That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) (18 page)

Ray hesitated. “Can’t say that I do, but as I explained not long ago, Grady don’t say much to me anymore.”

With shaking hands, she switched the telephone from one ear to the other. “It’s Grady’s birthday and Angela had everything ready for a party and—”

“Don’t tell him,” Angela cried, tugging furiously on Cathy’s wool jacket. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.” Huge tears welled in the child’s eyes.

“If you happen to see Grady …” She let the rest of what she was going to say fade. If Ray had heard Angela in the background, there wasn’t any need to continue.

“I’ll see what I can do.” The sound of his voice was stern and impatient. Cathy realized that for the first time in her acquaintance with Ray, the older man was angry, really angry.

By the time she replaced the receiver, Angela was crying in earnest. Huge sobs shook her small frame, and Cathy cradled the child in her arms, fighting back her own disappointment.

Before nine Angela fell asleep on the sofa. Cathy left her where she was and covered her with a blanket. Nothing could convince the child to eat. Angela insisted she’d have dinner when her father came home.

After changing her clothes, Cathy took the casserole out of the oven and set it on top of the range. Having warmed for so many hours, the casserole was overdone and crisp, pulled away from the edges of the dish. Her lower lip was quivering, and Cathy couldn’t remember a time when she was more angry. Grady had done this on purpose. He had stayed away because she had asked him to come home. If he was looking for a way to punish and hurt her, he had succeeded. All her life, Cathy had believed marriage was forever. Divorce was unheard of in her family. Five months was all it’d taken to destroy her marriage, and the craziest part was that she didn’t even know the reason. Moisture brimmed in her eyes, and she furiously wiped the tears from her cheek.

With a burst of energy, she brought out the sewing machine. A few weeks ago she’d cut out a skirt pattern for Angela. Maybe if she kept busy she’d forget how much her heart ached.

She’d been sewing for about an hour when she heard the back door open. Stiffening her back, she concentrated on her task and ran the material through the machine at fifty miles an hour.

“What a domestic scene,” Grady mocked, as he strolled into the room. His arms were crossed in front of his chest as he stepped in front of the kitchen table.

Jabbing a pin into the cushion, Cathy ignored him.

“I bet you wish that was me you were poking.” His mouth curled into a snarl as he harshly ground out the words.

Cathy ignored him completely, tucking the material together before carefully lowering the metal pressure foot and needle. She could feel Grady’s gaze raking her.

“I understand you sent Ray out looking for me.”

The taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit into her lip to keep from changing her expression. Again she chose to ignore him, knowing if she said anything she would regret it later. For now, it was utterly important to sew.

Placing his palms on the tabletop, he leaned forward. Cathy could smell beer on his
breath and closed her eyes to the thought of him drinking in some tavern to avoid coming home simply because she’d asked it of him. More and more, the evidence pointed to exactly that.

“All right, Cathy, what are you so mad about?”

His face was so close to hers that all she had to do was turn her head to look him in the eye. Without a word, she continued to stick pins into the cotton material.

“Dear Lord, the silent treatment. I should have known I’d get it from you sooner or later.” He exhaled slowly, his breath ragged and uneven. “You must have taken lessons from Pam. That was one of her tricks.”

Remaining outwardly stoic, her nails cut into the palms of her hands. “I asked you before not to compare me with Pam,” she said in an even, controlled voice that was barely above a whisper.

“If you don’t want to be compared to her, then maybe you shouldn’t be as unreasonable as she was,” he sneered.

“Unreasonable.” She hurled the material onto the table and stood abruptly, knocking the kitchen chair to the floor. Jamming an index finger into his chest, she stood to the full extent of her nearly five feet eleven inches and punctuated her speech with several more vicious pokes. “I told you once before, Grady Jones, I’m not Pam. And what was between the two of you is separate from me. Is that understood?”

Grady looked taken aback for a moment, but he was quick to recover. His laugh was cruel. “All women are alike.”

Cathy recoiled as if his words had physically struck her. Could this be the same man she’d married? The same man she had come to love? Struggling within herself, she closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, swallowing back bitter words.

