The Lives Between Us (46 page)

“You’re great writer.” Noelle smiled gently. “What about?”

“I...” She bowed her head. “I want to help make people understand. Jenny told me I could do it sensitively. I did about twenty drafts before—but I don’t know. Edward. Mark. I... I...” Her throat tightened; she looked away.
Don’t you dare cry, Skylar
.

“Read it to me.” The words slid together with her whispered mechanical speech.

“I already sent it in to my editor. It’s a done deal. And I’m not sorry.” Skye clutched the computer. “But I–I couldn’t sleep. I can still pull it if I need to. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Hiss
. “Read it.”

Skye opened and angled her laptop toward Noelle. She scrolled to the top of the page to set the zoom at two hundred percent so Noelle could easily read along. Heart pounding, Skye cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and began.

“‘Between a Rock and a Hard Place: One Man’s Journey.’” Skye read softly in the darkened room, praying that Noelle understood what she’d been trying to achieve.

At the end, Skye turned the computer away. She closed the lid and stared at the floor, scared to face Noelle. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d hurt Noelle more?

The machine hummed in the quiet room until Skye thought she’d scream. Why didn’t Noelle say something? Had she been that upset? She looked at Noelle.

Hiss. “Thanks for leaving.”
Hiss
. “Jeff out.”

“Jeff’s a kid. He’s off limits.”

Hiss
. “But Edward and Jeff—”

Skye shook her head. “Growing up is hard enough. I’d
never
use a kid.”

Noelle nodded and approval shone in her eyes. Something else they had in common, the determination to protect children.

“It’s good, but.”
Hiss
. “Could be better.”
Hiss
. “Pulled your punches.”

Skye’s eyes bugged wide. “I pulled my punches? How?”

Noelle nodded. “Didn’t include miscar—”
Hiss
. “—riages and tattoo.”

“You want me to write about your miscarriages and tattoo? You said you didn’t want it known. Besides, Edward’s going to be angry enough that I told how you put off even considering the use of stem cells from any source because you were worried about how his constituents would view it.”

Noelle inclined her head in acknowledgment and smiled. “Protecting me.”
Hiss
. “But make a good—”
Hiss
. “—article, wonderful.”

It
would
help illustrate the difficulties of living in the public light—the extra stress and restrictions such a career put on the politician and his family. The tattoo, no problem, but the repeated miscarriages were much more private.

Skye held her gaze for several long silent seconds. “You’re sure? You absolutely do
not
have to share that.”

She’d thought long and hard before she’d decided to disregard Edward’s childhood trauma, too. It was simply too personal.

Noelle nodded. “Time’s right.”
Hiss
. “For me.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Noelle shared with Skye the pain of her miscarriages. How she drove herself to the hospital and went through a D and C alone with the second one, when Edward couldn’t get back in time, and how devastated he’d been when he found out she’d gone through that all by herself. She’d had to talk him out of resigning right then.

Noelle told of the anguish of losing her baby boy at five months and how she’d gotten the white dove tattoo right after they decided not to try and have any more children. And how Edward had cried as if his heart were breaking at each loss, even those that aborted before either of them felt fetal movement.

When Noelle finally let her go, Skye was both elated and exhausted, and she still had hours of work ahead of her to edit the article and get the new one in to Karen. Karen was going to be ecstatic. Noelle’s interview gave Skye amazing new material to enrich the story. But Edward and Mark? She really didn’t know.

Edward might think she coerced Noelle. She mentally pulled back from imagining that fury. But Noelle would tell Edward she’d offered the information—insisted on it. And it was her right, especially now when so much of life was out of Noelle’s control. At least in this she could decide when and how their story came out. This, Skye could do for her.

Having Noelle’s blessing and encouragement gave Skye hope, even though Mark and Edward still thought she’d betrayed them. Hours later, shaking her addled, aching head, Skye emailed the revised piece. She turned off her light, dropping her clothes in a puddle next to her bed, and climbed between the sheets naked.

She’d done her job well and as a bonus, she’d made Noelle happy. When Skye had left, Noelle told the guard and nurse that she didn’t care what orders the senator left—or why he’d left them; Skye was to be admitted anytime she showed up to visit.

