for long. She would simply state the facts of the matter. Then she would express her need for his assistance, and hope for at least some consideration from him in return.
As she tucked the envelope inside a zippered pocket of her tote, then fished for the compact collapsible umbrella she’d stashed under her car seat, Charlotte knew that approaching Sean wouldn’t be such a big deal if she could anticipate how he would respond. But after half a year apart there was very little she knew for sure about how her husband felt about anything or anyone, including her.
The umbrella was all but useless in the face of the stormy onslaught she battled from car to curb, then along the slick sidewalk and up the three narrow stone steps to the front door of the town house. Though her calf-length black wool coat worn over gray wool pants and a turtleneck sweater kept her mostly dry, her feet, shod in black leather pumps, were soaked after only a few steps.
Finally standing on the small stone porch, her hands numbed by the cold and damp, she almost lost her grip on the handle of her umbrella as another blast of wind swirled around her.
Too bad she hadn’t thought to take her gloves from her tote when she’d tucked the envelope safely inside it. Bundling her chin-length chocolate-brown curls into a headscarf wouldn’t have been a bad idea, either—if only she’d had one with her. She would have preferred not to look like a mad woman tonight, but there was little she could do about that now.
Pressing one trembling finger against the brass button that rang the doorbell, Charlotte reminded herself that her appearance mattered not at all. Sean had seen her in a worse state on more than one occasion in the past, and hadn’t shunned her. Of course, he had still been in love with her those other times that she hadn’t been at her best—
Without any warning—not even the sound of the bolt sliding in the lock—the front door of the town house swung open. Huddled close to the facade, as she was, not to mention totally unprepared for her husband’s sudden looming presence in the doorway, Charlotte took a startled step back.
At the same instant that the heel of her right shoe slid over the rain-slick stone, another gust of wind caught the umbrella. Thrown completely off balance, Charlotte let go of the umbrella, and as it sailed into the night, she stumbled again and started to fall.
Sure that she was about to land in a heap halfway down the porch steps, she uttered a small, frightened cry. Then, as suddenly as she’d begun to go down, she found herself caught up in the grip of her husband’s arms. With a smooth, steady swoop, he lifted her neatly off her feet, then cradled her securely against his chest.
Blinking up at Sean in dismay, the full force of the rain soaking her hair, her face and her coat, as well as his hair and face and rumpled white dress shirt, Charlotte was overcome by the most disconcerting urge to…giggle. The situation into which she’d gotten herself was so utterly unexpected and so utterly ridiculous that despite the stern and disapproving look on her husband’s face, she really couldn’t help but laugh.
Not a little burble, either, but an irreverent, unrestrained ripple of hilarity that first brought tears to her eyes, and then with a startling shift, drew darker, more painful tears from her soul.
Sean swung around with her still in his arms, a muttered curse rattling deep in his throat, walked back into the town house and unceremoniously kicked the door shut with one well-placed foot. Caught up so protectively in his firm yet gentle grip, Charlotte leaned her head on his shoulder and sobbed like an exhausted, overwrought child.
Though she knew she was making a spectacle of herself, she couldn’t seem to stop the tears pouring from her eyes. She had dammed them up deep inside of her for so long that getting a grip on her runaway emotions now seemed all but impossible.
As if oblivious to the fact that they were both sopping wet, Sean strode through the entryway, heels rapping on the hardwood floor, crossed the very old, very exquisite Oriental carpet in the living room, then settled on the equally old, equally exquisite burnished brown leather sofa.
His hold on her remained determined, perhaps even a little tender. But as her sobs finally began to subside, he spoke to her in a tone that blended exasperation, anger and reproach in an all too familiar way.
“I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what, exactly, is going on here, Charlotte.” His slow, deep, delectably Southern voice drawled over her, around her, inside of her, soothing her, although likely not by design. “Are you all right?”
She hadn’t been all right for longer than she could remember. Living through six months of long, lonely days and even longer, lonelier nights had left her feeling bruised and battered.
But she knew that wasn’t what Sean had meant, and even if it had been, making such a reply wouldn’t have garnered her the least bit of sympathy. Not when she had been glad to see him go that sunny Sunday afternoon just days before they would have celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary, and, much to her regret, had made no effort to hide her feelings from him.
“I’m okay, really—okay…”
Not quite able to look at her husband eye to eye yet, Charlotte breathed in his familiar scent as she rubbed her cheek against the rough wet texture of his cotton shirt.
“You didn’t sound okay a few minutes ago,” Sean pointed out, not unkindly.
“I’m perfectly fine. I just need to…to talk to you about something,” she said, finally shifting in his embrace so that she could look up at him and meet his questioning gaze.
She’d had no more than a glimpse of him before she’d slipped on the step and he’d so gallantly saved her from a nasty fall. With the light at his back, he’d been only a silhouette then, mostly shadowed by the darkness of the night. In the soft glow of the living-room lamps, Charlotte now had a chance to study his features for the first time in half a year.
His appearance hadn’t changed much in the time they’d lived apart. His face—defined by high cheekbones, square jaw and hawk-like nose—was still as ruggedly handsome as ever. But his short, thick, very wet, raven-black hair was more liberally salted with silver than she remembered.
There was also more than a hint of weariness evident in his expression and wariness in his pale gray eyes that held, as well, a definite chill.
“Must be something serious or you wouldn’t have driven two hundred miles in the middle of a rainstorm on a weeknight,” he said. “I seem to remember that you don’t like being on the road in bad weather and that your workload at the high school rarely allows you an evening off.”
Sean was right. Whenever possible, she avoided driving any distance at all during stormy weather. She was also extremely conscientious about her job at Mayfair High School. One of three guidance counselors, she was quite busy during the spring semester when the eleventh graders were busy sending out college applications and the twelfth graders were engaged in a scramble to find student loans and/or jobs at local businesses around town.
“Yes, it’s serious, at least to me,” Charlotte replied. “Very serious…”
“I’m assuming it’s not a simple matter, though—something we could have discussed over the telephone.” Sean hesitated, eyeing her with the first indication of alarm, the frown already furrowing his forehead deepening incrementally. “Are you ill, Charlotte? All those fertility drugs— have they caused a problem with your health?”
He
