When we were married, he’d always slept in the buff. And I’d always worn one of his shirts, which he’d always enjoyed removing. Which I’d always quite enjoyed him removing.

This is the kind of rhetoric that leads to certain disaster, I told myself. Swallowed. Tried looking at Brad at Gethsemane to dull the thoughts of Nick and me back in the good old days.

Nick sighed, ran a hand through his unruly hair and went over to the other side of the bed. He took the other pillow off the unoccupied side of the bed and opened the closet. Withdrew a blanket and looked at me for a second. “You all set?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” I answered.

“Goodnight, then,” he said. “Night.”

He turned off the light, and shafts of cold white moonlight sliced into the room. I listened as Nick lay down on the floor, there in front of the makeshift altar.

The wind gusted again. Coco sighed.

One blanket.

It was awfully cold in here.

“Nick.”

“Yeah?” The answer came instantly, and my heart clenched.

“Come to bed,” I said, my voice blessedly matter-of-fact. “It’s too cold to sleep on the floor.”

There was a pause. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

Mistake, dumbass, my brain told me in no uncertain terms. But crap. It wasn’t as if we were hormone-inflamed teenagers. We weren’t about to sleep together—well, of course we actually were, but nothing more. My goodness, you’re stupid, Brain informed me, and it was true. If a client had told me she was about to let her ex climb into bed with her, I would’ve been screechingly against it. But this was different (as all women tell themselves right before they make a huge mistake). This was just a mission of mercy.

The bed creaked as Nick got in. Coco gave a tiny growl, then jumped off the bed, disgusted that we’d had the nerve to disturb her. I lay on my side, facing away from Nick, a good foot between us, but I could already feel his warmth over there, like the sun, taunting me.

“Thanks,” Nick said.

“Oh, sure. It’s nothing. Couldn’t let you freeze, not with Jesus watching.” I grimaced in the dark, glad he couldn’t see my burning face. “You cold?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Nice and toasty.”

“You’re freezing,” he stated.

“No, I’m good.” My feet were blocks of ice.

“Admit it. You’re dying over there.”

“I’m not. Very much alive.”

Then his foot slid over and touched mine. “You call that alive?” he asked, and then the covers rustled and his arm was around me, my back against his chest, his hand smoothing back my hair.

My throat tightened, and the nearness of him, the only man who ever made me feel cherished…it just sucker-punched my heart.

“Sleep tight,” I whispered.

“You, too.”

God, I’d missed him.

Nick was quiet, his skin as warm as I was cold. We lay like that for a long while, not talking, not moving. The wind blew, Coco adjusted herself and gave a little doggy snore. Nick’s breathing was slow and even, and this…the two of us lying together, was as comforting and wonderful as anything I’d ever felt. And horrible, because it brought such a pain to my heart. We’d had something special and rare, Nick and I. There’d been more to our marriage than loneliness and tunnel vision and wretched communication skills. There’d been times like this, lying together in the dark, together. Those times hadn’t been enough…but they’d been so precious nonetheless.

When I was sure he was asleep, I touched his hand. Just a little, just a little brush of my fingertips against the back of his lovely, wonderful hand.

“You asked why I couldn’t forgive you,” Nick said, very quietly, and I jumped a little. “It was because you were the love of my life, Harper. And you didn’t want to be. That’s hard to let go.”

The words were like a ragged shard of glass in my heart. I swallowed, the sound loud in the dark. “That’s not exactly true, Nick,” I whispered, turning around to face him. “I did want that. But…”

But what? I’d loved him with all my tattered, puny heart, but the fear I’d felt had trapped it inside, stunting me, ruining us. “It would’ve been easier to believe if you’d been around a little, Nick. If you’d…helped me believe it.”

He nodded, and that surprised me. “You’re right. My hours didn’t help. But I thought once we were married, you’d feel…safer.” He stopped, gave a rueful shake of his head. “I’ll tell you something, Harpy,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now. “It never even occurred to me that we wouldn’t make it. And it never occurred to you that we would. You were just waiting for us to go down in flames. I thought we could get through anything.”

“Except you left me, Nick,” I whispered, my heart tight. “That night. You packed your things and left.”

“I needed to cool off, Harper. I was staying with a friend for a couple days. I never would’ve asked for a divorce. You know that. You, though…you saw a lawyer the next day, Harper. The next day.”

For the first time in a long, long time, I felt as if I might actually cry. Instead, I gave a half nod of acknowledgment. Coco must’ve sensed her mommy was close to the edge, because she jumped up on the bed and wormed herself against my legs.

“Can I ask you something else?” Nick’s voice was very soft and horribly gentle.

“Oh, of course,” I whispered. “Why not?”

He gave a little smile at that, and then grew serious once more. “When I asked you to marry me, Harper…why did you say yes?”

Oh, God. This wasn’t scab-ripping. This was a bone-marrow harvest. “Nick…” My voice was uneven, and I stopped.

“I know you loved me,” he said, his eyes steady. “But you didn’t want to get married, that was clear in hindsight. So why did you say yes?”

“I couldn’t say no,” I blurted, the truth rushing out. “I didn’t want to…hurt you.”

“It hurt when you divorced me,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know! I know it.” I lowered my voice so as not to wake the McCabes. “And you’re right. I knew it was just a matter of time before things blew up in our faces, but I couldn’t figure out how to say no and still keep you, and so…I just…went along.”

He looked away for a second. Scrubbed his hand through his hair, making it stand on end, then looked back at me, his eyes sad. Very, very sad. “Okay. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For telling me the truth.”

There was nothing left to say.

How unspeakably sad that small, hard fact was, so awful and so true. Love hadn’t been enough to save us, and though the thought wasn’t new to me, the world suddenly seemed awfully big and empty and hollow nonetheless.

