Husband by Choice

“The drive was paved so we couldn’t see evidence of fresh tire marks if there were any,” Chantel was saying. “But we talked to a guy who lives about two blocks away. He said he wasn’t sure who owned the place, but he’d seen someone there a time or two. Said he drove a white pick-up truck. Wasn’t sure if it was rented or not. We showed him Smith’s picture. He said it could be him but he wasn’t sure. Said he was friendly, though. Waved anytime he went by.”

Was he disappointed? Or relieved? At the moment Max wasn’t feeling much of anything, except lonely. And frustrated.

Steve Smith had apparently been highly liked in Vegas. By a lot of people. It wasn’t a stretch to think that neighbors could find him friendly.

“He did say that he’d seen a local work truck there a month or two ago. He couldn’t remember which company, but he remembered thinking that maybe the owner was going to fix the place up and put it on the market. Or rent it. Says it’s a shame to have it sitting there empty so much of the time. He’d been planning to stop and ask the guy if he was interested in selling it to him, but hadn’t gotten around to it.”

“Now what?” And why couldn’t Chantel have just called him with this news? Shamed at the thought, he reminded himself that Meri’s leaving him wasn’t her fault.

“Now we keep checking. Wayne’s going to watch the place, ask around some more. And we see what Diane comes up with in Las Vegas. We’ll find this guy, Max. We just might have to be patient.”

The problem was he’d run out of patience.

* * *

JENNA HAD HER speech therapy session with the little boy who stuttered on Wednesday morning. And afterward, she worked with Romar on mouth exercises, retraining the woman’s muscle memory so that when she spoke she didn’t automatically revert to the motions she made without conscious thought.

Then it was time to see Olivia. At yet another new house. She took the bus, as usual, and watched her back.

She just wasn’t as sure anymore that she needed to be doing so.

Thirty-six hours had passed since she’d visited Lila in her suite. A day and a half to assimilate, do some soul searching, and listen to her heart. And she couldn’t be certain what her instincts were telling her.

If Steve wasn’t after her, if she’d left her life and the home and the man and the boy she loved because her paranoia and fear had snuck in the back door and ambushed her, then she had some very serious repairs to make.

With her husband. Her son.

And in counseling, too.

But as she rode the bus home, and thought about counseling, that didn’t sound right, either. She could recite, by rote, the things she’d be told. The things she needed to do.

The things she was already doing.

No counselor could give her the clarity she needed. It had to come from within.

It just had to.

If she couldn’t trust herself, she couldn’t trust anyone.

&nbs

p; And so, when the bus made a stop a block from Max’s house, Jenna stood up. The few steps down the narrow rubber aisle of the bus seemed to take forever. She could hear each step she made. Counted them.

One, two, three, four and she was there. Down one step and then the next. One more and she was on the blacktop. Stepping up the curb to take two steps in the grass and then she was on the sidewalk.

She didn’t trek through yards. She wasn’t hiding. If there was no one chasing her, she could walk as normally as anyone else would. One foot in front of the other, enjoying the hint of coolness in the autumn air and the sun on her face. The smell of freshly cut grass.

Looking for the roses that had been planted at the house on the corner of her street, she noticed a new bloom since she’d left. A pink one. Perfect enough to be photographed. Like a work of art come to life.

And there was the fountain in the Thomases’ yard. It wasn’t on, but then it wouldn’t be. They had it on a timer, set for four o’clock, so the fountain would be running when they got home from work.

She wondered how the Bradys’ baby, Melissa, was faring. They’d been married fifteen years and she was their first child, born prematurely, but had been doing well.

And then she was...home. The house was dearly familiar to her. Standing there on the same street with all the homes it had stood amongst since the day it was built.

Her key worked the front door. And she used it there, not bothering to hide her actions.

No neighbors were about, not that she was surprised. There were many times that she and Caleb were the only ones home during the day.