Lorraine hadn’t slammed the door. Hadn’t snapped or sighed or rolled her eyes like my ex-wife would have done. I hadn’t felt frustration or anger rolling off her. Instead, I’d felt resignation or maybe sadness.
Shit. What had I done? Had I stuffed this up before we’d even got a chance to start it?
I didn’t know exactly what the problem was, but I knew I was the root cause of it. If we couldn’t move past this, I could lose the only future I’d ever dreamed of. For so long it had been just me and the hospital. This weekend I wanted to prove to her that we were great together.
But great didn’t include her walking away from me.
It just reminded me that she didn’t really need me. She could do more than just walk away from me in this cabin without a second thought—she could walk away from me altogether.
I blew out a breath. There was no point overthinking this. I needed to be patient and wait for her to come out so we could talk. She needed space to think, and I needed to give that to her instead of charging in there demanding that she tell me what was wrong.
I put on some fresh clothes, then went to the kitchen and reached for the cocoa. Hot chocolate solved everything, right? We’d soon find out. I spooned the cocoa in and filled the cups with hot water, stirring. The spoon clinked against the side. I stood there stirring for a minute, maybe two. Lucky it wasn’t bread because if it was, I’d have overworked it.
I carried the mugs to the coffee table, adjusted the cushions and blankets on the couch, and waited. When the doorknob turned, I almost jumped out of my seat. Lorraine came into the room and approached me. Her hair was damp, and the resort robe was pulled tightly around her, almost like a shield.
She no longer wore her blissful expression.
“I made hot chocolate,” I said.
“Thank you.”
She took the mug and sat on the couch. Unlike last night, there was a gap between us, like a ditch palisade I’d have to jump a horse over.
We both stared into the fire. The answers sure weren’t there.
I waited.
She set the mug down and faced me. “I don’t want to be second again. I was second through my marriage and I can’t do it again.”
She had told me that last night. I never thought she would feel that way with me.
“You’re not.”
“I know the hospital’s still yours for now. I know you’re still responsible.”
“Curtis needed my help.”
“I know.” Her voice was muted. “And I told myself not to be upset. But it made me feel like I did when I was married.” She gritted her teeth. “That’s not your fault. And I’m not saying you’re like that. I’m trying to explain how it made me feel.”
I reached for her hand. She let me take it.
“I never wanted to make you feel like that,” I said.
“I know,” she whispered.
But did she? Or did she just hope?
“I thought coming here, us spending time together, would show you what you mean to me,” I said. “Obviously, it wasn’t enough.”
She stared at me, not saying a word. Those scars of hers ran deeper than I’d imagined.
I cupped her face and ran my thumb across her cheekbone. “I don’t want you to feel like the hospital is more important than you.”
She gave a small shrug. “You have always been married to it.”
The heaviness in my gut deepened. Last night, she’d admitted that was one of the reasons she’d never said yes before.
“Yes, but things have changed. I’m retiring now. I have other things that are important. I have you.”
