Still the One by Robin Wells Page B

It sure as hell never would have escalated into a wedding.
     He’d been planning on breaking off the affair when Annette caught him in the act.
    The memory made his face heat with shame. Linda had been bent over his desk, her skirt up to her waist, and his pants had
     been around his ankles. A loud gasp had sounded behind him. He’d twisted his head to see Annette standing in the doorway,
     both hands over her mouth. His heart and his dick had both headed south.
    “Annette,” he’d blurted.
    She’d turned on her heel, walked out of his office, and kept right on walking—out of his life, into a divorce attorney’s office,
     out of Chartreuse, and into a new career as a substitute teacher in New Orleans. He’d married Linda on the rebound, but it
     had never really been a marriage. She’d sure wasted no time bailing when he’d started having health problems.
    He pulled open the tall arched French door and stepped inside the assisted-living center. Music tinkled from the parlor, where
     about twenty elderly people mingled and chattered gaily, as if they were at a cocktail party.
    Some of them weren’t all that much older than Dave. At fifty-seven, he was only a decade or so shy of fitting right in. The
     realization burned. He’d tried to deny the realities of aging, but his recent heart diagnosis had made it all too real. He
     was getting old, and he was a fool. What was the saying? There’s no fool like an old fool. Yeah, well, there he was—Exhibit
     A. The only thing worse than an old fool was an old fool with a drinking problem.
    The thought made him wince as he headed toward the elevator. At least he’d finally put the plug in the jug. Thanks to AA,
     he’d been sober a year and a half now. He was working his way through the twelve steps, and now he was on step nine, trying
     to make amends and clear up the wreckage of his past.
    Most of that wreckage involved his family. It was too late to make amends to his son; Paul had died not speaking to him. The
     guilt over that had driven him back to the bottle during three earlier attempts to quit drinking. It was hell, having to accept
     the things he couldn’t change. He didn’t know that he’d ever be able to forgive himself for all the mistakes he’d made as
     a father. Those were just things he had to live with, one day at a time.
    He couldn’t live without making amends to Annette, though. He needed to set things right, because the shame and remorse were
     eating him up. If he didn’t do his best to make amends, he was afraid it was going to drive him back to the bottle.
    He’d avoided Annette for years, but when he’d heard about her fall, he’d rushed to the hospital in New Orleans. She hadn’t
     been pleased to see him. She’d been pretty doped up on painkillers, though, so hopefully he’d get a better reception now.
    He wondered if Annette would be as shocked to learn that Katie had a child as he’d been. He’d had no idea, but then, Annette
     had always been closer to Katie than he had. His son had cut him out of his life after the affair. Katie, bless her heart,
     had been more forgiving, but she’d never really confided in him.
    The elevator opened, and he stepped out into the medical-care wing on the second floor. If you had to be someplace besides
     home while recovering from a big-dog surgery, this was a good place to do it, he thought. The rooms looked like hotel suites,
     an RN was constantly on staff, and the best doctors and physical therapists in the area made daily rounds. It was as good
     as, if not better than, a hospital.
    He knocked on the casing of the partially opened door that had her name on it. “Annette?” He pushed the door open.
    She was sitting up in bed, wearing teal satin pajamas. She always used to wear flannel ones, the kind with long sleeves and
     high necks. She was pale and kind of peaked, as if she’d been through an ordeal, but she looked better than she had any right
     to, considering her accident and