Heartache Falls Part 8

"Now. Upstairs." He reached out and plucked the ticket from her hand. "I rented a room."

Ali gaped at the valet ticket now clutched in her husband's fist. He'd swiped her ticket. She couldn't believe it. Mac didn't do things like that. "What are you doing? Give me my ticket."

"No."

He grasped her upper arm in a firm grip and propelled her toward the elevator. He wasn't rough, and he didn't hurt her, but he also didn't give her a choice. This was crazy. Mac didn't act this way.

At the elevator bank, he pressed the up b.u.t.ton and a door immediately opened to their left. He dragged her into the empty elevator, and the minute the doors slid shut, she yanked her arm free and whirled on him. "This isn't necessary."

"True." He punched the b.u.t.ton for the fifth floor. "We could have had this discussion at home. But then, you didn't come home, did you?"

She didn't respond to that. She couldn't. She didn't have a legitimate defense. Okay, fine. He wanted to talk? They'd talk. She folded her arms and they both remained silent, watching the floor numbers light as the elevator climbed. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, the same woodsy scent he'd worn for the past dozen years, and her heart gave a little twist of sadness. The last time the two of them had ridden an elevator to a downtown Denver hotel room they had been on a romantic escape from the kids. It had been a night of fun and fantasy and toe-tingling s.e.x. That had been, what, three years ago? Five?

What happened to us, Mac?

He'd reserved a suite. Ali wondered at the extravagance until she realized that he probably didn't want the bed sitting in the middle of the room like a big old accusation while they argued. Crossing to the window, she tossed her evening bag into a chair, opened the window curtains, and stared at the lights of downtown without really seeing them.

"Okay, Mac. What is it you want to talk about?"

After a moment of silence, he said, "I ordered a bottle of scotch. Do you want a drink?"

"No."

She heard the clink of ice cubes against gla.s.s, then the splash of pouring liquid. She waited. This was his game. He needed to make the first move.

Finally he cleared his throat and asked, "Last time we talked, you said you needed time to cool off. Are you still angry? Is that why didn't you come home this evening?"

"No." Now that he'd broached the subject, guilt snaked through her, along with a measure of resentment that she felt guilty to begin with. Blowing out a heavy sigh, she turned to look at him. "I was afraid."

"Of me?"

"Of facing you. Of facing our home." When her throat tightened, she swallowed hard. "It's full of pain, Mac."

He reached up and tugged on his tie to loosen it. "That's an awful thing to say."

"But it's true. You know it is. It's full of hurt and anger and misery, and I wasn't ready to face all that again. Not yet."

"So I guess that means you haven't found whatever answers you went looking for in the past month?"

"Not really." She licked her lips. "Have you?"

"I know that it's lonely without you there."

"It was lonely when I was there."

He shrugged. "I got a dog."

Ali's mouth gaped. Years ago, one of the kids accidentally let their dog Draper out. He'd been hit by a car and his back injured, paralyzing his hind legs. With the kids then busy preteens, care of the high-maintenance dog had fallen on Ali's and Mac's shoulders. When Draper died five years ago, Mac had sworn he never wanted another pet. "I'm surprised."

Again he shrugged. "He's a friendly dog. A springer spaniel mix. He's good company."

Unlike me. She filled her lungs with air, then said, "That's nice. I hear you bought a car, too."

"Yeah. Don't quite know what got into me, but I like it. Midlife crazy, I guess." He frowned down into his scotch. "Ali, the kids have been calling me. A lot. They're frustrated because you're not communicating with them."

"What?" That annoyed her, and she folded her arms. "I'm not ignoring them."

"Caitlin said you've told her not to call."

She didn't like the accusation in his tone. "I told her not to call during business hours unless it's an emergency. That's the same rule you've had all these years."

"Well, she feels like you're abandoning her."

"What?" Annoyance grew into anger. "That's ridiculous. I have a job now. Caitlin needs to learn to respect that. She was calling me ten times a day."

"Look, I'm just telling you what she's said to me. It's understandable that she'd think that way. You've always been there for her, Ali, and now you're not."

"I'm still available to my children, just not between the hours of eight and five. I don't think that's too much to ask. You shouldn't think it is, either, considering I'm simply following your example."

He finished his drink and set down his gla.s.s. "When Caitlin called me this morning, she said she'd decided not to come home for the summer."

That bit of news took Ali aback. "Does she want to go to summer school?"

"No. She wants to get a job."

"Caitlin? Our Caitlin?"

His mouth quirked wryly. "Yeah."

