Just to See You Smile (25 page)

Joel opened his eyes to the grainy light of early morning. In spite of the confines of the recliner and his stiff body, he didn't move. Just a few feet away, in his direct line of vision, lay Britte. She was on the couch, fast asleep, huddled under a huge quilt, her wavy blonde hair spread over a pillow.

He felt like a kid on summer break. Anticipation crackled in the air. No school, his mom cooking bacon and eggs, his dad coming home early to take him to a Cubs game.

No. It was beyond even that. It was every moment he'd ever experienced of pure…Contentment? Bliss? Delight? Joy? All rolled into one.

Remarkable.

Maybe he'd stay in the chair awhile. Try to imagine what he was going to feel when she opened those amazing eyes.

Or when he kissed her again.

Yes. He would most definitely be kissing her again.

Britte awoke to the sound of Joel in the kitchen. Sunlight was streaming in through the draperies. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and took stock of the situation. It was after nine. Her head protested at the thought of scurrying about to make it to church on time. Her conscience prickled at the thought that a man was in her kitchen making—she
smelled it now—coffee. And that his car had been parked in front of her house since around midnight.

It shouldn't prickle. It wasn't as if anything immoral was going on. Even if she had kissed him goodnight. Even if they had slept in the same room.

What would her mother say?

Britte kicked off the quilt and shuffled through the dining room and into the kitchen. At the sight of Joel Kingsley peering inside her refrigerator, she knew the root of the prickle.

She
liked
the whole scenario!

Nuts. She never should have tasted that tap water.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

He turned and smiled. “Morning.” There were dark halfmoons beneath his eyes.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Better, thanks. Mind if I cook breakfast?”

“Go for it.”
Oh my gosh. He cooks.

“Do you like eggs?” He was kneeling in front of the fridge. “Sautéed veggies? Cheese?”

“I have all that?”

“I think I can rescue enough for us.” He held up a hair-sprouting carrot and a chunk of unrecognizable fuzz. “Biology experiments?”

“Basketball season.” She went to the coffeepot and bumped into him. “Sorry.”

He took her by the shoulders and pointed her toward the table. “Go sit down. I'll wait on you. I thought you were a morning person.”

“Not after a night like last night. Isn't the coffee ready yet?”

“Just a couple more minutes. Mind if I turn on the radio?”

“You can stop asking if I mind.”

He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned.

The only thing I mind is that this situation is unnerving me.
“Joel, I, um, don't know, uh—” She cleared her throat. “The point is, I've never had male company in my kitchen for
breakfast
.”

He turned and leaned against the counter, studying her face now. “Somehow I knew that. Look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just thought since I was already here, maybe we could spend a little coherent time together. You know, last night when I was pounding on all of your windows, not one neighbor noticed. But if you prefer, I'll leave now.”

She shook her head. “I just wanted you to know.”

He smiled.

“Okay.” She stood. “I'm going to wash my face.”

In the bathroom she surveyed her own eye baggage. Her sweats were rumpled, her hair a tangled mess. Not a pretty sight. She brushed her hair, twisted it up, and stuck a banana clip on it.

Back in the kitchen and seated at the table, she sipped coffee and watched him work. He seemed completely at home opening drawers and cupboards, effortlessly finding pans and utensils, humming to the hymns playing on the radio, turning on the stove. The scents grew more fragrant by the moment. Butter, garlic, vegetables, herbs, spices. Her stomach was growling by the time he sat down across the table from her.

“Wow!” she exclaimed after her first bite. “This is fantastic.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank
you
.”
Maybe you should come by more often and cook and…and whatever.
“Do you always cook like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like just whip up whatever and have it taste so yummy?”

“You don't have to flatter me. I already gave you a good review.”

She heard that brass band in the distance, as if it were warming up in the deep recesses of her chest. “I was trying to ignore the fact that my overnight guest is also my boss.”

“Forget I said that. It's in the spices. And I enjoy cooking.”

“I detest cooking.”

“You know what they say about opposites attracting.” He smiled.

The smile did it. That slow, rare smile that lit up his eyes even this morning in their haggard state. Britte felt a stab of loneliness. “Are we attracted?”

“I thought we had established that at Christmas. I know. I have a strange way of showing it.”

“Extremely strange way. We go from Christmas to barely speaking to last night.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to play games or lead you on. The simple explanation is that I haven't felt for a long time.”

“Haven't felt what?”

He blinked and fiddled with his fork. “Anything.”

She thought of his stoic, general's demeanor. Of his no-nonsense attitude with the students. His ruthless pursuit of enforcing new policies. His rare smile.

“Things…happened when I was in the service. I basically just shut down years ago. It was how I survived. And then you came along.” He connected with her eyes again. “Somehow you sneaked in through the back door when I wasn't looking. I was going along, minding my own business. The next thing I know, I'm in the jeweler's, buying a necklace for the math teacher.”

“Joel, you can't tell me you haven't been attracted to women.”

“That's a totally different thing, unrelated to emotions.”

“That can't be a totally different— What?”

He was smiling again. “You're such a princess, up in your ivory tower, protected from the world out there where physical attraction happens and it's totally detached from the heart. It's one of the most appealing things about you.”

“I am
not
a princess! I'm just a girl from Podunk, as Gina would put it. Quite happy to stay put in my own little world.”

“Well, whatever. All I know is that suddenly I'm mushy inside.”

“That doesn't sound very general-like.”

“I know. My image is going down the tubes.”

“I think you'll ratchet up way-cool points with the ladies.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “There's only one lady I care about. May I court you, Miss O? As publicly as the community can handle?”

The brass band was blaring now, drowning out the warning that he was a likely candidate for breaking her heart. “I don't think I have a choice, Mr. Kingsley.”

