“I like seeing different parts of the country, meeting different people.” He just wished he could come home at night a little more often. And during his few hours off on weekends, too.
“What about living out of hotels?”
“Not my favorite thing.” A bit of an understatement. “As a matter of fact, I won’t be in a hotel this trip.”
She looked at the card again. At the number. “Staying with Susan?”
“Yeah.” He glanced around for the waiter.
“Any chance of you two getting back together?”
“It hasn’t even been discussed.” He thought of the unrest he’d seen in Susan’s eyes when he’d left her that morning, the worry on her brow, remembered the compassion in her kiss. And she was the one going through the real hardship. He was eager to get back to her.
“Maybe it should be.” Melanie dipped a tea bag slowly in and out of her cup.
“Melanie...” he began.
“I know.” She held up one hand. “We don’t ever talk about things like this, and most of the time I’m as opposed to bringing up private matters as you are. But I’ve been working with you for seven years, Michael. I saw how you were when you first came out here, like someone had just shot your best friend.”
He didn’t think that was true, but after the night he’d spent, he didn’t have the energy to argue with her. So he humored her instead and listened quietly.
“And then when you two started being more than just friends again, you changed. Seemed more at peace. Maybe even happy.”
The only reason Melanie had even known he’d been seeing Susan was that he’d had to leave Susan’s number when he’d gone to Cincinnati. He wished now that he’d stayed in a hotel.
Michael checked his watch. “I really think—”
“Just a minute, Michael.” She reached across to grab his arm, but let go immediately when she had his attention. “You’ve been good to me,” she said. “You gave me a chance in a predominantly male world and offered me fair reward for my accomplishments. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, but maybe I can help you out for once.”
He shouldn’t have bought Melanie that glass of wine with dinner. Not that it had ever affected her like this before.
“Help away,” he said, bracing himself.
“You and Susan belong together, Michael.” He started to protest again, in spite of his recent acquiescence, but she rushed on. “I realize I don?
??t know either of you all that well. Personally, I mean. Hell, I’ve only met Susan a couple of times, but seeing you together...” She paused and Michael hoped she was done.
“I’ve heard you talking on the phone to her.” Unfortunately, she continued. “The way you build her up, the way you’re always willing to listen, even your tone of voice when you talk to her—it’s obvious to anyone with eyes and ears that you’re soul mates. How else could such an unusual relationship last?”
As Michael sat there, listening to Melanie against his will, a strange thing began to happen. He felt less constricted suddenly, less suffocated. And he felt a sense of...renewed strength. Or purpose, maybe. Or will.
In the long run, it changed nothing. He still didn’t have any answers.
But he welcomed the relief just the same.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERE WERE VERY FEW things in life Susan could control at the moment, which meant she had to put all her energy into controlling what she could. Michael had been living with her for almost a week. Sort of. He’d been sleeping at the condo, even in her bed, but she saw very little of him.
And he hadn’t made love to her since he’d returned from Chicago.
Her body wasn’t her own; rather, it belonged to two other people she hadn’t even met. She had no say over what she did, what she ate, even how much she slept. But there was one thing she could do something about. One thing she had to do something about. Ronnie McArthur.
On Friday, a week after her day at the races, she met his plane at the airport, helping his mother wheel the boy out to her car and get him settled in the back seat. Dressed in clean jeans, a short-sleeved knit shirt and tennis shoes, he looked like any other American kid, except for the wheelchair. And the limp left arm.
“Thanks so much for coming,” she told them both as she slid behind the wheel of her Infiniti. She hoped to God she wasn’t making another major mistake,
“Of course we’d come,” Mrs. McArthur said. “We’ll do anything that might give Ronnie some hope.” The woman was tastefully, though inexpensively, dressed in a pair of dark dress slacks and white silk blouse. Her dark hair, cropped short, looked freshly cut.