His face twitched. She contained her jubilation. She’d gotten through to him.
“Fine.” He kept the gun trained on her. “We’ll give it a try. But if you-”
“I won’t.”
He leaned over her, cupping her chin with his free hand, his eyes boring deeply into hers. He spoke with perfect enunciation. “If you piss me off, Sheila, I’ll end you. Without hesitation. I’m getting as tired of this as you are.”
She nodded, her chin still in his hand. “So let me go.” She said it quietly, keeping her eyes focused on his face. “I’ll walk out of here and hitch a ride home and never tell anyone what happened. You can leave town. I’ll say I freaked out, started drinking again, passed out, and didn’t know where I was. I’ll say anything you want me to. Just let me go.”
“So you can go back to Morris?”
Morris again. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what to say.
Before she could respond, Ethan shook his head. “Never mind. Shut up. I don’t want to talk about him.”
“But-”
“I said shut up.”
“Do you actually think I’m in love with him?”
That got his attention. “Aren’t you?”
She gazed back, hoping her calm demeanor concealed her increasing heart rate. “I have love for Morris, yes. But I think you’ve misunderstood what it is I feel for him.”
A moment of silence passed before he sat down beside her on the bed. The gun rested comfortably in his hand. “Explain it to me.”
She was ready. “I’m thirty-nine. I’ll be forty in a few months. I’m divorced. I don’t have children. Morris was my chance to have the family I’ve always wanted.”
She reached out and placed her palm lightly on Ethan’s knee. He jerked in surprise, but didn’t pull away. It was the first time since she’d been here that she’d willingly touched him. “You’re twenty-three and still in grad school. Can you tell me you’re ready for that? You said it yourself the day we broke up-our affair was never destined to go anywhere.”
“I was angry.”
“So you didn’t mean it? You wanted to be with me? Long term?” The words were ridiculous. He would see right through them. But her eyes stayed steady on his face.
“What difference does it make now?” Ethan’s face was impassive. “Look around. It’s too late.”
“It’s not too late.” Sheila tucked her bare legs underneath her, a girly move that would make her seem more vulnerable. Her right hand was still on his knee, and she used her left hand to smooth her straggly hair behind her ears in an effort to look less unattractive. “This situation is extremely unconventional, yes, and I’ll be honest when I say you have serious issues we’ll need to work on. You know that. But if the reason you brought me here is because deep down you want to be with me and can’t stand to see me marry someone else, then that’s normal. That’s human.” She paused for effect. “Ethan, you should have told me how you felt. You should have fought for me. You would have won.”
She moved her hand from his knee to his palm. Squeezed. He looked at her, studying her features closely. “Don’t bullshit me.”
Was that hope she heard in his tone?
“You think that’s what I’m doing?” She unfolded her legs. “I’m going to take a shower if that’s okay with you. Stay right here. Don’t leave, okay?” She squeezed his hand once more before letting it go.
He made no move to stop her when she slipped off the bed and headed back toward the bathroom.
When she finished showering fifteen minutes later, he was gone.
CHAPTER 27
T he doorbell rang at seven thirty, and Morris’s subconscious promptly implanted it into his dream.
He was in his kitchen cooking up a huge breakfast. Bacon, eggs over easy, sausage links, and French toast topped with his mama’s famous strawberry preserves (even though his mama had been dead for fifteen years).
Sheila was there, playful and affectionate, her arms around his slim waist.
In Morris’s dreams he was always thin.
He and Sheila started teasing each other about who should answer the door, and neither of them could because he was cooking and she was naked.
The doorbell ringing turned to banging, and Morris woke with a jolt.
He sat up, a new crick in his neck from yet another night in the Barcalounger. The doorbell rang again. Someone really was at the door, and the person was damned persistent. Goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses. Third time this month they’d come around.
Swearing under his breath, he heaved himself out of his chair and padded toward the front door, pausing briefly to check his appearance in the hallway mirror. His thick hair was standing up in crazy tufts. His old terry-cloth robe hung open to reveal a stained undershirt and wrinkled pajama pants. Booze was on his breath from the night before. He was guessing he wouldn’t smell too good to a clean and brightly smiling messenger of God. He tousled his hair once more for good measure. He looked deranged.
Perfect. Maybe he’d scare them away once and for all.
Not bothering to check the peephole, he swung the door open with a flourish, prepared to lambaste the unfortunate soul standing there. The sudden insurgence of sunlight into Morris’s eyes temporarily blinded him and he couldn’t make out the shape standing on his porch. He shielded his eyes, trying to focus.
Then the shape spoke. “Hi, Dad.”
At the sound of the voice, Morris’s mouth dropped open.
Blinking through the sunny haze, he found himself face-to-face with a man in his late twenties. Dark hair, six feet four, maybe two hundred pounds. White button-down shirt and jeans. Tanned, fit, and healthy. An almost exact replica of Morris at that age.
He stared into the young man’s blue eyes, identical to his own. “Randall?”
“I see you’re off the wagon,” his son said with a sad smile. He reached over and grabbed Morris in a tight embrace. “Looks like I got here just in time. Hey, what’s up with your hair? How come you look crazy?”
Fifteen minutes later, father and son were sitting in the kitchen. His hair still wet from the world’s fastest shower, Morris brought over two cups of freshly brewed coffee and marveled at the handsome man who was his eldest son.
“I figured I could catch you before you went to work.” Randall looked around the kitchen, then out the window at the golf course behind the house. “Beautiful place, Dad.”
Morris stared at him. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Randall grinned and took a sip of coffee. He took it black, just as Morris did. “Flew in late last night. Been in Austin with Mom the last couple of days. She and Bob just bought a new place. Needs some work, but it’s nice.”
Morris wasn’t interested in news of his ex-wife. “Where have you been?”
“Well, I-” Randall stopped, then laughed. It was a sound that warmed Morris to the core. “Dad, it’s been six years. How do I sum up?”
“Don’t. Tell me everything. How’s Donna?”
“Who?”
“Your girlfriend. It is Donna, isn’t it?”
Randall shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad.”
“Oh.” Morris was confused. “Sorry, I don’t know why I thought…”
Randall waved a dismissive hand. “It’s okay. It’s my own fault for not doing a better job keeping in touch. Where do I start? I guess after you and I…” Randall hesitated. “After I left Stanford, I went backpacking in Europe for about a year. Met a bunch of people. One guy, Dave, convinced me to go with him to the Philippines to volunteer