Carefully, slowly, I turned back on my side. Nick put his arm around me once more, and his breath tickled the hair on my neck. Coco sighed.

I lay there, watching the blue numbers of the digital clock change as the moonlight slid across the room. Eventually, Nick’s breathing slowed, and his hand twitched, telling me he was asleep at last.

But I stayed awake for a long, long time, not wanting to fall asleep, because tonight was the last night of the two of us.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WHEN I WOKE UP THE next morning, I was alone in bed, not even Coco for company. I could hear Nick’s voice down the hall, a feminine voice answering—Mrs. McCabe, I presumed. For a second, I just sat there, looking at Nick’s pillow, an unfamiliar sense of loss clanging around in my chest.

Time to get myself in gear. In a couple of hours, I’d be on my way home, back to work, back to my island. I checked my messages, zapped off a few texts, then padded into the loo to wash up and dress. I found Nick, freshly showered and shaved, sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. McCabe.

“Mornin’, hon,” he said with a little smile, and just like that, he let me know we were…well. We were okay, or as okay as the two of us got. He introduced me to Mrs. McCabe, an attractive woman with a blue tinge to her white hair.

“Ruth and I were just talking about baby names,” Nick said. “She and I both lean toward the Old Testament.”

“I’ve always loved Zophar,” I said. Comforter of Job, six letters. I did crossword puzzles, after all.

“Now, sweetie, you know my heart’s set on Jabal,” he said. Ah. The former altar boy struck back.

“We can always compromise. Esau,” I said, grinning. Jacob’s twin, son of Isaac and Rebecca.

“Or Nebuchadnezzar,” he returned.

“I do love that one,” I said, nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, now, you might want to think of how the other kids will, um, react,” Mrs. McCabe advised, frowning. “Nothing wrong with David or Jesse, don’tcha think? Harper, hon, have some coffee cake.”

We had a lovely breakfast, and then Deacon drove us into town. Lars the mechanic had no problem replacing the hose on the Mustang. Had the part in stock. Easy fix. It was rather disappointing.

“Sure hope you folks’ll make it back here someday,” Deacon said as I paid the bill (I insisted, and Nick let me).

“It’s a lovely town,” I said sincerely. “And you’ve been wonderful, Deacon.”

“Well, we enjoyed the company,” he said. “Any time you swing through North Dakota, you look us up, won’tcha?”

“We sure will,” Nick said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

“Take care, kids! Send us a Christmas card!” Deacon called.

And that was that. Goodbye, Harold, goodbye sweet, brief pretense that Nick and I were—or ever had been—happily married, goodbye whispered truths in the moonlight. Coco curled up on my lap—Nick insisted on driving, making numerous roadkill jokes, started the engine and we were off. According to Nick’s portable GPS system, the airport in Bismarck was two hours and forty-two minutes away.

“There’s one stop I want to make before I take you to the airport,” Nick said. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I said instantly. “Nope. That’s fine.”

Time, which had seemed so sluggish the past few days, suddenly sped up. Nick and I chatted carefully—nothing deeper than the weather forecast—and listened to NPR. As we neared the capital city, the trees and buildings grew denser, and Coco perked up as if realizing we were reaching a destination. Bismarck was a new city—well, compared with the East Coast, that is. The trees were turning here, and many of the houses were from the Arts and Craft period, or solid old Victorians. Lots of yards, lots of gardens. It was quite lovely…and quite flat. Shocking, really, how far you could see out here.

The Mustang’s top was down, and sky gleamed pure blue. I wore Nick’s Yankees hat, but the breeze managed to free some locks of hair anyway. I guessed it didn’t matter. We passed restaurants and shops, and the city turned into blocks. Finally, we came to a college— Whalen University. Nick slowed, then turned into the entrance. The manicured campus grounds sprawled in front of us, green and lush, dotted with shade trees and college students lounging on the grass. Nick knew where he was going; he turned right, then left and finally came up in front of a building. The Hettig Library & Media Center, the sign announced.

“Need something to read?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just got out of the car. I followed, Coco trotting at my side, her pink patent leather leash catching the sunlight.

The library was made of brick and glass, very clean and open, with graceful lines and an arched glass roof. How nice it must be to study in there, I thought, the endless Midwestern sky above you as you pored over books or computer screens. There was a slate courtyard with a very modern-looking fountain, all angles and corners, the smooth fall of water splashing down in a wonderful rush of noise. At one end of the building, there was a four- or five-story tower that nicely echoed the more traditional, older architecture of the rest of the campus. I caught up to Nick, who was staring up at the tower, squinting in the sun.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said in that immediate way he had. He turned to face me. “I just wanted you to…” He paused. “To see something of mine.”

My heart swelled. I never had seen one of Nick’s buildings…not that I knew of, anyway. “Well, then. Show me around.”

For the next hour, we walked around the building, inside and out, and for the first time, I saw him in full architect mode, talking about light and angles, expansion and symmetry, commonality and conservation. His voice was New York fast, his lovely hands pointing and framing, and he smiled as he spoke, his eyes bright. When a librarian came over to kick Coco out, Nick introduced himself, pulling her name from his memory banks—apparently they’d met five years ago when the building was actually being constructed—and Coco was allowed to stay. Kids looked at him, recognizing that this was a guy who knew something; one even approached him and asked if he was the architect of the library, and the two of them talked for a few minutes about master’s programs. In the end, Nick gave him his business card and told him to drop him a line if he wanted a summer internship.

It was something, to stand in a building that Nick—my Nick—had dreamed up and made real.

“Is this one of your favorite buildings?” I asked as we headed back into the sunshine and scudding clouds.