“Is this why you haven’t been sleeping well?”
He considered his lovely wife at length. Was there a particular reason for her concern? “I sleep as well as any man with a life-changing decision before him.”
That much was certainly true.
Designing and producing elegant schooners and yachts was more than what he did. It was who he was. Few true artisans remained in the business. Painstaking craftsmanship had been replaced by assembly lines and the need to expand. He built each vessel by hand only after weeks, sometimes months, of carefully planning each design detail. That his work was considered the best of the best domestically and internationally had garnered him a fortune many times over. But no amount of money could replace the immense satisfaction he gained through his work. The creation of each design wasas intimate to him as the birthing process to any mother. Though he might not know that particular process firsthand, he had shared with his wife every intimate nuance of his daughter’s development during pregnancy and then her birth.
The most integral part of him was being threatened by his own body’s weakness. Recently he had been forced to face a hard fact: He was neither immortal nor immune to infirmity. The numbness in his hands was the first sign of trouble. There were steps he could take, but those steps carried significant risk. How could he gamble with even the slightest change in his ability to touch the wood? To judge its potential in raw form and then to slowly coax forth its utter luxury and beauty?
He could not.
The occasional weak tremors and more frequent bouts of numbness were two things he would simply have to live with ... until he had no other choice.
“We should do something special tonight,” Lynda suggested as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her firm, high breasts to his chest. She’d always been able to read his moods. “We haven’t gone out in a long time,” she urged. “We could drive over to Camden and have dinner at Sydney’s. You love that quaint little place so much.”
“Sounds pleasant. I’ll text Jerri Lynn and invite her to join us. Perhaps she hasn’t already made plans.” An evening away from the house would do him good.
His wife tensed. The change, though subtle, was undeniable. “I’m sure she’ll be busy with her friends. It is Friday, after all. We should just hop in the car and drive. Remember? We used to do that all the time. We haven’t done anything impulsive in years.”
“I’ll extend the invitation,” he countered, keeping any hint of impatience from his tone. “If she has plans, she can decline.”
Lynda stepped away from him, the distance emotional as well as physical. “You’ll let me know, then.” Her disappointment was palpable.
When she would have turned to go, he asked, though he knew well the answer, “Why does it annoy you so whenever I insist on including our daughter?”
The incensed expression appeared almost genuine. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jerald.”
She folded her arms over her low-cut silk blouse. The blouse and the slacks fit her toned body as if the designer had fashioned them precisely for her. Jerald wouldn’t even attempt to hazard a guess at the exclusive labels inside that delicate gold fabric. From the shoes to the hairstyle, her entire appearance demonstrated a taste for the extravagant. No one in Youngstown dressed as well as Lynda. Probably no one in New England did. Yet, as self-centered as that one flaw made her seem, she gave of her time and money generously. There wasn’t a high-profile charity organization in the region that she failed to avidly support. When it came to giving, Lynda rivaled, if not surpassed, Stephen King’s generosity.
If only she had once given their daughter that kind of attention.
Lynda sighed in that long-suffering way that warned she was weary of the subject. “There are simply times when I would like an evening alone with my husband. We don’t do that often enough anymore.”
Anymore, meaning since they’d had a child. Almost nineteen years. Lynda had not been satisfied since Jerri Lynn had developed her own personality and become more than an extension of her mother.
He should have learned long ago that this was not a battle either of them would or could win. They had gone head-to-head on the subject of their one child far too many times in the past to believe otherwise. He could allow the tension to escalate into a full-fledged battle of wills, or he could defuse the tension here and now.
Considering he had more than enough on his mind at the moment, the latter was by far more appealing. “I suppose you’re right.”
She latched on to that small concession with renewed fervor. “I just want things to be more like they used to be. That’s all.” She curled her arms around one of his. “I miss the way we once were, Jerald.”
BC . . . before child.
Why couldn’t she be like other mothers and put her child above all else? Not that Lynda had been a bad mother. She was just a selfish, at times indifferent, one who refused to share what she felt was rightfully hers.
Perhaps twenty years ago when he had insisted they have a child, he had made a mistake. But he’d had his reasons. He pushed that thought away.
“She won’t be with us much longer,” he placated, knowing exactly what she wanted to hear. “After college, we’ll hardly see her.” His chest ached at the thought. His life would be empty without his little girl around.
Admittedly, he had his flaws, but he would do anything to protect his daughter. She was his heart ... the heart he had never possessed, hard as he had endeavored, before her birth. The potential, however remote, that she may have inherited a life-altering weakness from him caused a kind of anguish he had not known existed.
Lynda lifted her chin in abject disapproval. “She would be away at school now if you hadn’t insisted she attend a university so close to home. You hold the apron strings far too tightly, Jerald.”
He took his wife’s hand in his and fixed a firm gaze on hers. “My decision was based on what was right for our daughter. She still needs us. She’ll be gone soon enough and you’ll have me all to yourself.” He kissed her hand, then her cheek. The subtle scent of her perfume stirred his loins. He resented her lack of emotional attachment to their daughter, but he did love her so very much.
A seductive smile slid across her lips. “I miss that.” She drew away from his touch. “But you can’t distract me from the real problem here.”
“What does that mean, Lynda?” He was no longer able to conceal his own weariness of the subject.
