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“Good night.” Emma’s wishes followed Marilyn into the nearby guest bedroom.
Marilyn leaned against the closed door and exhaled.
It’s fine to be supportive of Rick’s career, but don’t forget your own.
She crossed the thick carpet to stand beside the bed. Marilyn pulled Rick’s jersey over her head and held the material to her nose. It didn’t carry his scent, soap, and sandalwood, anymore.
She and Warrick supported each other’s careers to the best of their abilities. She’d missed so many of his games when her patients went into labor. But he attended as many hospital functions as his schedule would allow. And he was a generous donor to their causes. She smiled, recalling the way his wicked banter kept her from being bored out of her mind during those forced-fun events.
But what about now? Could she adjust her life plan to this unexpected development in her marriage? Should she?
3
Warrick’s pulse kicked when he heard the key turn in the front door Tuesday evening. He stepped into the hallway as Marilyn entered. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” He’d been sure she’d wait until he was out of the state before moving back into their home.
Marilyn hesitated, then pulled her key from the lock and secured the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“You’re not interrupting anything. This is your home, too.” How many times would he have to remind her before it sunk in? “How did your meeting with the clinic partners go yesterday?”
She set her suitcase beside her on the hardwood flooring. “It went well. My references and my credit report are good.”
Warrick’s gaze dropped to Marilyn’s mouth. She was biting the corner of her lower lip. What wasn’t she telling him?
He closed the distance between them and took her suitcase. “When will they give you their decision?”
“Hopefully, any day now.” Marilyn followed him farther into their home.
“I know how important having your own practice is to you. You’d be an asset to any clinic. They’d be stupid not to accept your offer.” Don’t talk too much. Don’t let her know that you’re nervous. Warrick mounted the wide polished maple staircase.
“Thank you.” Her voice trailed behind him. “I thought I’d sleep in the guest room tonight since you’re leaving tomorrow afternoon anyway.”
Warrick welcomed her words. “It’ll give us a chance to talk.”
“What more is there to say?”
“You can start with whatever you’re not telling me.” At the top of the stairs, Warrick turned right toward the guest bedroom and set her suitcase on the bed.
“Weren’t you in the middle of something when I arrived?”
He recognized stalling tactics when he heard them.
Warrick crossed back to the doorway and stared down into his wife’s chocolate eyes. Marilyn’s soft jasmine scent floated up to him. “I was preparing for the Waves but it can wait. What’s wrong?”
Marilyn squeezed past him to wander farther into the room. “I’m concerned about the partnership.”
“Why?” He tracked her agitated movements.
She shrugged a slender shoulder beneath her off-white blouse. “Janet and Dionne seem more interested in having a connection to my parents than in what I can bring to the partnership.”
“Why do you think that?”
“They recounted my parents’ praises as though they were submitting their names for canonization.” Marilyn toed off her sensible black flats. “I want this partnership on my own merits, not because of who my parents are.”
Warrick watched her finger the dust catchers on the dressing table—votive candles, figurines, and bottles of lotion. “Maybe it’s both, honey. They wouldn’t check your references and credit if your professional background didn’t matter. They’d have just rubber stamped your offer.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Marilyn moved past the table and closed the window blinds against the growing shadows outside. “I’ve worked hard to build my career as Marilyn Devry-Evans. I thought I’d finally stopped being Terrell and Celeste’s daughter.”
“You have.” Warrick watched her jerky movements, sensed the tension circling her. What else wasn’t she telling him? He tried to lighten the mood. “Janet and Dionne will realize you’d be a good fit for their clinic. What’s not to love?”
