Warrick carried his travel bag to the now empty guest room. “What are you afraid of, Mary?” He put down his bag and faced his wife. “That you won’t be able to fall out of love with me?”
“It’s not a matter of how I feel about you. I didn’t sign up to be a celebrity’s wife.”
He hooked his hands onto his hips and ignored the stir of anger. “No, you signed up to be my wife, in good times and in bad. I guess this is the bad part.”
Marilyn stepped back as though she were under attack. “You didn’t tell me you were a magnet for the media.”
“And you didn’t tell me you’d run at the first sign of trouble.” Warrick held Marilyn’s gaze, forcing her to face the truth about what she was doing.
Marilyn hesitated in the doorway. “I’m not running, but I’m thinking about it.”
“I won’t give you a divorce, Mary. I don’t like living under a microscope. But I won’t give up my job because of it. I won’t give you up, either.
The silence was long. Marilyn seemed relieved—or was that his imagination?
“Then we’ll have to figure out something else, won’t we?” She turned away.
Warrick listened to her footfalls taking her back downstairs. Then silence.
He’d expected her to put up more of a fight. Warrick scowled at the room’s deep green carpeting. As his first move toward wooing his wife, he probably could have delivered a better homecoming. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then turned to unpack his bag.
No doubt about it, he needed to work on his game—on and off the court.
5
“Dr. Evans?”
“It’s Devry-Evans. How can I help you?” Marilyn paused in the Kings County Medical Samaritan Hospital’s parking lot Monday morning. She gave the stranger in front of her a visual once-over. Average height, average weight. A drinker with poor eating habits and a vitamin B deficiency. He wasn’t one of her patients’ husbands and he didn’t seem in need of medical attention.
The middle-aged man pulled a business card from the right inside pocket of his brown sports coat. “Kirk West with the New York Horn. Can I ask you a couple of questions?”
Marilyn stiffened. She spied the notepad and pen in his hands. “No, you may not.” She turned from him and continued across the parking lot toward the hospital. She never wanted to see another reporter—especially one from the Horn—ever again.
The reporter kept pace with her. “Dr. Evans—”
“It’s Dr. Devry-Evans. If you’re going to stalk me, at least get my name right.” A quick glance at her watch showed it was seven-fifty in the morning. She had more than an hour before her first appointment and she could use every minute of it.
Hospital employees were either walking or running between the hospital’s parking lot and its entrance. The high activity was due in part to the shift change. It also was a response to the medical needs of the community.
Marilyn maneuvered around slower-moving pedestrians and yielded to cars and an ambulance as she crossed the parking lot. The click of her low-heeled shoes was barely audible on the asphalt. A warm breeze carried the scent of cut grass and spring blossoms from the nearby landscaping. It also tugged several strands of her hair loose from the clip at the nape of her neck. The tendrils tickled her cheeks before she brushed them back.
“I don’t write for the gossip section. I’m a sports reporter.”
Like that makes a difference. “I don’t care.”
“What do you say to people who are blaming you for your husband’s bad games?” Kirk’s voice was closer to her now.
Marilyn came to a sudden stop. Her blood began a slow boil. “How dare you harass me at my place of work? How long were you waiting in the parking lot?”
The same breeze that ruffled her hair riffled through his shaggy blond locks. A cocky grin brightened his round features. “About thirty minutes. I didn’t want to miss you in case you came in early.”
Marilyn unclenched her teeth. “You sound so proud of the fact that you were skulking around, waiting to invade someone’s privacy. How would you like it if I came to your job and harassed you?”
Kirk turned pages in his notepad. “There’s a simple solution. Give me a quote and I’ll leave.”
His audacity took Marilyn’s breath away. “Speak with my husband. He’s the basketball player, not me.” She started to walk again.
Kirk followed her. “But I want your perspective. Do you think it’s fair that the Monarchs fans blame you when the team loses?”