Chapter Twenty-Eight
Peter did his best to behave more like his normal self the next day. For anyone else, I think he would have had them fooled, but a woman knows her husband. There were subtle differences, like when he held me, he clung. It wasn’t as desperate as the kiss in the car that had turned into so much more, but it was a need more than a want. I could understand that. There had been times that I needed the closeness only he could provide, to lose myself in him when I felt like I had no place I belonged except with him. But I was afraid this time it wasn’t bringing us closer together. It was more like him holding on to what he could of us before fame blew up our door and pummeled us with softball size hail. As much as I hated it, I knew we had to face it head on. There was no hiding from it now. And if we did it together, we would be less likely to get blown over. Sure, we might lose our footing a time or two, but I knew we could weather the storm together if we tried.
His family and my colleagues were kind enough to give us our space over the weekend. Though I did text Sam and Avery a few times. I was anxious to hear how Sam’s other book signing went and how Cody and Reed fared in their season opener on Friday night since Peter didn’t feel comfortable going. I was happy to hear they had won, and Sam had another successful signing with fans lined up around the bookstore. Peter also didn’t feel comfortable attending Mass on Sunday, which made him grumpy. He took to studying his bible in the downstairs office a good portion of the day while I worked on my manuscript. Or I should have said, tried to work. My mind was on my husband.
I kept staring at the same sentence for over an hour.
Why would you keep this from me, Laine?
Because she loved him, that’s why, but she couldn’t say that. I couldn’t say it.
Around midday, I gave up and placed my laptop on our coffee table. I couldn’t bring myself to work in my office. The vibe in there wasn’t conducive to creativity. All I could feel in there was violated and spiteful. I wanted those women to pay for what they had taken from me and my husband—our privacy and equilibrium. I blamed them for the nagging fear that no longer remained under the surface, that all of this might take Peter away from me.
I pushed off the couch and headed Peter’s way.
His head was down, poring over his worn bible. His hair was ruffled as if his fingers had worn a path across it. He was still in his pajama pants and, to my disappointment, he had thrown on a T-shirt. He turned my way when I walked through the French doors. I got a small, tired smile. His attempt, I’m sure, to be normal, but that smile nowhere near touched his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and set down the pen he had been using to write in his journal. I caught a glimpse of the word forgiveness written in bold letters.
I knew the divide between him and his mother weighed heavily on him. Peter was a forgiving soul, but I wasn’t sure anyone had ever hurt him so deeply, and for the first time in his life, he was struggling with a subject he could so eloquently orate about. Even I knew one day I would have to forgive his mother and those women. And myself. Father Alan’s words came to mind, The hardest person to forgive is yourself. Maybe someday I would be able to. But not today.
Without invitation, I sat on Peter’s lap and curled into him, soaking in the scent of our lavender fabric softener. He didn’t waste a moment wrapping me up. Before I spoke, I listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart. That hadn’t changed. It gave me some hope.
“Peter, we can’t live like this. As much as I love only being with you, we can’t lock ourselves in this house. You especially. At least I have imaginary friends to play with.”
He gave a small laugh before kissing my head. “You’re right,” he sighed, resting his chin on my head. “I know I’ve been a beast to live with.”
“I would say more like a snappy Chihuahua.”
“Chihuahua?” He playfully nuzzled my neck, making me laugh. “At least let me retain my manhood and say something like Great Dane.”
“How about a cuddly Lab with a bark bigger than his bite?”
He pulled me closer against him. “I do love to cuddle with you.”
I buried my head in his chest. “I love you, Peter.”
“I love you, too. I’m sorry for being a dog this past week.”
I laughed some more. “It’s understandable. But now that you’re being a good boy, I think we should go on a walk.”
“Outside?” He didn’t hide the trepidation in his voice.
“Of course. We have to live our lives. Eventually they will see how truly boring we are and leave us alone.”
“Baby, you are anything but boring.”
“I know I’m taking you on a wild ride right now but . . . just hold on.”
He leaned back, concerned, and tipped my chin up. “Delanie, I’m not going anywhere.”
I breathed a sigh of relief while peering into his eyes that had some light back in them; they warmed me. “Do you want to go on that walk?”
He thought for a moment. “Later. First, I foolishly passed up on my wife’s promise to me of a weekend in bed.”
“I was wondering about that.” I ran my hands up his chest and around his neck. “I thought I’d lost my touch.”
“Never.” His lips played above mine.
“The offer is still good for the remainder of the day.” I was impatient and took a taste of his teasing lips.
“Mmm,” he groaned. “That is the best news I have had all week.” He stood up with me in his arms, and for an afternoon, we were us again.
