Michael’s Wife by Marlys Millhiser Page B

him.”
    â€œBut he’s your nephew.”
    â€œIs he?” Janet sent her a knowing grimace and closed the door on them.
    Laurel looked at Jimmy. He really didn’t resemble his father much. She pushed the ugly thought from her mind; she had more than she could handle already.
    She awoke early Saturday morning, her first thought that Michael would be coming home. He’d want to know what she’d been doing for the last two years and she wouldn’t be able to tell him, and God only knew what he’d do then. A woman who’d deserted her baby couldn’t have been up to much good. God, I’m scared . Her only hope was that she wasn’t Laurel. She had no proof of this, just a feeling.
    As she dressed she stood before one of the barred windows by the bed, the bars reminding her of another problem. Would they send her to prison for deserting a child she couldn’t remember having? But no one would believe that she couldn’t remember. Would a doctor be able to prove it? Would the Devereaux’ pay for a doctor to cure an amnesia they didn’t believe in? A cure might prove beyond a doubt that she was this hateful Laurel Devereaux. It might also identify the nagging thing she feared. She was afraid to regain her memory … and she was afraid not to.
    Just before lunch Laurel sat on the stone edge of the fountain, trying hard to think of nothing at all, watching sunlight glimmer on the clear water as it ringed beneath the dripping jaws of the creature.
    She looked up and Michael Devereaux walked across the flagstone toward her.
    He walked with a rapid smoothness, a flowing control that brought him up to her with startling suddenness. She knew it was partly her fear of him that made him look so big in the black sweater.
    â€œI see you’re still here.” He rested one foot on the ledge beside her and gazed down at the water. “Have you called your parents?”
    â€œNo.” She realized she’d been holding her breath.
    â€œYou don’t think they’d be interested to learn you’ve rejoined the world?”
    â€œI … suppose I should call.…” She could sense the contempt under the gruff sarcasm in his voice and it added to her uneasiness.
    â€œBut you don’t want to. You don’t care a damn for anyone, do you?” He had a slight stoop to his shoulders she hadn’t noticed before.
    The anger in his half-lidded eyes had given way to cold indifference. She knew he was going to ask about the last two years, and she knew that either truth or evasion would bring back the fury. She was too afraid to lie.
    Just then Jimmy came screeching from the kitchen, some of his lunch still on his face. When he saw his father, he did a mid-run left turn.
    â€œHi, Daddy.”
    Laurel felt reprieved as she watched the big body stoop to catch the small one and lift him onto broad shoulders with unexpected gentleness.
    â€œMichael, be careful with him.” Claire appeared in the kitchen doorway.
    â€œHe’s a big boy, Claire. Aren’t you, slugger?”
    Jimmy drummed little fists on Michael’s head.
    â€œYou two ruffians, honestly.” Claire laughed as she joined them and they walked off, excluding Laurel as though she didn’t exist.
    A stranger would have thought them a happy family group—Jimmy on his father’s shoulders going up the stairs—Claire fussing about, reaching up to pull Jimmy’s pants leg down, touching Michael with a familiar nonchalance. And Laurel felt resentment. Her situation was impossible. No one wanted her or needed her here. They had been happy enough before she came.
    That afternoon she lay on the big bed trying to make up a plausible story for the last two years. Michael had not brought it up at lunch, but he would. His clothes were gone from the wardrobe so she didn’t have to worry about his sleeping here. But she must have a story, a story that would hold up in court as