Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

Honey. If she said that word one more time, he would leap out of bed and strangle her, Burke thought. But he sat partway up, took the pills in the cup, and swallowed them with a sip of water. From somewhere above his head, he could hear an annoying, repetitive beep.

“That’s it.” The nurse gave him a smile. “Lie back and rest. Those beeps you hear are your oxygen monitor, telling you to take deep breaths. You need to clear your lungs after surgery.”

Burke took several deep breaths, and the beeping sound stopped.

“Keep it up,” the nurse said. “Once the meds start working, you’ll probably go back to sleep.”

Sleep sounded like a grand idea, since being awake was nothing but sheer misery. “If my wife comes back, tell her to go home and get some rest,” he said.

“Will do. Sleep tight.”

Burke lay back and kept breathing in and out, in and out. Slowly, as the pain medication seeped through his system, he began to drift.

* * *

Allison was just finishing her coffee when Garrett walked into the cafeteria. He didn’t look happy.

Without asking, he laid his briefcase on the table, pulled out the chair across from her, and sank onto it with a sigh.

“I’m afraid the accident has affected your husband’s mind,” he said.

“Of course it has. He’s angry, frustrated, and lashing out at the world. Can you blame him?”

“Not for that. But he’s in denial. He thinks he’s capable of running the business and dealing with all the issues from his hospital bed. But he’s not a well man, Allison. I’m worried about him, and you should be, too. He needs to focus his energy on healing.”

“Is that what you told him?” Allison asked.

“Yes. I even offered to take over the business while he’s on the mend.”

“Let me guess. He wouldn’t hear of it.”

“He was downright irrational. If he’d been on his feet, he might’ve tried to throw me out of the room.” Garrett reached across the table and laid a hand on Allison’s arm. “It’s up to us—his wife and his partner—to protect Burke from himself. If we fail . . .” His gaze narrowed. “If we fail, the stress could kill him.”

Garrett had an agenda. Any fool could see that, Allison told herself. But his words had planted a seed of guilt and worry. She could feel it sprouting, growing, in the depths of her conscience. She was his wife. It would be up to her to see that he got the rest and care he needed.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.” Garrett’s clasp tightened on her arm. “And that you’ll encourage him to let me carry the burdens while he heals. If anybody can make him see the light, it’s you.”

Good luck with that. Right now, all he wants from me is a divorce. Allison knew better than to give voice to her thoughts.

Feeling cornered, she rose from her chair and picked up her purse. In a way, Garrett was making sense. Burke needed to rest. But getting him to let go of his responsibilities would be like trying to force a lion off its kill—even a wounded lion.

“Promise you’ll keep me posted,” Garrett said as she prepared to leave.

“Only if you’ll promise me the same,” she said. “Until now I haven’t paid much attention to Burke’s business. I need to start.”

“Yes, Burke’s told me about your little gallery and how well you managed it. I’ll be happy to keep you in the loop.”

Sincerity wasn’t Garrett’s strong point, Allison thought. But for now she had nothing to lose by giving him the benefit of the doubt. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

After leaving the cafeteria, she took the elevator back up to Burke’s room. Was Garrett right? Would Burke be in danger if he didn’t back away from his responsibilities to the theater, the agency, and his other holdings?

As Burke’s wife, it would be up to her to answer that question and to maintain the balance between what her husband wanted and what he needed—even while he was trying to push her away. She would have to be strong—stronger than she had ever been in her life.

Could she do it? Could she put up with his pain, his rage, his frustration, even when it was directed at her?

The door to Burke’s room was ajar. Allison slipped inside and found him fast asleep. Standing next to the bed, she gazed down at her husband. Love welled in her, so strong that it brought tears to her eyes. He looked so tired and vulnerable. It was all she could do to keep from brushing her hand over his cheek, or leaning down to kiss his closed eyelids. He was her warrior, wounded, yes, but still fighting.

“The oxycodone will probably knock him out till the middle of the night.” The nurse spoke from the open doorway. “He told me he wanted you to go home and get some rest.”