That weekend was like a reset button. It didn’t make cameras and prying eyes go away, but it was a reminder of what really mattered. We both needed that as we faced the next two weeks, preparing for our public foray into the spotlight together.
We had twelve days before we left for Atlanta. Fiona sent me our itinerary Monday morning. It was jam packed. We would leave the Saturday after next and fly to Atlanta. Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday before the conference began on Wednesday had me all over Georgia and nearby Chattanooga doing book signings, readings at two colleges, and then there was the conference itself. Since it was a reader’s and author’s conference, there were several meet-and-greet events on top of the classes and panels. I was on two panels, one regarding self-publishing versus traditional publishing, since I had done both, and another titled Amazing Protagonists. Then there were the balls. Thankfully I didn’t have to attend the erotica one. I saw the pictures from last year’s event and poor Peter would have had a heart attack from the outfits alone.
The biggest event I was worried about was the luncheon that kicked off the conference on Wednesday. I was supposed to give the keynote address in front of all the authors, industry leaders, and readers who paid the pricey fee to attend. The topic I was given was why romance novels are an important part of literature and modern-day society. Like that wasn’t a weighty or debatable topic that required hours of research. They wanted me to weave my journey into it as well.
Lucas had originally been set to give the address, but when they found out I was available, he put his ego to the side and gave me the honor. Though I wished he wouldn’t have. At least it gave Joan something to rub in his face a time or two. I will say he was kind enough to give me some of his research notes, but that was probably because he was playing Joan’s vampire lover. I hoped she was packing turtlenecks for the trip.
In between all the conference prep, packing, answering the plethora of new emails I was receiving, and keeping my husband from becoming a snappy Chihuahua, I was supposed to be writing a book. It didn’t help when we ran into bumps as Autumn Moone continued to invade every aspect of our lives. Nothing was sacred. Even the anniversary of the passing of our niece, Hannah, made not only the news, but Avery and James had pictures taken of them at the cemetery mourning their daughter. Peter stared at the photos off and on for an hour when he got home from work. He kept his laptop on the kitchen island and, like a magnet, he kept being drawn to it.
I finally put my arms around him as he scanned an article about the tragic events surrounding Hannah’s death three years ago when she was hit by a car while riding her bike. The article unfortunately made it more about me than her. Peter was thrown in there too since he’d given the eulogy at her funeral. He had written it like a poem. It was so beautiful, copies had been distributed at the time. Obviously, someone close to the family gave up their copy as there it was staring back at us. Anything to sell a story or make a name for the journalist.
My head rested against his muscular back. “Peter.”
His hand covered mine as it rested on his chest.
I wasn’t sure what to say to him, so I only held him from behind for the longest time. With any luck, Brittany Spears would shave her head soon and the press would forget about us. Maybe Joan could get ahold of her people. I was willing to pay Brittany a hefty sum to say goodbye to her golden locks.
I would have suggested a walk around the lake in our neighborhood, so we could get out of the house, but we’d done that last night and all our neighbors, it seemed, joined us. It wasn’t terrible, but I was sure we made several Instagram and Facebook posts. And it was hardly a walk, so many people stopped us to talk. The good news was we would probably never have to cook if we took our neighbors up on all their dinner invitations.
Visitors helped ease us into our new normal for the time being. Especially when his dad came by to check on our backyard. Or so he said. I was sure he was looking for any excuse not to be at home. That was another source of Peter’s angst. He was worried about his parents’ marriage. I think part of him felt guilty that he was playing a part in it because of the way he was feeling and acting toward his mother. I knew he wanted to forgive her and was trying. Avery mentioned he was giving his mom more than one-word answers now, but every time a new story about us appeared, it opened the wound of what she and her friends had done, making it that much harder to extend the olive branch that I knew he wanted to give.
I was fine not talking to her at all. Not that she cared one way or the other if we spoke. Joseph was another story. I loved talking to him, and the smile it gave Peter when I called him Dad was priceless.
Sam, Avery, and their families were also welcomed guests. Our nephews were happy to see we were upping our aunt and uncle game. We’d ordered the latest and greatest in video game technology for their pleasure. They did mention that we should probably get a bigger TV and they were still angling for the pool.
All in all, it wasn’t awful. Sure, James and Peter were receiving more attention on the job and the requests for interviews were still coming steady. And going to the grocery store was a production. Nothing like people watching you buy deodorant and toothpaste and making note of your brand choices.
For a moment, it seemed as if the storm had calmed. I felt like we were able to take a breath after being sucker punched. But what I failed to recognize was that we were only in the eye of the hurricane. The peace we felt was only a temporary reprieve from the perfect storm that had been brewing all around us, waiting to unleash its wrath.