“Did you call Jeff?” It’s what Chloe always did when she needed reassurance. Because Jeff always gave it to her.
Because she loved him with all her heart.
And because he was, at his core, a great man. A wonderful father and a loyal and loving husband.
“No.” Chloe looked toward the living room, as Cody started to sing along with the television set. “And that kind of scared me, you know?” she said. “I didn’t call him.”
Hallelujah!
Chloe had just taken one more step on the road to health. And Jeff had more hope than ever of following in her footsteps. If Chloe stood her ground, he’d have to get help to get her back.
Telling her sister-in-law that they were going out to dinner to celebrate, anywhere she wanted, Ella turned on the water and stepped out of her robe.
A shower. Dinner. A good night’s sleep; that was all she needed. Life was good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRETT DIDN’T DRINK any more than his two-beer limit. Instead, he watched his friend polish off most of a twelve-pack of beer. And still win a hundred bucks off him.
But you wouldn’t know Jeff had overindulged the night before when Brett walked into the kitchen, thinking to make himself a cup of coffee just after dawn the next morning. He had a full day ahead of him in Santa Raquel, preparing for Monday morning’s meetings, and the afternoon’s, too, since he was going to be using his lunch hour to get the haircut he’d rescheduled the day before.
“Thought you’d like some breakfast before you hit the road,” Jeff said, standing at the stove over a pan of eggs. “The coffee’s fresh, dark roast,” he said. Brett took coffee just about any way he could find it, but preferred it dark and strong. As his college roommate knew well.
In jeans and a polo shirt, Jeff looked ready for a good day. And Brett couldn’t help but wonder how he’d fill the next fourteen or so hours. His lawn was immaculate. The house appeared clean—Jeff and Chloe probably hired a service—and the refrigerator had been stocked when Brett had helped himself to a bottle of water the night before.
“You got work to do today?” he asked as he poured a cup of coffee and pulled out a chair at the table in the window nook of the eat-in kitchen.
“This evening. I’m going to church later this morning and then to play nine holes of golf.”
He didn’t remember Jeff being a churchgoer. But was glad to know that the hours ahead wouldn’t be as empty for Jeff as his house felt.
Putting plates filled with eggs and bacon, potatoes and toast on the table, Jeff brought over his own coffee cup and sat.
“What about you? You got a game in for today?”
“Yeah. At noon.” Yesterday’s business rescheduled. The food was good. Done well. And the kitchen wasn’t a disaster area, either.
Obviously Jeff wasn’t new to cooking. Or picking up after himself. He’d been a bit of a slob in college. But then, Brett hadn’t cared all that much if his own dirty shorts filled a corner of their room, either.
“So...church... What are you telling them about why you’re there alone?” Not Brett’s best syntax, but this was...odd. Him helping Jeff instead of the other way around.
“Chloe’s helping a sick friend.”
“Went to stay with her, you mean?”
Jeff glanced up. “It’s church, man. I’m not going to lie to them. I just said she’s helping a sick friend and left it at that. And she is. She’s helping herself, and we are our own best friends, right?”
Brett would have felt better if Jeff had chuckled. Or been grinning. But genuine loneliness lurked in the other man’s gaze. Almost as though he thought himself his only friend.
Driving over there had been the right move.
“So you really think this is a hormonal thing on her part?”
“I hope it is.”
Both of them were eating as though they hadn’t seen food in days.
“What does she tell you?”