Chapter 23

DAKOTA

SAM AWOKE early in the morning, presumably to catch his next flight. I lay in bed awake as he took his shower then dressed. When he approached the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress next to me, I kept my eyes shut and pretended to sleep.

“Dakota?” He whispered my name. I forced my breathing to remain slow and easy. “Baby, are you awake?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was just too damn upset with him and tired of feeling alone. More conversation on the topic seemed pointless. We were caught in an endless loop of apologies and oversights, and I had no idea how to stop the cycle.

His footsteps moved toward the dresser where he rummaged through the drawers for his cufflinks. The rustling stopped. Too late, I remembered Maxwell’s gift stowed in the back of the drawer.

“Dakota? Where did you get this?” He walked around the bed and stood in front of me. “Answer me. I know you’re awake.”

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes to find the locket dangling in front of my face. I swallowed and moved to a sitting position.

“This belonged to my mother. Where did you get it?” The edge in Sam’s voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Maxwell.” All the moisture disappeared in my mouth. I dragged my sandpaper tongue over my lower lip.

“He sent this to you?” Sam’s fingers tightened into a fist. “And you kept it?” I nodded. The locket swung like a pendulum at the end of its silver chain. “I thought we agreed to send everything back unopened. Why didn’t you tell me?”

All the frustration and irritation of the past month exploded out of me. My voice reverberated off the walls. “I was going to tell you, but you’re never here. I can’t even get five minutes with you on the phone.”

“That’s bullshit. All you have to do is call Xavier or Mrs. Caldwell. They’ll put you through to me.” His phone heckled me, vibrating with an incoming call.

“Do you hear yourself? I have called. And called. And left messages. You’re always busy or in a meeting.” I flailed my arms through the air like a landlocked bird. “And the few times I’ve been able to get through, you always end the call before I can finish. I’m your wife, and I shouldn’t have to make an appointment to talk to my husband.”

“I had no idea you felt that way.” He drew back and scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me?” All the while, his phone continued to dance on the dresser surface.

“I would’ve told you if I could get through to you,” I replied in my best sarcastic tone. “Do you know who won the auction for lunch with you? Me. I did. I had to buy an hour of your time because you’re too damn busy for me. I’m trying to be understanding and a good sport about all this, but honestly, sometimes I think you don’t want to be here. And when you are here, you’re either too tired or too preoccupied to be good company.”

“That’s not fair.” His nostrils flared. “You know I want to be here. It’s what I live for.”

“Really? You say that, but you sure don’t act like it.” I glared back at him.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He yanked the cuffs of his shirt down.

“Am I?”

“I’ve got to go. The car’s waiting downstairs.” Silence thundered between us as he grabbed his phone and stared at the screen.

“Fine. Whatever. Have a nice flight.” I burrowed under the covers and closed my eyes. His heavy footsteps thundered across the floor. The door slammed shut behind him, hard enough to rattle the walls.

Because it was Sunday, I didn’t have to go into work. I stayed in bed until after lunch, sniffling and feeling sorry for myself. Sam and I fought often and hard, but never like this. He never left the house angry. I hadn’t even kissed him goodbye. Plagued with guilt and remorse, I tossed and turned, sleeping fitfully.

Mrs. Pittman knocked on the door around one PM. When I didn’t answer, she spoke through the door. “Mrs. Seaforth, are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” I said through a stuffy nose, my voice thick with tears.

“I’ve brought you some lunch,” she replied. “May I come in?”

“I’m not hungry,” I said, even though my stomach growled at the mere mention of food.

“Nonsense.” She opened the door and came in anyway. “You’ve got to keep up your strength with a little one on the way. Babies require lots of food to grow.”

I watched in disbelief as she arranged a tray over my lap. She withdrew the stainless steel covers to reveal a baked chicken breast, steamed veggies, and a bowl of colorful fresh berries. It smelled delicious. My appetite seemed to grow with every passing day.

“This looks delicious,” I said, and wiped away the remnants of tears on my cheeks.

“Thank you.” A genuine smile lessened the severity of her features. Without her prison matron scowl, she looked almost friendly.

