wings, reminding her of the warmth and tenderness he had once shown her so freely.
Then he added with very real concern, “You have to know I would certainly take something like an illness seriously.”
The hope that all was not lost between them after so many months spent apart sparked anew in Charlotte’s heart. Obviously, Sean hadn’t stopped caring about her completely, though she had given him good reason to do just that during those last few weeks before he’d finally walked out on her.
Of course, he had been the one to call a permanent halt to what he’d so inelegantly termed their baby chase. And he had been the one to say with undeniable certainty that perhaps it was just as well that they weren’t able to have a child—the child she’d wanted so desperately for so long. He couldn’t have said anything more hurtful to her if he’d tried.
Charlotte had always believed that she was meant to be a mother. Her mother and grandmother—now deceased— had told her so many times. Yet she had failed to live up to the legacy left to her by the two strong women who had devoted their lives to raising her after her father’s death. She had accomplished everything else she had ever set out to do; everything except conceiving a child. Now she might have one last chance at motherhood, but she had to play her cards just right.
“I know you would take it seriously if I were ill, but I’m not.” Charlotte offered her husband a slight smile meant to be reassuring. Then, in an attempt at levity, she added, “But I’m likely to end up with a raging head cold before the week is over if I don’t get out of these wet clothes soon.” She pushed a lock of dripping hair away from her face, shivering as a few drops of icy water trickled down the side of her neck. “You wouldn’t by any chance have a spare pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and some heavy socks I could borrow, would you?”
At five foot eight, Charlotte was only a few inches shorter than Sean, and with her slim, boyish figure she could also wear some of the same clothes he did, and in the past, often had.
“Of course, I would.” Though he didn’t actually return her smile, the grim lines on either side of his mouth softened just a bit. “I’d also like to suggest that we each take a shower then meet in the kitchen for sandwiches and coffee. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Charlotte agreed. “I haven’t eaten yet, either.”
Looking away from him, she scooted off his lap as gracefully as possible, encumbered as she was by the wet wool of her coat, pants and turtleneck sweater. She also tried to ignore, as best she could, the painful stab to her heart as she recalled all those nights in the past when they had showered together.
Sean stood, too, shoved his hands in the side pockets of his suit pants, and shifted a little uncomfortably. Charlotte risked another glance at him, but he kept his gaze averted, obviously as ill at ease with their situation as she admittedly was.
“There are fresh towels, soap and shampoo in the bathroom on the second floor. I’ll get some sweats and socks for you and put them in the guest room,” he said, then finally turned to lead the way to the narrow staircase off the entryway.
“Thanks, Sean—thanks a lot,” Charlotte murmured as she followed him up the stairs.
Once upon a time, she would have gone with him to the master suite—complete with its own tiny fireplace—that took up the entire third floor of the town house that had been Sean’s boyhood home. She would have stood with him under a rain-shower spray of hot water in the separate glass-enclosed stall in the master bathroom, or soaked with him in the huge, old-fashioned, claw-footed tub.
But tonight she walked alone down the dimly lit second- floor hallway to the bland, yet tidy, guest room and the small, serviceable bathroom as her husband continued up the staircase without so much as a backward glance.
Had he gotten so used to living on his own since they’d been apart that he no longer missed her? Or had he been so glad to get away from the turmoil rocking their marriage during those awful weeks before he’d left that he had never really missed her at all?
Stepping into the bathroom and closing the door, Charlotte caught sight of herself in the oval mirror above the freestanding white porcelain sink. Thankfully she didn’t look as bad as she’d thought she did, but she didn’t look especially good, either.
With all trace of her makeup washed off by the rain, her face was paler than she would have liked. The dark shadows that seemed to have taken up permanent residence under her wide, golden-brown eyes also stood out prominently. Her normally curly brown hair hung flat and wet against her head, as well, making her appear downright woebegone.
Which she wasn’t really, and refused to pretend to be with Sean.
In fact, she wasn’t a pathetic person by any stretch of the imagination. She was a strong, independent, intelligent woman who’d just happened to get soaked during a rainstorm. The last thing she wanted to stir in her husband was pity, and the best way to avoid doing that, she decided, was to pull herself together and put on a happy face just as quickly as she could.
Shivering despite the blast of hot air coming from the vent in the ceiling, Charlotte turned on the taps in the shower, then undressed quickly, piling her wet clothes in a neat-as-possible heap atop the wicker hamper. Once she was warm and dry again, she’d hang everything up, but for now, her major goal was to chase the damp chill from the marrow of her bones.
She stood for a long time under the pounding, steamy spray, content just to let the soothing flow ripple over her. Her physical discomfort began to retreat and so, too, did the threads of tension stiffening her shoulders and knotting the small of her back until she could finally luxuriate in a froth of cleansing bubbles. The familiar scent of the lavender soap and shampoo she’d chosen in another lifetime soothed her, as well, not only revitalizing her, but also putting her in touch with her femininity once again.
Feeling infinitely better, Charlotte stepped out of the shower stall at last, swaddled her hair in one big, fluffy white towel, and used another to blot the moisture from her skin. Gathering her wet clothes, she returned to the guest room, hung everything on the padded hangers she found in the closet, then dressed in the dark gray sweats and wool socks Sean had left for her on the bed as promised.
She took a few moments more to towel-dry her hair, finger-combing her damp curls into some semblance of order. Then, with more than a modicum of her confidence restored, she unzipped her tote and took from it the brown envelope. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she opened the clasp, pulled out the sheaf of papers and scanned them one last time before putting them away again.
Smiling to herself, Charlotte headed out of the bedroom, moving silently across the deep pile of the carpet, then grinned outright as she inhaled the mouthwatering aroma of a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven. She hadn’t had one of those since the last time she and Sean had been together in New Orleans almost nine months ago.
That night they had sat together in the kitchen and shared the round loaf of Italian bread stuffed with ham, salami, provolone cheese and savory olive salad. That night, she had assumed that they’d also shared the hope that she would soon be pregnant with their child. But sadly, she had discovered how wrong she’d been on that account just three months later.
Apparently her beloved husband had simply been humoring her. Tired of the pretense he’d upheld for almost two years, he’d expressed his wishes in no uncertain terms, and when she’d failed to go along with
