Kids didn't forget and forgive as easily as some thought. He knew that well enough from his own childhood. He hadn't understood the change in his father until he was an adult, and then it had been too late. They'd grown too far apart.
Gray shrugged off depressing thoughts. Too much soul picking wouldn't accomplish a thing. He needed to remember that, before Lori had him spilling his guts all over her priceless Oriental rugs again.
He followed Magda to Lori's room, silence echoing from the bathroom. He rapped two knuckles on the bathroom door. "Lori?"
Magda skirted past him to press her ear to the door.
"Lori?" he called again, then decided he'd better warn her about Magda. Lori had been spitting nails when she'd charged to the bathroom. Magda didn't need to overhear the tones from angry fallout that belonged squarely on his ears. "Magda wants to talk to you. She's right here."
"Gray." Lori's voice wobbled.
Was she crying? Guilt clubbed him. His brow fell to rest on the frame. He should have checked his libido at the door before he'd crawled into bed with her. "Lori, are you okay?"
"No. Go away. Please."
Like hell he would leave her crying over him. "Not a chance. Cover yourself, or whatever you need to do, because I'm coming in." He gave her a five count and hoped the door wasn't locked so he wouldn't have to pull some lame John Wayne stunt. "Now."
He pushed the door open and found Lori sitting on the bathroom floor swaddled in a bulky white bathrobe. Her green pallor answered his question before he could even ask.
Lori blanched. "Stomach flu."
* * *
Gray stretched out on Lori's sofa and channel surfed. She had been too incapacitated to turn down his offer to watch Magda for the afternoon. Lori had started to protest. Then her face had turned seaweed green and all arguments died as she'd shoved him out of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.
For the best, since he still wasn't all that steady after their near miss earlier, and he needed time away from her to regain his footing. Taking care of Magda offered a perfect distraction until he could leave. After an hour he and Magda had arrived at an armed truce. As long as he didn't pick her up, she was fine.
They'd had breakfast, Magda's a bland diet of dry toast in accordance with her own stomach flu recovery. She'd eyed the cow cookie jar with longing as if to say "Yori" would have given her one. He'd held strong. Not too difficult since he didn't relish the idea of mopping up that cookie later.
Now Magda played quietly on the rug while Lori slept the day away. He'd hauled the Barbie house into the living room so he could catch the ball games.
Not a bad gig.
Magda seemed to be a low-maintenance kid, and she didn't want his attention anyway. Which stung a little more than it should have. Kids always liked him. He was the favorite uncle. The Disney dude. King of Barbies and Tonkas.
Gray thumbed the button until he found the cartoon channel and pitched aside the remote. Good thing Lori was totally out of it. Memories of her passion-dazed eyes, her playful touch swirled through his mind. He didn't have much left in the way of reserve ammunition around her.
So much for his clean break.
When he'd checked on her earlier, her weak smile of appreciation had slathered on the guilt. Who'd have thought she would turn weepy over a pack of crackers and a cup of tea? Weren't women supposed to want roses and Godiva chocolates?
Of course he'd given her those a year ago, for all the good it had done them.
Lori was grateful for such damned unpredictable little things. That stabbed at him. She deserved more. She deserved everything. The house, the kids and a husband who could commit to something more than the next piece of rank on his shoulder.
He thought of the next assignment and its assurance of his promotion to lieutenant colonel within a year. Tomorrow would start his last week of work at Charleston Air Force Base, his final flight scheduled for Friday, his party at his folks' condo on Saturday.
His parents. Damn. Gray sat up. He'd promised his mother he would stop in over the weekend.
Gray snagged the phone from the end table and punched in the number. Listening to the call go through, he watched Magda march her Barbies in front of the dollhouse.
The ringing stopped.
"Sergeant Clark's quarters," his father's clipped voice answered. Even retired and living off base, the old Chief Master Sergeant never shed his military routines.
"Hey, ol' man, it's me. Could you put Mom on?"
"Sure, son." The phone clattered to rest. "Angela…"