black wig with the traditional flat crown and eyeliner extending back to her hairline. Her dress was a slippery gold that poured like water when she moved. Jarrod chose to wear only a mask and the colorful robes of King Akhenaton, Nefertiti's husband. The mask was trimmed in satin and he discarded it before they got out of the car. He looked like a king, powerful, tall and commanding.

Catherine slipped her arm through Jarrod's as they ascended the three wide steps leading to the col­umned entrance of Elizabeth Westfield's family home. The sand-colored stone was bathed in a light that could be seen as far back as the entry gate.