Chapter Two
Please, please, I begged the white stick of torture—a more accurate description than pregnancy test—resting on our bathroom counter. I’d lost track of how many of them I had urinated on. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, counting the seconds in my head. I had one hundred more to go. Two minutes mixed with a drop of hope and a healthy dose of bargaining, just in case Peter was right about God.
If you are really there, I promise to give up swearing for at least a month. Okay, the entire pregnancy. I meant business.
I promise to try to not be snarky to Father Alan when I attend RCIA classes. Unbeknownst to my husband, I was secretly attending Rites of Christian Initiation for Adults. I didn’t want to get his hopes up that I would convert to his faith or have any faith at all, but for him, I wanted to at least try to see what it was all about. Many Wednesday nights saw me driving two towns away to annoy and perhaps amuse my second favorite priest. I had a feeling Father Alan kind of enjoyed my cynicism. He said I kept him on his toes and he hadn’t heard such colorful language in a long time.
Please do it for Peter. Even if I don’t believe, he does. How many prayers does he have to offer up? Please.
One hundred eighteen, one hundred nineteen . . .
I opened one eye to peek, zeroing in on the stark white test against the dark granite. The other eye opened, brimming with tears. Negative. Again.
In the worst timing ever, I heard the door from the garage leading into our mudroom close and the voice I loved more than any sound. He was early.
“Hey, baby, I’m home.”
I wiped my eyes and quickly disposed of the damn test. Swearing was back on. I took some deep breaths to compose myself. I began twisting my long red hair like that’s what my real reason for being in the bathroom was, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red blotches my creamy skin broke out in when I was upset.
Peter was quick to find me. He slid open the wood-framed etched glass bathroom door all smiles until he caught my reflection in the mirror above my sink. His eyes darted toward my blotched, bare shoulders and chest.
I faked a smile. “Hi. You’re home early.”
His eyes narrowed while he approached me in his dirt-stained Decker and Sons Landscaping T-shirt and khaki shorts. “You okay?”
I nodded through the mirror, afraid to meet his actual eyes. The concern they reflected was going to be my undoing.
He pressed a kiss to my neck. “What’s wrong?”
I let my hair fall out of the twist. “I’m fine.”
He met my eyes again in the mirror. “You only say that when you’re not.”
I stared into those green eyes that yearned to understand me. They always promised a safe landing. My own eyes betrayed me with a sheen of moisture. “I took the test.”
He spun me around and drew me to him.
I buried my head in his chest while he stroked my hair. I soaked in not only his comfort but the smell I had come to associate with him. It was a combination of perspiration, his spicy cologne, and a touch of sod and dirt. For some it might be considered a little gamey, but I couldn’t get enough of it. Of him.
I stifled my tears the best I could while clinging to him.
He kissed the top of my head. “We have to quit doing this to ourselves.”
I leaned away to meet his warm eyes, still in the comfort of his arms. “You don’t want to have a baby?”
Tenderness filled his features while he took a moment before answering. “I do, but not at the expense of you or us.”
I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he leaned down and brushed my lips with his, “no more tracking your cycle and taking ovulation tests. We aren’t going to wait on bated breath every month to see if your period starts.” He picked me up and set me on the counter.
I wrapped my long legs around his body. My arms fell around his neck.
He pressed his body against mine. “When we make love, from now on it’s only going to be about us in the moment. No more what if this is the time.” He nuzzled my neck. “You are all I need.”
I ran my fingers through his hair and tried to take solace in his words. “Are you sure? Maybe we could get one of those handmaidens your people were fond of in the bible,” I teased.
He leaned back with a smile in his eyes. “My people?”
“All those men who talked to God. Didn’t they all get handmaidens when their wives couldn’t conceive?”
“I don’t know where you are getting your information from, my dear wife, but those handmaidens were given to their husbands by their wives, and more often than not, it caused a lot of trouble.”
“I know I would want to claw her eyes out and probably maim you if you ever touched another woman like that.”
“Like this?” He captured my lips and hungrily parted them, no longer the man who was nervous about kissing my cheek.
My legs tightened around him. All my emotions poured into him.
He groaned and kissed me deeper, taking his time not to leave any territory in my mouth unexplored. It was a frequent travel destination of his and he knew it all by heart. Each prod and taste of him made my heart race.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder. I placed my hand on his cheeks, pushing pause on the passion. “Are you sure?” I peered into his green eyes, so alive with passion.
“I definitely don’t want a handmaiden.” His semi-wicked grin appeared. It could never be fully wicked. He was too good.
“You were never getting one,” I whispered.
“I would never want one.” He leaned his forehead against mine. “Delanie, you are my life.”
I ran my hand across his stubbled cheek. “We could . . . adopt.” I always had trouble saying the word.
“Let’s put a pin in that thought until the end of year.”
