But she’d do that by email. A phone call would be too revealing. Her mom would pick up the undercurrent of strain and realize the marriage she and Dad had advised against was in serious trouble.
They might be right—but Rachel wasn’t ready to admit that.
Yet.
Not after the positive developments of the past few days.
“Tacos are here.”
At Greg’s announcement from the back door, she swiveled around. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You want to eat outside? The mist is clearing. We should have sun soon.”
“That’s fine. I’ll get us some sodas.”
“I already put them on the counter. I can go back for them.”
“I need to wash up anyway. Why don’t you divvy up the tacos?” The savory aroma wafted toward her as they passed on the patio, and her stomach rumbled.
She should have eaten some lunch—but until their recent dinners of spaghetti and surprisingly tasty beer-can chicken, food had held little interest.
At least her appetite was improving, if not her relationship with her parents.
After scrubbing her hands, she scooped up the sodas and joined Greg on the patio.
He’d pushed her phone aside but tapped it as she sat. “Anyone call?”
“Yes.” She opened the first taco, peeling back the white paper. “My mom left a message.”
“I didn’t know you and your parents were communicating again, except for an occasional email.”
“We aren’t. The phone calls have all come from their end.”
“How many is ‘all’?”
“Three in the past six weeks.”
“Have you returned them?”
“By email.” She took a bite of her taco. Since talking about her relationship with her parents would only ruin her appetite, a change of topic was in order. “Are you still planning to go to the lighthouse committee meeting tomorrow?”
“Yes. I said I would . . . and it’s important to keep promises.”
A subtle nuance in his inflection put her on alert, and she stopped chewing as their gazes met—and locked.
Was he talking about the lighthouse commitment . . . or an even bigger promise?
“I agree.” She wadded the taco paper in her fingers, studying him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I, uh, haven’t done the best job of that with the promises we made to each other.”
“No. You haven’t.” She was done coddling him. They either had to fix their problems or . . .
No.
She wasn’t going to think yet about following through on her ultimatum.
A muscle flexed in Greg’s cheek, and he played with a piece of red onion that had fallen out of his taco. Took a swig of soda.
She waited him out, forcing her lungs to keep inflating and deflating.
“We need to talk.” The hoarse statement scratched past his throat. “Decide how to go forward . . . or if we should.”
Her stomach bottomed out—but she forced herself to ask the hard question. “Do you want to call it quits?”
He looked past her, toward the rosebush their neighbor had planted in his stead. “What I want and what’s best for you might be two different things. I need to make the right choice.”
What?!
He was trying to call the shots in her life, just as her parents had?
Anger goosed her pulse.
She slammed her taco on the table. “You know what? I am sick to death of people deciding what’s best for me. First Mom and Dad, now you. When is everyone going to realize I’m an adult who is perfectly capable of making my own decisions?”
“Whoa!” He held up a hand, furrows creasing his forehead. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No? Then how did you mean it?”
“Look, I’m trying to take the honorable course, okay?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You deserve more than this.” He swept a hand over his leg.
“I didn’t marry you for your legs. I told you that days ago.”
“I know—but I also know you married a man who was capable of contributing to this partnership on an equal level. Instead, you’ve got a husband who can’t even plant a rosebush.” Disgust laced his words.
“You could if you worked harder at the physical therapy.”
“Even if I work my butt off, I won’t ever be a firefighter.”
It always came back to that.
“So because one career avenue is closed, your life is over?”
“The life I planned is.”
“I thought I was a big part of the life you planned?”
“You were. You are.”
“Well, I’m still here. That hasn’t changed. Why can’t we accept what’s happened and move on?”
“To what?”
“I don’t know—but we could figure it out together if you’d communicate more.”
He focused on the rosebush again, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “I don’t know why you’d want to talk to me—let alone hang around—after these past few months.”
“For very simple reasons. I took the same vows you did—and I meant it when I said through better or worse, in sickness and health.” She gentled her tone. “And I fell in love with a handsome soldier who swept me off my feet with charm and wit and intelligence and strength and compassion and joie de vivre.”
“Most of those have been in short supply since the IED.”
“Yes, they have. I can’t remember the last time you laughed or joked or . . .” Her voice rasped . . . but the rest of the sentence echoed in her mind.
Or touched me.
A wave of yearning swept through her, so strong it stole the breath from her lungs.
What she wouldn’t give for a loving caress or gentle kiss or warm hug. Any of those simple gestures would chase away the soul-sapping loneliness that had plagued her these past months.
Especially at night.
Except they slept in different rooms, with far more than a few inches of wall separating them.
Her vision misted, and she gripped the arms of her chair.
Don’t you dare cry, Rachel. Tears haven’t helped in the past—and they’re not going to solve the problem now. Stay strong.
“I’m not sure the man you married exists anymore, Rachel.”
“I don’t believe that.” Somehow she managed to choke out the denial.
“I wish I had your confidence.” He slumped back in his chair, shoulders hunched. “My life’s been one giant train wreck for the past eight months. I don’t think anyone who’s