Maybe Noelle’s friendship was the blessing to result from Niki’s death.

* * *

The next morning, Skye woke to the insistent buzzing of her doorbell. She squinted at the alarm clock. Ten forty-five? She had to be at work by eleven. Crap. The doorbell buzzed again and then her cell phone chimed. Skye sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her aching head. Door, phone, or shower? Which first?

Launching off the bed, she snatched her short robe from the chair and her phone as she jogged down the steps to the front door. Since she couldn’t rush the steps and read the display on her phone, she answered it.

“’Lo?”

“Skye? Where are you?”

She slowed at the sound of Mark’s deep voice and paused outside her door. “Hang on a minute; there’s someone at my door. She squinted through the peephole and saw dozens of bright flowers.

“It’s me.” Skye heard in a little far-away phone voice. “Open the door, Skye.” The blossoms quivered and then Mark’s face appeared.

Skye unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door back. Mark stood buried behind armfuls of flowers. His free hand held a newspaper and stacks of boxes of chocolate. Whitneys, Sees, Rocky Mountain Chocolate, Saunders, Herseys, Russell Stovers, and Godiva. Uncertainty covered his face as he juggled his gifts and attempted to swipe his phone.

He knew. Skye didn’t know how he’d found out, but he knew she hadn’t leaked the accident information. She bit her top lip to keep from grinning. Relief blossomed through her in a heady rush. Skye clutched the door to her and forced her face into a questioning expression. Eyes wide, she stared at Mark.

Mark shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I know I deserve this, but are you going to keep me out here all day?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Would you stay there all day?”

“If I had to.”

She swung the door wide, shivered and cowered behind the door, away from the freezing air assaulting her bare legs and feet. “Then you’d better come in.”

Skye shut the door and ran past him up the stairs, knowing his view of her bare legs nearly to her butt would remind him what he’d cast aside. She certainly wasn’t above a bit of sensual torture. Appropriate payback.

Skye hustled into her bedroom and threw on some undergarments, jeans, and a T-shirt. So much for a shower. She grabbed socks and sneakers, then sat on her couch and put them on. Mark had propped the flowers up against the tower of chocolates on her coffee table and paced the space in front of it. Skye glanced at the microwave clock. Ten fifty-five.

“Why’re you still in your robe?” Mark asked, looking suspiciously at her bedroom as if expecting a guy to walk through the door.

She was tempted to tell him she’d spent the morning in bed making mad passionate love with another man. “I didn’t get to bed before three.”

“Had to close last night?”

Taking the lipstick from her purse, she swiped it across her lips in two easy motions, stared in the mirror, and smacked her lips. “Writing.”

“Oh.”

Skye glanced around the room. What else did she need to do before work?

“Skye will you hold still? Please.” Mark took her hand and pulled her down onto the couch. “If you’ve been sleeping all morning, then you haven’t read the newspaper.”

Skye frowned. “I don’t have time for this. I’m late for work.”

He picked up the paper and thumbed through it until he found the right page. He folded it back to a full-page ad. In huge font, it said, ‘SK, I am profoundly sorry. I’m an ass beyond measure. Please forgive me, DM.’

Mark stared at her. Gently he reached out to anchor a lock of her hair behind one ear. His hand brushed the tip of her ear, sending shock waves of longing and regret through her. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. Please forgive me.”

The words Skye had dreamed about hearing slid sweetly into her, soothing her heart, yet she refused to look at him.

“Skye? Please—” The emotion clogging his voice tugged at her heart. She stood and walked away. At the kitchen counter, she powered up her computer.

“I know I hurt you.” Mark followed, and put a hand on her shoulder.

Skye shrugged off his touch and backed away. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I tried to prove that it wasn’t me, but you—”

“I
know
. And I’m
sorry
.” He stepped closer.

She frowned. “You really hurt me, Mark.”

Shoulders slumped, he hung his head and nodded. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“How can I ever trust you again?”

“Please… I’ll make it up to you.”

