The Shadow Wife

“What do you mean, you don’t know? What’s going on?” He moved a pile of music from the sofa. “Sit down.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to sit down.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “I just came from a psychic,” she said.

Liam laughed. “You what?” Between Joelle and her healer and Sheila and her psychic, he was feeling pretty darn conventional.

“I’ve been to her before. She’s very good. She can always tell me things that have happened in my life that there’s no way anyone would know.”

“Okay,” Liam said slowly. “And what did she tell you this time.”

“That you’re the father of Joelle’s baby.”

Shit. Liam laughed uncomfortably. “I thought the psychic knew things about you,” he said. “How can she know anything about Joelle, when she hasn’t even—”

“Shut up, Liam!”

“Look, you’re upset over nothing, Sheila,” he said, moving toward the sofa again. “Please sit down and let’s talk—”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you are not the father of Joelle’s baby,” Sheila demanded.

He tried. He truly did. But he couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a second, nor could he make the words come out of his mouth. “You bastard!” Sheila began hitting him with her huge, heavy white leather purse. He held up his hands, trying to protect his face from her assault.

“Bastard! Bastard!” Sheila smashed the purse into his side. “Son of a bitch! Prick!”

“Sheila!” He grabbed her wrist and managed to wrench the purse from her hand, but she still pummeled him with her fist. “Sheila, stop it!” he yelled. “Stop. Stop. You’re going to wake Sam.”

That seemed to do it. She lowered her arms to her sides. Mascara ran down her cheeks, and her blond hair fell in thin strands around her red face.

“How could you do that to my little girl?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and broken, and he surprised himself by taking her in his arms.

“Because,” he said quietly into her hair. “Because I’m human, and I’m…much to my regret, flawed.”

Sheila sniffled. “I’m human and I’m flawed, too,” she said, “but I didn’t sleep with anyone else while Michael was sick.”

“I know,” Liam said. “You were incredibly strong. But…and forgive me for this, Sheila. You weren’t thirty-four years old, and you weren’t grieving every day, every minute, with a member of the opposite sex who also happened to love your spouse as much as you did.”

Sheila pulled away from him and sat down on the couch. “How long has it been going on?” she asked, wiping a hand over her wet cheek.

“There isn’t anything going on,” he said, moving his guitar from the sofa so he could sit next to her. “It happened one time. Then we cooled our relationship. Even you noticed it—that we were not as close.”

She nodded. “I noticed when you were getting too close, too,” she said.

“Sheila.” Liam shook his head. “I love Mara. I feel terrible about this. I feel as though I betrayed her.”

“You did,” she said. “Does everyone know?”

“No one knows. Just you, Joelle and myself.” And Carlynn Shire.

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Joelle and I haven’t really talked about it. I feel a responsibility to provide for the baby in some way. She and I will need to work that out.”

Sheila made her hands into fists, balling them up on her knees. “Every time I think about you and her—”

“Don’t think about it then, Sheila,” he said quickly. “I don’t.”

Sheila rested her head back on the sofa, shutting her eyes. It was another minute before she spoke. “Mara’s starting to use her arm more,” she said.

“I know.”

“Someday, maybe she’ll be able to hold Sam.”

He nodded, unwilling to tackle her denial tonight.

Sheila got to her feet and picked up her purse from the floor. Liam stood, as well, walking her to the door.

“Goodbye,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow when you bring Sam over.”

“All right.” He opened the door for her and watched her walk out onto the porch and down the steps. “Sheila?” he called to her as she crossed the yard, walking toward the carport. “Did a psychic really tell you this?”

“Yes,” she said, “but to be honest, I already knew.”

He walked back into the living room and sat down again on the sofa, but he didn’t bother to pick up his guitar. Resting his head against the back of the couch, he stared up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes.

He’d told Sheila the truth, but he’d also told her a lie. He’d told her he didn’t think about that night when he and Joelle made love. Lately, he thought about it all the time. He thought about how much he wanted to be with her at night. It didn’t have anything to do with sex. Not really. He just wanted to hold her in bed and to feel his child through the skin of her belly. The longing burned inside him and, at times, he wished she