I
"Lee, you barely touched your food," I whispered as Phillip and Jamie finished clearing the dinner dishes. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
He brushed away the hand I'd rested on his arm. "I'm fine, Amanda. I have a lot on my mind, that's all. I tried to tell you earlier, this wasn't a good idea."
"Look, Mother and the boys went to a lot of trouble to put together this dinner. And I've barely seen you for weeks. Would it kill you to spare a few minutes for us? Especially tonight?" Though I tried to mask my frustration, it evidently seeped through, because Lee scowled furiously and ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm here, aren't I?" he grumbled, evidently equally annoyed. "Let it drop, okay? I don't want your mother to see us fighting. I've already been interrogated enough for one night."
His sharp tone caused tears to fill my eyes. I wasn't normally one of those weepy types who fall to pieces at the first thoughtless word, but ever since he'd had to cancel our trip on Memorial Day weekend, Lee's mood—if you could call it that—had become darker by the day. These short, hurtful exchanges between us were now the rule rather than the exception. It was almost as if my own husband was inventing reasons to avoid me.
But there wasn't time to dwell on Lee's recent peculiarities. As the door from the kitchen swung open, I brushed the tears from my eyes, my soft sigh lost in the strains of the slightly off-key "Happy Birthday" song. As the last verse ended, I found myself looking at Lee with an involuntary smile. His stern expression softened, and, as Mother set the brightly-decorated cake in front of him, his lips parted in a shy grin. When he took a deep breath and leaned forward to blow out the candles, his eyes were as damp as my own.
"Thanks, Dotty, guys," he mumbled. "This looks great."
Mother shot me one of her famous "I told you so" looks as she handed Lee the cake knife. "The birthday boy gets to do the honors," she informed him, patting his shoulder in her most motherly fashion. "It's a family tradition."
Lee's face clouded over for a moment, the tiny crease that always signaled his unhappiness appearing in his forehead. Mother's matchmaking instincts had kicked into overdrive of late, her veiled hints becoming more and more blatant. But surely the implication that he was a part of our family couldn't put him on edge. After all, she'd only spoken the truth. He was part of the family, even if no one else was aware of it at the moment.
Which was no doubt the real cause of his foul mood. This unending secrecy was wearing thin for both of us. Lee's dissatisfaction with our "mystery marriage" was more evident every day. It was on his face every time our separate lives cut short our private time together, in his voice each evening as we said goodnight from our separate bedrooms. And as the days passed, it was becoming plainer to me that something had to give.
At least the boys' behavior tonight should put to rest any lingering doubts Lee might have about their feelings for him. I couldn't help but smile as I watched my sons vie for the empty chair next to their secret stepfather. Even Jamie had overcome his initial reluctance to Lee's presence. Once my shy youngest son had been reassured of his special place in my affections, acceptance was just a few short steps away. And now . . .
"Hey, Lee," Jamie said, smirking as he beat his brother to the coveted seat. "Can I have the rose?"
Phillip pushed in between them. "I want the rose, worm brain. You got the one from Mom's cake, remember?"
Though Lee laughed and rolled his eyes, I could tell he was flattered by the attention. "I think maybe your grandmother should get the rose," he said, playing the peacemaker to perfection. "To make up for all those flowers she's lost in her garden."
Mother chuckled as she fixed her gaze on him. "Yes, it's amazing how my flower beds suddenly seem to be thriving again. I must be getting my green thumb back."
"That must be it." Lee laughed again, and for a moment, he seemed his old self. He even turned to catch my eye, his face breaking into one of those knee-rattling smiles of his.
But my relief was short-lived. As if suddenly remembering himself, he let his spectacular grin fade back into the grim expression he usually wore these days whenever he looked at me.
No one else appeared to notice his shift in mood. Maybe I was imagining things after all, I told myself. Even as a child, I seemed to have an overactive imagination—or so Mother said. I mean, look at Phillip—his face was brimming with enthusiasm as he sidled up closer to Lee.
"Are you gonna make my baseball game tomorrow night?" he asked. "The other team's undefeated, too, so it should be pretty good. I've been practicing that curve ball you taught me."
But Lee frowned and shook his head. "I wish I could, Chief, but I'm afraid I've got to work."
Phillip turned to me with a stricken look. "You're not going to be there, either, Mom?"
"Your mom will be there," Lee assured him quickly. "I don't need her."
Phillip's face brightened, but the same words that made him so happy felt like a slap in the face to me.
Lee didn't need me.
Yes, that seemed to be the order of the day lately—or at least, since my accident. My husband seemed bound and determined to wrap me in a protective cocoon.
No one else appeared to take his words to heart, though. Lee and the boys even exchanged jokes as he opened their presents, while Mother surveyed the scene with a smile of obvious satisfaction. And the rest of the evening passed away just as happily, unmarked by any more double-edged comments. To the contrary, Lee seemed unusually touched by the party and the gifts.
"I can't believe Jamie spent his entire allowance on that fancy stopwatch," he told me after Mother and the boys had strategically retreated to their bedrooms to allow us some privacy. "He's always turned down my invitations to take the Corvette out on the track."
I smiled and sat down beside him on the couch. "I told you he'd come around. It just took a little more work, that's all."
"Yeah. I wish . . ." He bit his lip.
"Wish what, sweetheart?" I nuzzled my face into his neck. He always smelled so good . . . so strong, so masculine, so alive. I couldn't get enough of him.
Unfortunately, Lee didn't seem to feel the same way. "It's nothing," he replied, displacing me as he leaned forward. "Look, Amanda, its getting late . . ."
"It's not that late. Besides," I added, running my hand over his thigh, "I haven't given you my present yet."
He pursed his lips, steadfastly refusing look at me. "I should be going."
I let out an exasperated sigh. Lee was being intentionally obtuse, and this time it was definitely not my imagination. "Okay," I said after a long pause, "Give me a minute to say goodnight to mother and the boys . . ."
He sprang up as if he'd been stung and took a few steps toward the hall. "I'm tired, Amanda. It's been a long day."
"'A long day?'" I cocked my head and stared at him. "What is this, Stetson? Next you'll be telling me you have a headache."
"Which wouldn't be too far from the truth," he snapped. "Just give it a rest, okay? Can't you see I'm not in the mood?"
"You're never in the mood lately," I shot back. I was getting tired of this worn-out song and dance. If he had something to say to me, why didn't he just say it?
But he'd obviously said more then enough for one night. As he turned away and ran a hand through his hair again, I shook my head and pushed myself up off the couch. It was the fifth time my husband had repeated that same familiar gesture in just as many minutes. If he didn't break himself of that habit soon, he'd end up as bald as my great-uncle Iggy.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly approached him. "Look, Lee, if I've done something to upset you, I wish you'd tell me." I rubbed his shoulders in time to my words. As he leaned into my impromptu massage, I added in a gently prodding whisper, "Husbands and wives should talk out their problems, you know, not avoid them."
"Amanda," he began, but instead of the loving words I expected to hear, his tone was harsh. "I don't want to get into this tonight. Your family is right upstairs."
"My family?" I chided, my voice hoarse with frustration. "What on earth is the matter with you?"
He clenched his mouth tighter, his body rigid as he turned to me. "Nothing is the matter with me that a little peace and quiet wouldn't cure. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Lee, what . . ."
I followed him to the front door, but before I could catch him, he was already halfway to the car. Without a parting look in my direction, he slipped behind the wheel of the Corvette. The sound of the slamming car door reverberated in the quiet night.
And I was left silhouetted in the front door, listening to the roar of the sports car's powerful engine as my husband sped away from me down the street.