In the crowded church foyer after the service, Anne made a beeline for Lia, who had recently returned from her ten-day honeymoon. “Welcome home!” They exchanged a quick embrace.

“Thank you.” The young woman's dark eyes sparkled; her entire face glowed.

“How was Hawaii?”

“Absolutely gorgeous. Oh, the blue sky and flowers in the middle of January! It was heavenly.”

Anne grinned. “I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to stop by the store since you got back. I did check in on that substitute pharmacist.”

“Did he do all right?”

“He seemed fine. Not nearly as pretty as you, though. I think married life agrees with you!”

“Anne, when does this go away? I mean, it must go away. All I can think about is Cal. I'm so grateful for Leslie.” She referred to her new pharmacist technician. “She's caught five mistakes I've made on prescriptions in the two and a half days I've been back!”

Though Anne felt her smile fade, she forced a perkiness she didn't feel into her tone. “That's the honeymoon phase. It'll pass, but things get better…in a different way.” At least she had believed that for a long time. “You couldn't live on the mountaintop forever.”

“You're right. I can hardly breathe up here, let alone dispense drugs! Is Britte all right? Cal filled me in this morning.”

In spite of the horrible circumstances, Anne couldn't help but smile. “I called her before church. Joel Kingsley fixed her breakfast.”

Lia's eyebrows shot up.

“This was after he spent the night in her recliner, making sure she was safe.”

“Certain tongues are going to wag.”

“Wait until they hear that they have a dinner date tonight.”

Lia giggled. “It's times like these I wish Dot still worked in the store so I knew what was going on. Speaking of which, how's your new job?”

“It's great.”
The rest of my life is falling apart, but the job is great.

“I'm glad to hear that, though I miss you at the store.” She squeezed her hand. “I'd better go. I know Cal's hungry. See you later.”

“Bye.”

I miss me, too.

“Hey, Annie-banannie.” Val was at her elbow.

“Hi, stranger.” She hugged the friend she seldom had time to even catch on the phone these days. They quickly caught up on tidbits concerning the kids. “Val, you look well. You okay?”

She nodded, her curls bouncing. “Most days. I only cry three times a week now and only at night.”

Anne smiled softly. “Progress.”

“You bet. Anyway, I'm taking the girls into Rockville this afternoon. It's our only time to shoe shop. I know Sunday's your family day, so you probably don't want to come?”

“No. Thanks, though. Actually Sunday has turned into a major catch-up day. The washer and dryer go nonstop.”

“Maybe you won't miss Alec then.” Val winced. “I was talking about a plumbing problem, and he said it's no big
deal, he could show Jason how to take care of it. I'm sure it's not what Jason had in mind for a Sunday afternoon, but his other choice is to hang out with us girls. So is it all right if Alec does surrogate father?”

“Of course it's all right.” They chatted for a bit longer, until the lump forming in Anne's throat cut off her voice.

“Where's Mom?” Alec folded the Sunday newspaper and put down the footrest of the recliner.

His three children were scattered about the family room, their attention focused on the TV. Only Drew replied, and it was with a shrug. The video they watched was G-rated, which was probably why he had heard the question.

“Drew.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks for participating.”

Drew turned toward him with an exaggerated look of astonishment on his face. “Why, Dad, whatever do you mean? I love watching animated characters sing and dance and restructure historical fact.”

Alec laughed and walked past him, ruffling his son's hair.

He found Anne upstairs in their room, sitting in bed with a book.

“Annie, are you sick?” He walked over and sat on the edge, facing her. Her short hair still grabbed him unawares at first glance, causing him to take a split second to orient himself to the fact that this person was indeed his wife. He hoped she didn't notice.

“I'm not sick, just exhausted.”

“That's not like you.”

She glared at him.

Wrong thing to say. She hadn't been herself all day, though. He felt as if an invisible wall hung between them, allowing them only to get so close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” She removed her reading glasses. Her eyes were dark.

“I think we should. I miss you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

He wrinkled his brow, puzzled.

“Oh, think about it, Alec. Friday night, Drew's game. You sat with Kevin, as usual. Saturday our paths didn't even cross except when I got kicked out of the girls game. You played racquetball while I played chauffeur. Today, the kids sat between us in church. You spent the afternoon with Jason, which I know was really important, a priority. But mean-while I caught up on housework and helped Amy with a math project that I truly did not understand.”

“The kids are off tomorrow. I'm home. We could have done all that then. Remember, you don't have to be Super-woman!”

“You're missing the point.”

His temper was doing a slow burn. “Enlighten me.”

“Not that much has changed. We've lived like this for years. I'm just beginning to recognize it. You didn't miss me before because I didn't acknowledge that we're really not first in each other's lives. You made it very clear yesterday on the phone when you said ‘sweetheart' to whomever was on the other end. Now that I see where I stand with you, I'm tired of pretending. I have better things to do. Like read this book.” She put her glasses back on and propped the book on her knees.

He said “sweetheart” on the phone? His temper gave way to a solid knot of dread pressing against his ribs. “Come on.
We have to talk about what's bothering you. We've never gone to bed mad at each other.”

“I'm not mad, Alec. I'm just being realistic. And probably unemotional because I am so tired. I'm sorry. I didn't want to talk about it tonight. Are you mad?”

Disgruntled. Confused. Scared to death. “Upset.”

“I am too.” She stared back at him. “But we can't fix it tonight.”

“We'll talk…Thursday.”

“There's a new art class starting Thursday night. Charlie said I can join it, no cost. I—I think it's something I need to do. For now.”

Who was this woman with the short black hair? Didn't her eyes used to be gray?