Susan Mallery - Wife in Disguise

“I know.”

She looked at him in surprise. He shrugged. “You’re annoying as hell, Josie, but you’re not a liar or deceptive. I almost understand what you were trying to do.”

She doubted that, because she didn’t understand it. But getting along was better than fighting. So she wasn’t going to push things and she wasn’t going to jump on his “annoying as hell” comment. Although she couldn’t resist a murmured, “You’re annoying, too.”

He chuckled. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

There were a few minutes of silence. The shot the nurse had given Josie before she’d left the hospital took the edge off her pain. The good news was that if she was faithful to her therapy, the doctor thought she could get rid of the constant aching completely.

“I can’t believe I’m back in a wheelchair,” she grumbled.

“It’s your own fault.”

“I know. But I still hate it.” If only she hadn’t been so stubborn about coming to visit Del. And if only she hadn’t gotten so caught up in the past.

“If I can’t get you to therapy, I’ll have someone else drive you,” he told her as he turned into a residential neighborhood that was familiar. “You need to get all your treatments in so you can heal.”

All the quicker to get rid of her, she thought glumly. “You never answered my question. Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know,” Del admitted. “Maybe because it’s the right thing to do.”

A feeble answer at best, she thought, wishing she was whole again. She was all mismatched pieces that might never fit together correctly. What must Del think of her? Did he despise her, or worse, pity her?

She’d handled everything badly from the beginning. She saw that now. She should have told him the truth when she’d first arrived and risked-

She blinked, then stared at the wide streets and tall trees shading the minivans and station wagons parked in the driveways.

“Where are you going?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. Her chest tightened with the knowledge. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. She wouldn’t survive the experience.

“Home,” he said, as if the information was of no consequence. “The Victorian house has no furniture, not to mention no kitchen. We couldn’t live there. My house is a better choice.”

His house. She knew exactly what it looked like. A rambling one-story ranch with plenty of rooms, wide hallways and hardwood floors that would be easy to navigate with a wheelchair.

He turned down another street and pulled into a familiar driveway. She stared in disbelief at the gray and cream clapboard structure.

“You said you sold it,” she whispered, hating the way her heart seemed to crack in her chest.

“No, I told you I’d send you half the profit. I decided to keep the house, so I had it appraised and calculated your share from that. I took out a second mortgage to pay you off.” She felt more than saw him glance at her. “Josie, you signed a quit claim deed. What did you think that was for?”

“I thought it would make it easier for you to sell.”

She’d never dreamed that he would keep the house. That he still lived here. How could he stand it, day after day facing the ghosts from their past? Then she remembered all he’d said about her and their defunct marriage. For him there weren’t ghosts. Just easily dismissed memories.

She stared at the house she and Del had lived in for most of their time together. It was the place where they’d been most happy and the place where their marriage had ended. In the good times they’d made love in every room in the house. In the bad times they’d fought in the same number.

“Is this going to be a problem for you?” he asked.

Did it matter? She didn’t have anywhere else to go.

She looked at the small front porch, the clean windows, the roses bursting with life in the warm spring afternoon. She knew that the exercise room closet door stuck, that the garbage disposal could be temperamental and that when there was a bad storm, they were almost certain to lose their lights.

She could hear snippets of conversation. How they’d been thrilled with the place when they’d been newly married and house hunting. The excitement of moving in and how, surrounded by boxes and unassembled furniture, they’d stopped to make love in the center of their brand-new living room. So much laughter and so much pain. Angry words came to her along with the happy ones.

She remembered the last time she’d been inside that house. She and Del had been fighting, again. She’d started to leave. He’d told her that if she walked out on him one more time, he didn’t want her to come back. In the coldest words of anger, she’d told him that her bags were already in the car. And then she’d been gone. Disappearing into the night, so sure leaving him was the right thing to do.

“Josie?”

“I’m coming back to the scene of the crime,” she murmured.

“Don’t think of it that way.”

She looked at him, at the dark eyes and chiseled face. One corner of his mouth quirked up slightly.

“How should I think of it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “As a chance to learn how to be friends.”

“Maybe,” she said, but she didn’t believe it. Mostly because she didn’t want to be friends with Del. What she wanted was something more. But what did he want? After all this time, after forgetting her so completely and being so sure that their divorce was the right choice, why was he bothering with her?

Del carried in her small suitcase and the wheelchair he’d rented. He’d already brought over the rest of her luggage from the house. Then he returned to the car and opened the passenger door. Josie looked at him.

“Why did you take the wheelchair inside?” she asked. “I’ll need it to get in.”

He jerked his head toward the two steps leading up to the front door. “I don’t have a ramp, and you can’t maneuver over those. I’ll carry you.”

Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms. When she was secure, he turned, bumping the door closed with his hip and heading for the house.

He told himself he was simply being expedient, that holding Josie like this didn’t mean anything. But he couldn’t help remembering all the other times he’d swept her up in his arms. His intent had usually been to get her somewhere private so they could make love. Now he was being a friend. Nothing more. Except he noticed all kinds of details. Like the fact that she felt different in his arms. Soft, rounder. She was a little heavier, though nothing he couldn’t handle. But the scent of her was the same. The sweet fragrance of her skin and her hair. Her arm around his neck felt the same, too. All that was missing was her mouth pressing against his as they stumbled toward their passionate release.

No passion this time, he reminded himself. He entered the house and bumped that door closed, as well. Then he set Josie down into her wheelchair. He was startled to feel her stiffen as he put her into the seat. Instantly he dropped to one knee beside her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head without speaking, turning her head from him. But not before he caught the gleam of tears in her eyes. Josie? Crying?

“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. He could tell from the slump of her shoulders and the way she kept swallowing as if fighting back sobs.

She reached down for the wheels of the chair, as if to move away from him. He put his hand on the frame to stop her.

“Tell me what the hell is going on,” he insisted.

She whipped her head back to stare at him. He’d been right. Actual tears glittered in her eyes. She blinked and one slipped down her cheek. He reached up and caught it on the tip of his index finger. Del felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

“I can’t do this,” she said, then sniffed. “I just can’t be in a wheelchair. It’s too horrible.”

He felt instantly helpless. He could try to imagine what Josie was going through, but he couldn’t do more than empathize.

“It’s only for a few weeks,” he told her, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it gently. Her fingers felt warm and familiar. He ignored the image of them touching him and instead focused on the in-progress conversation. “Your body needs time to heal. With rest and physical therapy, you’ll be up and around in no time. While you’re healing, you have the run of this place. I’ve taken up all the rugs, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting around. Just don’t try any wheelies in the hallway, okay?”

His attempt at humor fell flat. She didn’t even crack a smile. Instead she glared at him as if he had the intelligence of an amoeba.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so incredibly stupid about this,” she said, practically sputtering with frustration. “I don’t care about being back in a wheelchair, I care about being in a wheelchair in front of you.”

With that she jerked hard on the wheels and spun away from him. She started across the living room, moving faster than he would have thought possible for someone in her weakened condition.

Slowly he rose to his feet and stared after her. His mind took off in multiple directions. Even as her confession shocked him and her pain touched him, he couldn’t help noticing how well she handled the chair. Obviously, she’d spent enough time in it to become an expert. It was more proof of all she’d been through.

He swore under his breath and took off after her, grabbing her chair just before she entered the hall.

“Wait,” he insisted. “We have to talk.”

“Actually, we don’t.”

“Josie, please. It’s important.”

He released her and waited. Slowly, almost painfully, she turned until she faced him. She had to look up to meet his gaze. Instinctively he dropped to his knees so they were on the same level.