“Cocoa? Why don’t you let me—”
“Stacey, I said, no thanks.” He spoke with more impatience than he intended.
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” she said dejectedly. “If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”
The judge gave her an absentminded nod and dipped back into the leather-bound legal volume. Stacey quietly closed the study door. Her hand listlessly trailed the banister rail as she went upstairs to her bedroom. She didn’t feel well. Her abdomen was swollen and achy. She’d started her period that morning.
The mid-forties seemed a ludicrous time to be suffering cramps like a teenager, although Stacey supposed she should welcome these monthly fluxes. They were her only reminders that she was a woman. No children came to her asking for lunch money or help with homework. No husband demanded to know what she had cooked for dinner, or if she’d picked up his cleaning, or if he could expect sex that night.
Daily she lamented not having all that glorious chaos in her life. As regularly as some people said prayers, Stacey enumerated to God the amenities of life that he had denied her. She longed for the racket of children running through the house. She yearned to have a husband reach for her in the night, to nuzzle her breasts and satisfy her hungering, restless body.
Like a priest who takes up self-flagellation, she went to her bureau, opened the third drawer, and took out the photograph album with the embossed white leather cover.
She opened it with reverence. One by one, she fondled the precious mementos—a yellowed newspaper clipping with her picture, a small square paper napkin with silver letters spelling out two names in one corner, a crumbling rose.
She leafed through the plastic binders, gazing at the photographs pressed between them. The people posing for the pictures in front of the altar had changed very little over the years.
After nearly an hour of masochistic reverie, Stacey closed the album and replaced it in its sacred drawer. Stepping out of her shoes so as not to spoil the comforter on her bed, she lay down and drew her pillow agains
t her chest, snuggling it against her curved body like a lover.
Hot, salty tears leaked from her eyes. She whispered a name, urgently and repeatedly. She ground the heel of her hand over her lower body to relieve the pain of emptiness inside her womb, which had been a receptacle for his body, but never his love.
Chapter 14
“Hey, what the hell, you two?” Junior exclaimed, dividing his puzzled glance between Alex and Reede. Then, buffeted by a gust of wind, he moved out of the doorway and urged them inside. “Come in. I couldn’t imagine who’d come calling on a day like this. Reede, you ought to have your head examined for dragging Alex all the way out here.”
He was wearing an ancient pair of jeans with the knees worn through, a cotton sweater, and thick white socks. It looked like he hadn’t been up very long. In one hand he was holding a steaming mug of coffee; in the other, a trashy paperback novel. His hair was appealingly mussed. Stubble shadowed the lower half of his face.
Having recovered from the surprise of finding them on his doorstep, he smiled down at Alex. She thought he looked terrific and figured that most of the women in the world would agree with her. He looked lazy and rich, sexy and rumpled, comfortable and cushy. He invited snuggling, and his slow smile suggested that’s what he’d been doing when they had interrupted.
“I didn’t drag her out here,” Reede said touchily. “It was the other way around.”
“I was willing to come alone,” Alex snapped.
“Well, I wasn’t willing to let you become a highway statistic in my county,” he shouted. Turning to Junior, who was bemusedly taking in their heated exchange, Reede said, “To make a long story short, I drove her out here because she was determined to come and I was afraid she’d kill herself—or worse, somebody else—on these roads. So, here we are.”
“Well, I’m damned glad you’re here,” Junior said. “I had resigned myself to spending a boring day here alone. I’ve got a great fire going in the living room, and all the makings for hot toddies. Follow me.” He set off, but turned and added, “Oops, Reede, you know how Mother is about having the floors tracked up. Better take your boots off.”
“Fuck that. Is Lupe in the kitchen? I’m gonna try and sweet-talk her out of some breakfast.” Giving no regard to Sarah Jo’s floors, he tramped toward the back of the house as though he still lived there.
Alex watched him disappear through a doorway. “Did he say sweet talk?” she asked caustically.
“Oh, he’s in a sunny mood today,” Junior remarked negligently. “You ought to see him when he’s really pissed. Leave Reede to Lupe. She knows how he likes his eggs. He’ll feel better once he eats.”
Alex let him help her off with her coat. “I hope this isn’t too much of an intrusion.”
“Hell, no. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m glad you’re here.” He threw his arm across her shoulders. “Let’s—”
“Actually,” Alex said, shrugging off his arm, “this isn’t a social call.”
“Business, huh?”
“Yes, and extremely important. Is Angus here?”
“He’s in his den.” His smile was still in place, but it had stiffened.
“Is he busy?”