into a frothy foam.
“Did you sign up for the knitting class?”
Reese was certainly full of questions, and she concentrated on her task rather than respond. It didn’t escape her notice that he was close-mouthed about the details of his own life. She wondered how he’d feel if she started asking him questions. Like why he happened to be home at this time of night when he was supposed to be with his mistress. Or why he was suddenly so curious about what Jacqueline was doing. She decided not to answer.
Jacqueline half expected Reese to be angry at her lack of response. Instead he laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. I can’t imagine you with a pair of knitting needles.”
She decided to let that remark pass. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d annoyed her.
“You don’t look like any grandma I’ve ever seen—especially in the bathtub just now, all pink and pretty.”
Again Jacqueline let his comment slide. She poured the beaten eggs on the semi-cooked vegetables and added a heaping handful of grated cheese. With practiced ease she loosened the edges of omelet and flipped it over. When the eggs had cooked the way she knew Reese liked them, she slipped the omelet onto a plate and handed it to her husband.
Reese’s eyes lit up appreciatively.
“You never did say why you’re home this early.” He’d already refused to answer her once and she wondered if he would again.
“I was hungry,” he said simply and dug into the eggs and cheese.
Whatever had really happened, Reese obviously didn’tplan to tell her. She watched him a moment and then said, “I’m going to bed to read.”
Setting the dirty pan into the kitchen sink for Martha to wash in the morning, she left the kitchen.
Reese didn’t say anything until she was halfway out of the room. “Jacquie.”
“What is it?” she asked in a resigned tone.
“Thanks for making me dinner.”
She sighed audibly and slowly shook her head. “You’re welcome.” With that she walked into her bedroom. She took off the robe and sat on the edge of the queen-size bed piled high with decorative pillows, running her hand over the lacy cover. Turning aside the down comforter, she slid beneath the cool sheets and arranged her pillows so she could sit up and read.
In the distance she heard Reese rinse off his plate and put it in the dishwasher. Soon afterward the television in the den went on; just when she was about to complain, he lowered the volume.
Jacqueline read for about ten minutes—until tears unaccountably blurred her vision. She didn’t understand why she was crying. Leaning across the bed to the night-stand, she plucked a tissue from the decorative box.
It was because everything was happening at once, she decided. This untimely pregnancy, and then Paul and their angry exchange the day before, followed by Reese’s unexpected arrival tonight. Her life was a shambles. She’d be the laughingstock of her friends, she thought bitterly. Mrs. Donovan with her white-trash daughter-in-law. Her pregnant daughter-in-law, her love-struck fool of a son and her straying husband.
Still, she was determined to prove to Reese and Paul that she’d be a good grandmother if it killed her.
CHAPTER 7
CAROL GIRARD
C arol was in a hopeful mood as she prepared dinner on Thursday evening. Doug was due home any minute and she was full of news. Cutting a chicken breast into bite-size pieces, she poured soy sauce over the uncooked meat to marinate for his favorite stir-fry.
She smiled when the door opened and her husband entered the condo. “Hi, honey,” he said as he hung up his suit jacket, then joined her in the kitchen. Carol immediately turned into his arms and enthusiastically brought her lips to his. The kiss was long and involved, revealing her eagerness for lovemaking.
“To what do I owe this greeting?” Doug asked, leaning back far enough to take a slow, lingering look at her.
“I had a marvelous day.”
“Tell me
“Did you sign up for the knitting class?”
Reese was certainly full of questions, and she concentrated on her task rather than respond. It didn’t escape her notice that he was close-mouthed about the details of his own life. She wondered how he’d feel if she started asking him questions. Like why he happened to be home at this time of night when he was supposed to be with his mistress. Or why he was suddenly so curious about what Jacqueline was doing. She decided not to answer.
Jacqueline half expected Reese to be angry at her lack of response. Instead he laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. I can’t imagine you with a pair of knitting needles.”
She decided to let that remark pass. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d annoyed her.
“You don’t look like any grandma I’ve ever seen—especially in the bathtub just now, all pink and pretty.”
Again Jacqueline let his comment slide. She poured the beaten eggs on the semi-cooked vegetables and added a heaping handful of grated cheese. With practiced ease she loosened the edges of omelet and flipped it over. When the eggs had cooked the way she knew Reese liked them, she slipped the omelet onto a plate and handed it to her husband.
Reese’s eyes lit up appreciatively.
“You never did say why you’re home this early.” He’d already refused to answer her once and she wondered if he would again.
“I was hungry,” he said simply and dug into the eggs and cheese.
Whatever had really happened, Reese obviously didn’tplan to tell her. She watched him a moment and then said, “I’m going to bed to read.”
Setting the dirty pan into the kitchen sink for Martha to wash in the morning, she left the kitchen.
Reese didn’t say anything until she was halfway out of the room. “Jacquie.”
“What is it?” she asked in a resigned tone.
“Thanks for making me dinner.”
She sighed audibly and slowly shook her head. “You’re welcome.” With that she walked into her bedroom. She took off the robe and sat on the edge of the queen-size bed piled high with decorative pillows, running her hand over the lacy cover. Turning aside the down comforter, she slid beneath the cool sheets and arranged her pillows so she could sit up and read.
In the distance she heard Reese rinse off his plate and put it in the dishwasher. Soon afterward the television in the den went on; just when she was about to complain, he lowered the volume.
Jacqueline read for about ten minutes—until tears unaccountably blurred her vision. She didn’t understand why she was crying. Leaning across the bed to the night-stand, she plucked a tissue from the decorative box.
It was because everything was happening at once, she decided. This untimely pregnancy, and then Paul and their angry exchange the day before, followed by Reese’s unexpected arrival tonight. Her life was a shambles. She’d be the laughingstock of her friends, she thought bitterly. Mrs. Donovan with her white-trash daughter-in-law. Her pregnant daughter-in-law, her love-struck fool of a son and her straying husband.
Still, she was determined to prove to Reese and Paul that she’d be a good grandmother if it killed her.
CHAPTER 7
CAROL GIRARD
C arol was in a hopeful mood as she prepared dinner on Thursday evening. Doug was due home any minute and she was full of news. Cutting a chicken breast into bite-size pieces, she poured soy sauce over the uncooked meat to marinate for his favorite stir-fry.
She smiled when the door opened and her husband entered the condo. “Hi, honey,” he said as he hung up his suit jacket, then joined her in the kitchen. Carol immediately turned into his arms and enthusiastically brought her lips to his. The kiss was long and involved, revealing her eagerness for lovemaking.
“To what do I owe this greeting?” Doug asked, leaning back far enough to take a slow, lingering look at her.
“I had a marvelous day.”
“Tell me
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