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She couldn’t stop shaking or crying. His acknowledgement of forgetting about her only made it more real and more painful. His hands ran over her curls and cupped the back of her head, forcing her gaze to meet his.
“Look at me. I’m a jerk. You did nothing wrong and I’ll buy you a new carpet before the end of the week. It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I spilled the coffee. I broke the glass. I told you not to move. And I was the one who got distracted. Me. You did nothing wrong. As a matter of fact, look how hard you pushed yourself just to please me. I don’t deserve a wife like you. I know how hard it must have been for you waiting here, alone and unsure. I won’t let it happen again.”
He spoke slow and calmly. Offering a jagged nod, she rested her head on his shoulder. She needed to cry a little bit longer and once she was done he simply held her. Exhaustion set in. Emotion clouded her mind until numbness set in and she began to fall asleep in his arms. Her eyes seemed to be blinking longer and longer each time to stay awake. When she next opened her eyes Mason was laying her in their bed and leaning down over her.
“I need to sweep up the floor,” she mumbled tiredly.
He gave her a sympathetic smile and she wanted to cry for him. She hated that he had to suffer a broken wife who was so emotionally unstable she could have a complete episode over one cup of coffee and some broken glass.
Perching on the edge of the bed he brushed her hair off of her face. “What if I told you I wanted you to rest for an hour? What if I said, ‘Libby, what I need is for you not to get off this bed for one hour so that I can carry out the dining room carpet and sweep the kitchen floor’? What would you do then, baby?”
“But that’s my job.”
He shook his head. “I want to do it. It’ll be my penance for getting you upset. Let me do it, Libby. And when I’m done and you wake up in an hour, rather than swim, I want you to play for me. Will you do that for me?”
Playing sounded lovely. The piano was therapy. He suggested it, not because he wanted her to play for him, but because he wanted her to play for herself. Pounding her frustration out on those black and white keys until they transformed into something beautiful had a soothing effect on her nerves. Mason would’ve much rather swam, she guessed, but was grateful for his concession. “Yes, I can do that for you.”
He kissed her nose. “Good. Call me if you need anything. Try to sleep. I’ll see you in one hour.”
* * * *
Mason quietly shut the door and returned to his study. Gazing down at the message he’d been mindlessly staring at for twenty-five minutes while his wife fell to pieces in his absence, he cursed. What a prick he was.
“Fuck!” he hissed as he swept a pile of papers angrily off the small table in front of him.
It had been almost a year and he fucked it all up. How could he have been so absentminded? Maybe because he was a goddamn bastard! He picked the crumpled message up off the floor.
Perhaps it was a good thing he fucked up today. He knew what the message meant. Old man O’Malley had finally died. But what just happened to his wife was exactly why he had no time to even think on what the other man’s passing signified. Her episode was a reminder of where his head should be. His duty was to Liberty and she would break if he told her what was running through his head.
Mason stood and walked over to the empty fireplace. Spotting the crumpled note in his hand, he refused to let himself even glance at the number. He sighed and tossed the sheet of paper into the hearth and left the room. The temptation of his past was unwelcome in his present.
* * * *
Sunday morning went a lot better than Saturday morning. By mid-afternoon Mason had Libby laughing and playing in the indoor pool and Mason was wishing he didn’t have to go into work in a few hours. It was moments like this that he recognized how lucky he was. Liberty’s vivaciousness kept him young and her kindness never failed to keep him honest. She humbled him with her trust, sometimes to the point of speechlessness.
He dove underwater and swam directly to where Libby’s legs dangled under the surface. He reached for her ankle and tugged her under, hearing her yelp just before the dunk. When she broke the surface she immediately tackled him and tried to force him back down. Her flesh, slick like a seal’s pelt, slid softly down his chest. They laughed and wrestled for a few minutes longer until they were both out of breath.