“I’ll admit you’re a much better bed partner.” The savagery in his voice did little to disguise his own hurt. “What do you do, pretend I’m Steve?”

Without thought or question, she swung her open palm at him, intent on hurting him as much as he was hurting her.

Grady caught her wrist. Their eyes clashed, and Cathy could barely see the blurry figure that swam before her. Inhaling a sharp breath, she jerked her arm free and hurried out of the kitchen. Somehow she made it to their bedroom and threw open the closet door. Dumping clothes over her arm, she carried them across the hall to the guest bedroom, making trip after trip
until all her things had been transported to the spare room.

Grady stood outside the room in the narrow hallway, watching her. “I expected some kind of reaction to that remark.” He laughed, but the sound contained no amusement. “The truth always gets a reaction.”

“The truth?” Wave after wave of excruciating pain rippled over her. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you in the face.”

A cold mask came over his expression, his gaze so hard and piercing that the tears froze in Cathy’s eyes.

“Daddy, Daddy.”

The child’s voice diverted his attention from her, and he turned as Angela hurled herself into his arms. “Happy birthday, Daddy. Did you find my surprise? Did you see the cake I baked for you? Cathy let me do it all by myself. We planned a party for you, but you were late. Come and open your gifts now, okay? Ugly Arnie got you one, too, but really it’s from Cathy.”

“Yes, Grady,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “happy birthday.”

As Cathy tucked Angela into bed an hour later, the little girl beamed a contented smile. “We really surprised Daddy, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did,” Cathy confirmed.

“He liked all his presents, too, didn’t he?” Angela whispered the question.

“I’m sure he did,” Cathy said. The flesh at the back of her neck began to tingle, and she was aware that Grady had come into Angela’s room. “Now it’s way past your bedtime, so go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Angela agreed.

Tenderly, Cathy kissed the child’s brow and stood. She stepped around Grady as she left the room and walked into the kitchen. She was placing the cover on the sewing machine when Grady found her a few minutes later.

An electricity hung in the air like an invisible curtain between them.

“I’ll do that.” Grady took the portable sewing machine cover, snapped it in place, and returned it to the heated back porch, where she kept it stored. Ugly Arnie, seeing the golden opportunity to get into the house, shot between Grady’s legs and scampered into the kitchen.

“Hey, fellow, you know better,” Cathy admonished gently, scooping him into her arms. “You belong on the porch at night. Angela will let you in tomorrow morning.”

“Here, I’ll take him,” Grady offered, extending his arms. His eyes avoided meeting Cathy’s.

Before handing Grady the pup, she gave the dog an affectionate squeeze and kissed the top of his head. Ugly Arnie would never claim the part of her affection that belonged to Peterkins. But more and more she recognized the wisdom Grady had shown by getting her another dog.

“You like the puppy now, don’t you?” Grady questioned softly, giving her a sideways glance as he lowered Ugly Arnie to the floor and cautiously closed the back door.

“Yes, I’m grateful that we have him. You were right, there would have been a void in all our lives with Peterkins gone.” She drew in a deep breath and turned toward the stove. “Did you
eat?”

“No.”

Cathy reached into the cupboard to take down a plate.

“Don’t fix me anything. I’m not hungry.” He took a cigarette from his pocket.

Cathy was surprised at the suppressed violence with which he lit it. He placed the filter between his lips, inhaled deeply, then blew out the smoke with a vengeance.

“You can’t live on cigarettes and coffee.” Grady was losing weight, she noticed, not for the first time. His clothes were beginning to hang on him. But then so had she. Why were they doing this to each other?

“Don’t forget the beer. I expect you to throw that at me any minute.”

She felt her fists clench involuntarily. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Grady. If you drink or smoke or work twenty-four hours a day it has nothing to do with me. You’ve made my position in your life clear.”

“Oh, and how’s that?” He leaned indolently against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms as he regarded her steadily.