For the first time in months, and for just a moment, they shared the same wavelength. Caitlin had never been one to concern herself overmuch with working. She wasn't lazy-far from it-but she'd always managed to arrange her life in such a way that she managed to earn the funds they'd required her to contribute without working a traditional job. She'd babysat, she'd tutored, she'd set up an easel in the park and drew portraits for money. Only once in her life had Princess Caitlin ever held a job-as a clerk at a clothing store in the mall. She'd lasted one week.

"She thinks she can get a job at a fast-food joint near campus that is open around the clock," Mac said. "She said they're always needing workers for the late s.h.i.+ft. I don't want her doing that, Ali. It's not safe."

"Then tell her to look for something else. You're still holding the purse strings. You still have control."

"I want her home. The boys both came home between their freshman and soph.o.m.ore years. Cait should, too."

Ali shrugged. "Then tell her that."

"But you're not home to be there with her."

The comment irritated her. Caitlin was eighteen, almost nineteen. An adult. She'd have her friends, her social calendar. It would be no different from last summer, when she did little more than sleep at home. If Cait truly needed her to be at home this summer-if she had a real problem that she needed a mother's help dealing with-then of course, Ali would be there for her. She'd be there for the boys, too. But that wasn't the case here. Odds were the new boyfriend planned to remain in Nashville over the summer. Mac needed to open his eyes.

"Our daughter is an adult now. I don't have to be there to babysit. My work is done. I've raised my kids, and I think I ... we ... did a pretty good job of it. No one is on drugs, no one is in jail, no one had children of their own when they were still children. They're good people and they don't need me anymore."

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed, scowling. "Of course they need you. You're their mother."

Okay, he was right about that. Her kids would always need her, just like she would always need them. But for once, during this particular moment in time, she needed to work on herself. She needed to find herself, define herself. She needed to figure out who she was going to be in the next part of her life.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears and stood tall. "You're right. I am their mother, but don't you think it's time that I got to be more than simply that? More than simply the Timberlake kids' mom-and, frankly, more than your wife? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with that." He set his gla.s.s down on the bar. "I don't understand why you've decided you have to go to the mountains to do it!"

Ali closed her eyes and counted to ten before quietly asking, "Be honest with me, Mac. Isn't it easier for you, too, if I'm not there?"

A full minute pa.s.sed before he replied, his voice low and gruff. "In some ways, yeah. But Ali, this is no way to conduct a marriage."

Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. "Actually, I think it may be the way we save our marriage."

He shot her a sharp look but waited for her to say more.

"I think that you and I have been angry at each other for a long time now. It's been an undercurrent in our lives for months. Now it's out in the open. That's a positive step."

Mac didn't deny it. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, then, spell it out for me. This is more than a few weeks' vacation from each other. Is that right? Are we officially separated?"

Now her stomach took a sick roll. Was that what she wanted? A clean break into the single life? During all this time, he had never once asked her to come home. Instead, he'd asked, Are you coming home? Big difference there. "Could we call it a trial separation?"

"Fine. Now, if this is what we're doing, I suggest we discuss a few important matters in order to avoid misunderstandings. First, are you comfortable keeping it informal or do you want to get lawyers involved? I think your father would like you to seek advice from Walt Prentice."

Her stomach pitched and rolled. "I don't want a lawyer. We don't need to do that, do we?"

"I'd prefer not to involve anyone else as long as you and I are on the same page. Finances aren't a problem with us, and child custody isn't an issue. It would help me if we had a time frame to work with. I need to know what to expect. What are you thinking? Two months? Three? I'll probably be tied up with the Sandberg trial through the end of the summer."

That was absolutely the wrong thing for Mac to say. She'd be hanged before she'd schedule her separation around his trial. She'd done that with vacations for more years than she could count. Reacting from emotion more than thought, she said, "I've made a commitment to Celeste and to my job. I'll need to stay until the restaurant is open and running smoothly."

"How long do you expect that to take?"

"Four to six months." That was longer than she truly antic.i.p.ated, but she didn't want to go home before that darn trial was over.

Mac's jaw tightened. "All right, then. I'll agree to a six-month separation. Do you want to see each other from time to time, or are you thinking a complete break?"

He had s.h.i.+fted into negotiating-lawyer mode now, and Ali didn't like it. It felt cold and clinical when the subject was thick, hot emotion. Her instinct was to lash out, to say she didn't want to see him until Christmas, thank you very much, but she stopped herself. Barely. "I'd think it'd be good for us to see each other some. Maybe you could visit me in Eternity Springs."

"I'll be busy with the trial." When Ali snapped her mouth shut, he hastened to add, "I could probably come in the fall."

"Maybe we should leave that question open," she suggested, a bite to her tone. Once again his needs came before hers.

"All right, then. There's just one other thing I think we should put on the table in order to avoid misunderstandings." He pinned her with a laser gaze she simply couldn't read. "What about s.e.x?"

