Emilie Richards – Fox River (страница 17)

“It was stupid for you to escape from the clinic. Do you have any idea how that made me look?”

“Let me guess. Like the husband of a stupid woman?”

“Damn it, Julia!”

She was silent, waiting for him to gain control. Although a large part of her wanted to have a screaming match, a larger part knew better. Not only would Callie hear, nothing would be accomplished.

He took a while to get hold of his temper. She imagined steam rising from a boiling kettle, then an unseen hand turning off the heat. The steam billowed, then puffed, and at last died away altogether. But the water was still hot enough to scald.

“Let’s sit down,” he said at last.

“Where are we?”

“There’s a bench under a tree.” He led her there. She could hear him brushing leaves from the wooden slats; then he repositioned her. She could feel the bench against the backs of her knees. She sat gingerly.

Julia knew enough of her mother’s gardening style to visualize how this garden looked in moonlight. With fall in the air, Maisy would have planted gold and orange chrysanthemums. Purple asters bloomed here when the weather began to turn, perhaps there was flowering kale this year. Maisy’s gardens were chaotically haphazard and more beautiful because of it, as if God Himself had randomly sprinkled all the colors of the world with a generous hand.

“I came here a lot as a teenager.” Julia explored the bench with her fingertips. “You can see the road through those trees.” She inclined her head. “Sometimes I’d see you riding by. Did you ever notice me?”

If he understood her attempt to take the conversation to a more conciliatory level, he gave no sign. “What were you thinking, Julia? Dr. Jeffers says you found your way downstairs by yourself. You could have been killed.”

“I had help. Did he also tell you he threatened to have me committed?”

“He was trying to keep you there for your own good.”

“Bard, I’m an amateur psychologist. I’ll admit it. But doesn’t it make sense that I won’t get better unless I’m part of the cure?”

“Maybe you don’t want to get better.”

“Then there’s no point to being at the clinic, is there? Think of all the money we’re saving. I can wallow in my blindness for free.”

He took her hand, swallowing it in his. “I don’t mean consciously, Julia. I know you think you want to get better.”

“Now who’s playing amateur psychologist?”

“Well, if you wanted it badly enough, wouldn’t you just see again?”

“Back to that.”

“I don’t know what to think.” He squeezed her hand.

She let him, even though she really wanted him to disappear.

She wanted him to disappear. The thought surprised her, and for a moment it choked off conversation.

“We won’t talk about the clinic anymore,” he said at last. “Maybe I was being too heavy-handed.”

Concessions came with a price. She waited.

“I want you to come home.”

She removed her hand from his. “I’m sorry, but for now I’m right where I need to be.”

“I’m not going to work on you to go back to the clinic, if that’s what you’re afraid of. That chapter’s over. We’ll—”

“You’re not listening again. Even if the clinic’s never mentioned, I want to be here. I need to be here. It feels right.”

“What are you really saying? That you need to be here—or you need to be away from me?”

Since she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t answer directly. “I need people I love around me. You work hard. You won’t be home much, and Mrs. Taylor will end up taking care of me.”

“I can take time off.”

She tried to imagine Bard preparing meals and making certain utensils were in reach. Bard mopping up spills. Bard leading her to the bathroom, or picking her up if she stumbled.

“You would hate it,” she said, and he didn’t deny it.

“How long do you plan to stay?”

She had no plans. Her loss of sight was so mysterious, so precipitous, that it defied logic. She might wake up tomorrow, her vision as clear as crystal. She might spend the rest of her life in a world as dark as a starless winter night.

“I don’t know how long I’ll stay. As long as I need to.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I need my wife.”

She waited for him to mention Callie. He didn’t. “For what, exactly? I can’t be much of a hostess right now. And the foxhunting season will have to start without me.” Bard often acted as honorary whipper-in for the Mosby Hunt, and the thrill of the chase was one of the primary joys they shared.

“You make me sound shallow.”

“Then tell me why you want me there.”

His angry tone intensified. “What’s the point? You’ve obviously made up your mind. I’m the bad guy here. I tried to get help for you, and you rejected it. I asked you to come home, and now you want me to grovel.”

She lowered her voice to counteract his. “I don’t want you to grovel. I just want you to realize there’s no point to my going back to Millcreek except to keep people from talking. You can visit me here anytime you want. You can visit Callie.”

“That’s not a marriage.”

She wondered what exactly he would miss. Sex? She couldn’t imagine Bard making love to a woman who was less than perfect. But even if she was wrong, sex was only a small part of their marriage. For all his masculinity, he was a man who seemed to need little, and she had never insisted on more.

“What is a marriage?” She was genuinely curious to know his answer.

“What’s the point of this?”

“You have very little time for your family. If anything, this will give you an excuse to work longer hours.”

“You never complained before. Is that what this is about? You’re getting back at me for making money to support you?”

“Bard, you could support a harem. Already. Let’s be honest. You work because you love it. You have to work. You have too much energy to sit still for more than a minute.”

“And you never asked me to slow down. Maybe you liked it that way. You didn’t have to put up with me as often. You didn’t have to give up your dreams of another man!”

She was stunned as much by his words as his vehemence. “That’s not true!”

“No? You think I haven’t noticed how cold you are? You think I don’t know why? And you think I don’t know how much you hate it when I try to be a father to Callie? My name’s on her birth certificate, but as far as you’re concerned, I don’t have any real right to put my stamp on her. She’s your kid. Yours and a murderer’s.”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Oh, that’s right. Nobody’s supposed to know.”

“I have never tried to keep you from spending time with Callie.”

“As long as I spend it the way you want me to. You direct every facet of our lives, Julia. You have, right from the beginning. And you call me controlling!”

For a moment she felt dizzied by regrets. They had been married nearly nine years, and he had never expressed any of this. She had tried to be a good wife. She had not allowed herself to mourn for Christian Carver. She had believed her profound gratitude to Bard had quietly turned to affection. She knew his faults and limitations, but she knew her own, as well. She had believed that their marriage, even though it was built on a secret, was solid.

“She has never been my child.” His tone was bitter. “You’ve never let her be my child. I’m as much your prisoner as Christian is the state’s.”

She was suffused with guilt, even though she didn’t know if it was deserved. Her head was ringing with his words. “If you’re trying to make me come back to Millcreek, you’re your own worst enemy. We shouldn’t be living together. Not with all this between us.”

“We aren’t going to fix anything with you living here. It’s the next step toward a divorce. Is that what you want?”

She was saved from having to answer by Callie’s voice floating up from the barn. She lowered hers again. “If you want to see Callie tonight, this is your chance. And we’ve said enough, don’t you think?”

“Not nearly.”