Burying the Past
Prologue
Jaime didn't think she'd ever seen Steve look so heartbreakingly empty and sad, and it scared her to the core. They'd been married for twenty-seven years – she'd known him for most of her life – and she had no idea what was going on in his head. She bounced out onto the porch with much more verve than she actually felt, to try and jolly him out of it.
"Hey, you," Jaime said lightly, throwing her arms around him from behind, "where'd that proud Papa, soon to be Father of the Bride, run off to?" Steve merely shrugged silently. Jaime began kissing the back of his neck, a move guaranteed to get a rise out of him one way or another. He didn't answer and didn't respond, increasing her sense of alarm, but Jaime wasn't ready to give up. She massaged his shoulders for a few minutes, wondering what had put so much tension in his strong, capable muscles. Before she could ask him, Steve got up from the chair and, his shoulders slumped and his face a mask, sat down morosely on the front steps.
Jaime sat down beside him, embracing him with both arms and reaching for him with her heart. "Steve, what's wrong?" she asked gently.
"I'm just...tired, I guess."
"Not buyin' it, Austin. You wouldn't let me get away with a load of BS like that, and I'm not gonna let you shovel it, either." She reached over to run her hand tenderly along the curve of his face, and she saw one uncharacteristic, lone tear in his eye. "Steve, talk to me...please?"
Steve finally turned to fully face his wife, and his voice was shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "I love you so much, Jaime. Please...just always remember that, ok?" Before breaking down completely, he rose to his feet and went into the house, leaving Jaime alone on the porch.
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