“I’m sorry about the shouting this morning,” I said.

“Marriage is a war zone sometimes.” She withdrew the pillow behind my head, punched it several times with her fist, and replaced it at my back. “There. Much better.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” I replied through a mouthful of pineapple.

“I was married for thirty-two years to a wonderful man. We fought a lot. Sometimes over nothing. You’ve got to learn to pick and choose your battles.” She stopped to stare out the window for a moment. “He died three years ago. I’d give anything to have him here today. Looking back, half the things we fought about were unimportant.” With a shrug, she snapped out of her reverie to open the curtains and reveal a sky gray with impending rain. “Enjoy your lunch, Mrs. Seaforth. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

My mouth gaped open as she left the room. This was the longest conversation we’d had since we’d met. Empathy tugged at my heart strings. Everyone fought their own battles behind the scenes. I’d judged her as a harsh and unyielding tyrant when perhaps her demeanor resulted from heartbreak and loneliness, something I could relate to. I finished the food in record time and promptly fell asleep. My body, overworked and overwrought, succumbed to the rare luxury of a day in bed.

The next morning, I forced myself to go into the office. Work offered a welcome distraction, and the hours raced by. One day turned into two then three. It was well past ten at night on the third day when I finally powered off my computer. I hadn’t spoken to Sam since he left, and he hadn’t called or texted. My phone sat at my side, the screen blank, taunting me. A dozen times, I picked it up and a dozen times I put it back down. I wasn’t even sure why we’d fought, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him first. His constant snubs hurt my feelings. For the first time since we’d married, I felt less than important to him, more like a nuisance than his wife.

My office door opened. I flinched at the unexpected intrusion. It was Layla. “What are you still doing here?” I asked her.

“Trying to catch up,” she said with a tired smile. “Do you need anything before I go?”

“No. I’m leaving too.” I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, retrieved my purse, and dropped my phone inside. She waited patiently at the door. Since I hired her, she hadn’t complained once about the long hours or the endless piles of work. “I appreciate your hard work, Layla, but you shouldn’t stay so late. It’s not safe for you to be here alone.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, transforming her usually somber face. “But I’m fine. I usually take the bus home.”

“Well, hang on a minute. I’ll have Chandler drop you off.” Having ridden the bus most of my life, taking a private car home still felt like a luxury, one I was happy to share with this hardworking girl.

“Okay.” At the mention of Chandler, a rose red flush crept up her neck.

“And no more taking the bus late at night. If you stay after hours, let me know. I’ll have Chandler take you home.” 

“You don’t have to—”

I cut her off mid-sentence. “No arguing. I’ll worry about you. You’re too important for me to risk something happening to you.”

If possible, her blush continued to blossom. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

While I was busy freaking out over the pressures of work and an absentee husband, she’d managed to seamlessly coordinate the small but important details of my life. No small feat for such a young woman. “Have you had anything to eat? I’m starving. Let’s stop somewhere and grab a bite. If you have time?”

“Sure. That’d be awesome.”

While I locked up my office, she snapped off the lights, and we headed onto the elevator together. Chandler met us in front of the building. After a short debate, we agreed on Chinese food. I invited Chandler to join us.

The three of us crammed into a booth beneath paper lanterns and a velvet painting of dragons. My limbs ached with exhaustion. Throughout the meal, Layla and Chandler exchanged opinions on music and movies. I listened, enjoying their chatter, grateful for their company. I’d been alone for so long, I hardly knew how to act in the presence of anyone who wasn’t a business associate.

“Thanks so much for joining me,” I said to the pair. “I really appreciate it. We’ll have to do it again.”

“Yes. This has been great.” Layla shot a coy glance at Chandler.

“Thanks, Mrs. Seaforth.” If Chandler noticed Layla’s admiration, he didn’t let on by tone or action.

“I guess we’d better get going.” Once I had my belly full, a good night’s rest sounded heavenly. I stood, intending to gather my things, when a sharp pain sliced through my lower back. The severity caused me to double over. I hissed and wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Jesus.” Chandler rushed to my side. “You’re bleeding.”

I followed his gaze to the trickle of blood trailing down my leg, then everything went black.