"Excuse me?"

"How far do you want to take this separation? Do you want to date? Do you want to sleep with somebody else?"

Now she could read the emotion in his eyes. It was accusation. Ugly and mean, and it made her blood run cold.

"Maybe you have your eye on the sheriff?" Mac continued, his tone biting. "He certainly has his eye on you."

"That's enough." Ali picked up her purse. "You've obviously reached your limit of civilized behavior. I'm leaving. Since you've rented this lovely room, I suggest you stay here tonight. I'm going home for the night. I need to pack more clothes. Don't worry about the dog. I'll see to him."

"Ali ..." Mac grimaced, closed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look. I'm sorry. It's just ... our s.e.x life ..."

"Sucks," she finished, speaking past a lump the size of a baseball in her throat.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looked down at the floor for a moment, then glanced up to meet her gaze. "You looked so beautiful tonight. But that dress, those shoes. It's not you. This job isn't you. I feel like I'm losing you. It scares me."

As she reached for the doork.n.o.b, she said, "We may be separated, Mac, but we're still married. As far as I'm concerned, our wedding vows are still in effect. For both of us."

She opened the door and took one step into the hallway before pausing to look back at her husband. "Do you remember the last time you told me I was beautiful, Mac? I do. It was a year ago last Valentine's Day."

The hotel door shut behind her and Ali braced a hand against the wall as her knees went weak and watery. From inside the room, she heard a thwack and then the crash of breaking gla.s.s as Mac, Mr. Control, threw his gla.s.s at the door.

SEVEN.

Ali spent a restless night in her and Mac's bed, where his scent clung to the sheets and created a hollow sense of grief inside her. She'd lain awake fretting that he would come home after all, while at the same time worrying that he wouldn't.

He didn't. She couldn't decide if that made her happy or even sadder.

As dawn broke, she abandoned her attempt to sleep, washed, dressed, and prepared to pack the items she wanted to take with her. That meant a trip to the guest room closet for a large suitcase. There her gaze snagged on the box that stored her wedding gown, and she sucked in a deep breath.

The quilting bee she'd joined in Eternity Springs made quilts out of donated wedding gowns. The finished products were simply stunning. Should I ...?

Ali tugged the gown box down from the shelf. She hadn't looked at the dress since the dry cleaner packed it away after the wedding. Once upon a time she'd imagined that Caitlin would want to wear her gown when she married. By the time Cait turned twelve, Ali knew that wouldn't happen. Even if she'd wanted to wear Ali's timeless, sophisticated Scaasi gown when she married, the girl had her father's height and stood four inches taller than her mother. The gown would never suit.

"Yes, I should. No reason not to," Ali murmured. Celeste wanted wedding gown quilts for all the bedrooms at Cavanaugh House, so the Patchwork Angels could certainly find a use for it.

An hour later, suitcases, boxes, and wedding gown in her car, Ali left her house, left her husband, for the second time.

Back in Eternity Springs, the days pa.s.sed swiftly as she worked with Gabe Callahan fine-tuning the remodel design and discussed colors and appropriate art with Sage Rafferty. She shopped catalogues and the Internet and anguished over appliances purchases. Had it been her own money she was spending for a restaurant of her own, she'd have been much more comfortable with her choices. In her experience, stoves and ovens were such personal things to those who used them on a daily basis. This was like buying a mattress for a stranger.

On a Tuesday evening in late May, she put her wedding gown box in her car and drove to Nic Callahan's house for a Patchwork Angels meeting. Ordinarily the group met in the attic workroom at Angel's Rest, but Celeste had decided to refinish the floors, so they'd temporarily relocated to Nic's. Ali looked forward to the weekly meetings of the quilting bee. She enjoyed the camaraderie and treasured the friends she'd made in Eternity Springs-Celeste, Nic, Sarah, Sage, and recently Sage's sister Rose. And, of course, Celeste. Ali liked these women very much. They made her laugh-not an easy feat these days.

Nic lived in a charming Victorian on the edge of town. Her cozy library had been transformed into a sewing room. Tonight's group was small, but conversation was lively. Very lively-Ali feared fisticuffs might break out at any moment. She hadn't had this much fun in months.

"You are so wrong!" Nic said, waving her rotary cutter in Sarah Reese's face. "It's Princess Grace by a million miles."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "So says the woman whose idea of style is to wear jeans 360 days a year. Look, we're talking about the dress itself. You're giving it extra points for the whole prince-princess thing. When you take the dress and only the dress, Liz Taylor's gown wins by a mile."

"You have to be more specific, Sarah," Sage pointed out. "Liz Taylor had a lot of wedding gowns."

"Fine. I'm talking about the gown she wore to marry Conrad Hilton."