I wondered if his reluctance came from fear of the process or if he sensed my hesitation. I wasn’t brave enough to ask.
“Okay. I love you.”
“My favorite words.” He picked me up off the counter, trailing kisses across my cheek.
“Where are you taking me?” I tried to be coy, but I knew it was probably one of two places.
“I would like your company in the shower.”
That was my first guess.
~*~
Lying in his arms, I traced circles around his smooth, bare chest, breathing in the clean scent of his bar soap. I still reveled in listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart and the feel of his defined muscles shaped by manual labor. His calloused fingers glided down my arm. A contented sigh escaped his lips.
“Was this your way of getting out of sushi?”
A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “I should have thought about that. I guess it worked out, though.”
I playfully smacked his chest.
“You want to go now?” he offered.
It had been dark for a while and was well past dinnertime. “I think it’s another night of cereal.” That’s how I cooked dinner.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“We can go tomorrow.”
“Of course,” he groaned.
It was my turn to laugh. “I look forward to it.”
“Me too,” he lied.
“Uh-huh.” I kissed his chest before I sat up and ran my fingers through my damp, tangled hair.
Peter admired me in the semi-dark room. “My T-shirts have never looked so good.”
I rested my head on my pulled-up knees and smiled down at him. “Thanks to you, I haven’t bought pajamas in four years.”
He turned to his side and rested his head on his propped hand. “It’s been entirely my pleasure.”
I ruffled his mussed hair. “Do you want Cocoa Pebbles or Frosted Flakes?”
“Probably both, but first I’d like you to think about something.”
“What’s up?”
He gave me his most charming smile. “I was thinking it would be nice if we had my family over to give them a tour of our new house.”
I did my best, which wasn’t good at all, to hide the disgust on my face. I knew who he meant by “family.” While my mother-in-law tried to be nicer to me in front of Peter after the blow-up last fall, I wasn’t buying it for a minute. I don’t think my sweet Peter was either, but family was important to him, so he tried to keep the peace whenever he could.
“Avery and Sam have been here. Twice, actually,” I responded. They loved it, though I knew they wondered how we afforded our beautiful home, even if it was the smallest in the neighborhood. It’s not like Peter and I wanted such a nice place, but we had to think of security and eventualities just in case my worst nightmare happened and our secret got out. I mean, I still drove my crappy seven-year-old sedan. Money meant nothing to me other than we could fund our shoe and water charities.
Avery and Sam were smart enough to question if my job working for the online magazine my publisher owned under a different name paid well enough. It didn’t, but it gave me a great platform to bring attention to the causes near and dear to my heart, like clean water for everyone and the mutilation of women and girls around the globe. Plus, it was a legitimate cover. It allowed me to be truthful when I told people I was a writer and content manager, even though doing both jobs was taxing.
The charm in his smile turned strained. “Ma would really like to come see it too.”
My face contorted in disbelief while I scoffed. “Your mother, who declared I was selling drugs to pay for it and that she would never step foot inside this house of cards?”
“Did she say that?” He played innocent while reaching up and tucking some hair behind my ear. “I know she’s not the easiest person to get along with and she’s been unfair to you. But she’s trying, and maybe this is a chance to start mending some fences.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Unfair?”
“How about awful?”
“You’re getting warmer.”
“Baby, please?”
He asked so very little of me. I hated to say no, even though his mother was determined to hate me no matter what I did, and the thought of her here gave me metaphorical hives. And I was suspicious as to why she wanted to visit after being so adamant about never coming over. She only came to our apartment once, and thankfully I wasn’t home at the time. I closed my eyes and let out heavy breaths.
Peter did his best to coax me by sitting up and brushing kisses along my neck.
“I’m above your powers of persuasion now,” I said between shivers.
He didn’t believe a word I said and inched up toward my lips where he skillfully skimmed them. “We’ll have everyone over at the same time just in case you need a buffer.”
“Just in case?”
“Let me rephrase, so you will have a buffer.”
“She’s going to badger us about how we can afford it and she’s going to criticize our lack of furniture. In between that, she’ll make underhanded comments about how I don’t feed you well enough and how she read that tattoo ink gives you cancer. Though she’ll be praying that last part is true.” She had said it under the guise of trying to be helpful a couple of weeks ago, but I saw the evil glint her in eye.
“She doesn’t wish you dead,” he said with no confidence at all. “And I’m a grown man. I don’t need my wife to feed me, nor do I expect her to.”
“Which is lucky for you.”
“I am a lucky man.”
I placed my hands on his cheeks and took a deep breath. “Stop being so wonderful.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“Peter.”
“I know.” He took my hands from off his face and kissed them. “It would mean a lot to me.” He cinched it right there.
“All right, but it could get ugly if she asks me to submit to a drug test . . . again.”
He chuckled. “She won’t, I promise.”
I wanted to believe that.