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she averted her gaze. What good would it do to accuse each other? Not tonight, not when she was hurt and angry. “Grady, I’m tired.” She made the excuse. “I don’t want to talk about it now. All I want is a good night’s sleep. Maybe you can get by on three and four hours’ rest, but I can’t.”

He jammed the cigarette into the ashtray with unnecessary force. “I suppose you’re waiting for some humble apology—”

“No,” she interrupted him abruptly. “I’m not. There’s very little I expect from you anymore.”

A faint shadow of regret and uncertainty was revealed in his expression as he followed her out of the kitchen.

She paused in the hallway outside their bedroom. Her things had been haphazardly thrown across the mattress in the guest bedroom. In the room she shared with Grady, the dresser drawers were left open and dangling, a testimony to their argument a few hours before. Where should she sleep? Should she make a pretense of going into the other room and waiting for Grady to stop her? Would he? Should she cling to the last vestige of her pride and march into the other guest bedroom?

As if he understood her dilemma, Grady stopped a few feet behind her and said, “Maybe it would be better for all concerned if you slept in the other room.”

Cathy swallowed the horrible pain that blocked her throat. Even breathing became difficult.

“That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” The question came at her harshly. “You’re the one who wanted out.”

Pride directed her actions. “Yes, I did,” she murmured sadly, and entered the room, softly closing the door. She stood there for several moments, fighting the urge to throw away her pride, rush to Grady, and demand to know what had happened—what had gone wrong with them. Instead, she strode to the bed and began making neat piles of clothes on the floor so she would have a place to sleep.

Sleep. Her lip curled up in a self-derisive movement. What chance was there with Grady across the hall? He may well have been on the other side of the world for all the good it did her. She rolled over, hoping to find a more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. If she lay still, she could hear Grady’s movements from the room opposite hers. Was he even half as miserable as she was? Did he long for her the way she yearned for the comfort of his arms? Did he care about this marriage? How much longer could they continue with this tension between them? Questions seemed to come at her from all sides. But Cathy found no answers.

* * *

“You look awful.”

Linda’s observation flustered Cathy as she poured herself a cup of coffee in the teachers’ lounge early the next morning. “I’m okay.” She brushed off her friend’s concern and added a teaspoon of sugar to the coffee, hoping something sweet would give her the fortitude to make it through the first class.

“Things aren’t right with you and Grady, are they?”

Linda never had been one to skirt around a subject. If she had something on her mind, she said it.

“No, they’re not,” Cathy replied truthfully, and set her mug on the circular table.

“Why?”

Cathy rested her hand over the top of her mug; the steam generated heat that burned her palm. “I don’t know.” Tears just beneath the surface welled in the dark depth of her gray eyes. “I just don’t know.” She hung her head, unwilling for Linda to see the ever-ready flow of emotion.

“Then find out.” Linda made everything sound so simple, so basic.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” The sound of Cathy’s voice fluctuated drastically. “I’d give anything to know what’s wrong between us. Grady’s pulling away from me more and more every day. I hardly see him anymore and … and we aren’t even sleeping together. The crazy thing is”—she stopped and took in a quivering breath—“I haven’t the foggiest idea why.”

“Talk to him, for heaven’s sake,” Linda suggested, as if it was the most logical thing to do. “You can’t go on like this, Cath. You’re so pale now, your face is ashen, and you’ve lost weight.”

“It isn’t that easy,” Cathy snapped in a waspish tone, then immediately regretted the small display of temper. Linda was only trying to help. There had never been a time in Cathy’s life when she felt she needed a friend more.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Linda agreed in a sober voice. “But nothing worthwhile ever is. What you need is some time together alone.”

“But there’s Angela.” Several times in the past weeks the opportunity had come to confront Grady, but Angela had always been present. Although she dearly loved the child, Cathy didn’t feel she should air their differences in front of her.

“I’ll take Angela,” Linda offered.

Cathy looked up, surprised.

“No, I mean it. I’ve been wanting Katy and Angela to see more of each other, I’d like for the girls to become good friends. I’ll pick her up after school, and that way when Grady gets home you two will be alone and can talk this thing out without an audience.”

“Oh, Linda, would you?”