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“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do now?” His words express curiosity, but the tone reveals the question goes much deeper.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You could stay with me.” His grip on my hand tightens almost imperceptibly. “Just for a while, even, until you figure out what you want to do.”
I hesitate, because the truth is, I have no plan. The miscarriage has consumed my thoughts to the point that I never even thought about what I’ll do now that I don’t have to stay with Jayson.
“Stay as long as you want.”
“Thank you.” It probably isn’t a wise decision. The longer I stay with him, the deeper I’ll love him, making it that much harder to leave. It’ll also hurt more. I should leave soon, unless I want to stay permanently in this crippled marriage. Jayson as he is now is too easy to love, but I still have to reconcile his previous actions with the man he appeared to be before I can decide to remain his wife.
Jayson has to return to work a couple of days later, and I immerse myself in setting up the garden and greenhouse. Choosing plants that will thrive in cooler weather by the time they mature, goes along with planting more delicate items in the greenhouse.
The simple acts of gardening prove more therapeutic than any counselor, so I ignore the referral Dr. Anderson provided. The repetitive motions and the feel of the silky soil in my hands ease the loss, and I gradually spend less time thinking about the baby and what could have been.
That leaves more time for thinking about our relationship, and I continuously rehash all my thoughts. I try to plan for the future. I make lists and consider my options, but Jayson somehow is a fixture in each scenario.
Several days later, over the spinach salads and plates of clam linguine left by the cook, I tell him, “I went to City College today.”
Jayson pauses in the act of reaching for a glass of wine. “Oh?”
I try to sound casual. “I looked at their botany department and spoke with an advisor. She gave me a packet of information. I think I’ll register for classes next week.”
Jayson nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”
I analyze his expression, but he reveals nothing. “You think so?”
“Yes.” He takes a sip of wine. “It gives you something to do during the day.”
“I’m not sure I have the time.”
His brow furrows. “Why not?”
“I have a mountain of things to tend to from the various charities I inherited from Ione. With the vacation, and then subsequent events, I haven’t done anything in ages.”
Jayson swallows a bite of pasta before replying. “None of that matters. I can hire someone to deal with it.”
I frown. “What? You nixed that idea when we first got married.”
His dark eyes reflect warmth as he looks at me solemnly. “That isn’t your passion, but I didn’t take time to find out what was. I denied you the things you needed and wanted for too long. I want you to enjoy what you do. With Sophie away at college, you have more free time, and you should devote it to pursuits that pique your interest.”
I draw a deep breath, mustering all my courage. I know what I want is a bad idea, but I can’t talk myself out of the desire. “I have some free time at night too.” My voice is soft and scratchy.
He pauses in the act of swallowing for a second. “Indeed?”
The gleaming cutlery becomes an object of intense focus when I find it too difficult to meet his gaze. “I have some ideas to pass the time.”
He makes a rough sound, low in his throat, and drops the fork he was holding. “Such as?”
It takes a moment to find the courage to look up at him and I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. This had seemed a better idea when I rehearsed it earlier this afternoon. I clear my throat with a gulp of wine. “I want you.” Removing the napkin from my lap, I devote meticulous care to folding it into a perfect square. The sound of his chair moving doesn’t make me look up, but I do when he comes to my side and takes the napkin from me, throwing it carelessly onto the center of the table.
Without protest, I let him take my hand to assist me from the chair. It’s ridiculous to feel shy, but I do. I try to look down, but his hands frame my face. I lick my lips, and he groans softly.
Jayson lowers his head, his tongue tracing the path mine left. His mouth devours mine, but I’m just as hungry. Almost mindlessly, I tug at his shirt, anxious to feel his skin against mine.
A harsh breath leaves him when he tears his mouth from mine, gulping for air. “Are you certain this is safe?”
I nod. “I read the literature the hospital sent home. I can have sex whenever I feel up to it.” I smile. “I feel up to it, and I’m not the only one,” I add, brushing my hand against his trousers.