She looked up at him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept much in days… Dark circles were stamped beneath his glassy, beautiful eyes. He’d suffered, too. “You might not want to after reading this.” Skye called up last night’s final efforts, pulled out the stool for him to sit, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door. “Lock up when you’re through,” she called out.

Skye slammed the door behind her and then collapsed against it. She blinked back tears. She’d wanted to grab the happiness Mark offered with both hands, run away, and hide, but she couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t take another rejection. She couldn’t accept Mark’s apology until he knew everything, and she couldn’t wait two days for the Saturday Feature to come out.

After having read her article, Mark might want to take out another full-length ad to print a retraction.

Skye swiped a stray tear from her eye, pushed away from the door and headed into the pub. She called out a greeting to Molly and put a tea bag in a cup, then poured hot water into it.

“Hey, Philip? Can you make me a burger and fries?” she called out.

“Sure thing. Cheese and bacon?”

“Is there any other way?” She started to feel a little steadier.

The chef laughed.

Skye carried her tea and rounded the bar. What’d she need to do?

Inside the bar entrance, Skye spotted the stack of daily newspapers. She walked over to them, as if in a trance. She picked up the one with Mark’s ad and hurried back behind the bar. Four guys dressed in white shirts and ties walked in and seated themselves. Molly came out to greet them. Skye opened the paper to the full-page ad and reread it. Sweet. She shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe she did have masochistic tendencies. She crammed the paper behind a crate of clean glasses.

The pub door slapped shut and Mark walked in. Skye’s heart shot into a gallop as she tried to read his face. He lifted the counter gate and came behind the bar, stopping so close in front of her his cologne mingled with the scent of her fear. He rested his hands on his hips and silently stared at her.

Skye’s mouth went dry.
Oh my God
. What was he thinking? Tears bathed Mark’s red eyes as he raised a hand to cup her jaw. He brushed his lips across hers before resting his forehead against hers. His hot breath swirled in the space between their faces.

“I love you,” he whispered.

The emotion and love he put into those three little words enfolded and lifted Skye in a tingling, warm embrace. She threw her arms around him and launched herself into his arms.

“Took you long enough.”

Eleven-thirty at night, Edward dragged open the Fisher Rehab door and moved into the lobby. Rubbing his stinging eyes, he tried to shake off the exhaustion of a week of late nights spent at the office followed by the short flight to Michigan. He should have gone straight home and come first thing in the morning, but he’d needed to be near Noelle.

Edward had really wanted to be with her when she had the stem cell wash, but important last-minute votes on defense appropriations, emergency supplemental aid for Syria, and Joe O’Connor of the American Auto Industry insisting on talking to him about Detroit’s emergence from bankruptcy and what it meant to the auto industry had made it impossible.

The Fisher Rehab night clerk made Edward sign in before allowing him on the floor. He plodded down the hallway, ignoring the dim lights and muted TV sounds of a sitcom coming from the room on his right. He nodded to the night officer as he passed. Edward’s shoe caught on the carpet, and he stumbled before Noelle’s doorway.

Lord, he was tired. He’d give anything to be able to crawl into bed, pull Noelle into his arms, and let his exhaustion and worry drain away in the safety of his wife’s embrace, but he’d settle for her presence. Edward wouldn’t wake her; he just needed to see she was all right.

He’d take a little nap on Noelle’s couch to rejuvenate himself enough for the twenty-minute drive home. If not for the whispering nurses and bleeping machines, he could almost trick himself into believing he was meeting his wife at the Ritz Carlton for a romantic getaway and that this nightmare had never happened.

He pushed Noelle’s door open and entered the darkened bedroom. Edward paused just inside the threshold and smiled at his wife. The nightlight near her bed cast a soft, welcoming glow. Splints on her arms, she lay propped on her side, sleeping peacefully. He moved close and kissed her forehead. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the familiar scent of her perfume and soap. Home.

Noelle murmured in her sleep but didn’t awaken. Edward sank into the bedside chair, content to watch her sleep and soak up her presence in the silent room. Resting his head on the back of the chair, Edward’s eyes drifted shut, allowing himself to fully relax into a boneless state of being.