Part 8 (1/2)
”Now. Upstairs.” He reached out and plucked the ticket from her hand. ”I rented a room.”
Ali gaped at the valet ticket now clutched in her husband's fist. He'd swiped her ticket. She couldn't believe it. Mac didn't do things like that. ”What are you doing? Give me my ticket.”
”No.”
He grasped her upper arm in a firm grip and propelled her toward the elevator. He wasn't rough, and he didn't hurt her, but he also didn't give her a choice. This was crazy. Mac didn't act this way.
At the elevator bank, he pressed the up b.u.t.ton and a door immediately opened to their left. He dragged her into the empty elevator, and the minute the doors slid shut, she yanked her arm free and whirled on him. ”This isn't necessary.”
”True.” He punched the b.u.t.ton for the fifth floor. ”We could have had this discussion at home. But then, you didn't come home, did you?”
She didn't respond to that. She couldn't. She didn't have a legitimate defense. Okay, fine. He wanted to talk? They'd talk. She folded her arms and they both remained silent, watching the floor numbers light as the elevator climbed. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, the same woodsy scent he'd worn for the past dozen years, and her heart gave a little twist of sadness. The last time the two of them had ridden an elevator to a downtown Denver hotel room they had been on a romantic escape from the kids. It had been a night of fun and fantasy and toe-tingling s.e.x. That had been, what, three years ago? Five?
What happened to us, Mac?
He'd reserved a suite. Ali wondered at the extravagance until she realized that he probably didn't want the bed sitting in the middle of the room like a big old accusation while they argued. Crossing to the window, she tossed her evening bag into a chair, opened the window curtains, and stared at the lights of downtown without really seeing them.
”Okay, Mac. What is it you want to talk about?”
After a moment of silence, he said, ”I ordered a bottle of scotch. Do you want a drink?”
”No.”
She heard the clink of ice cubes against gla.s.s, then the splash of pouring liquid. She waited. This was his game. He needed to make the first move.
Finally he cleared his throat and asked, ”Last time we talked, you said you needed time to cool off. Are you still angry? Is that why didn't you come home this evening?”
”No.” Now that he'd broached the subject, guilt snaked through her, along with a measure of resentment that she felt guilty to begin with. Blowing out a heavy sigh, she turned to look at him. ”I was afraid.”
”Of me?”
”Of facing you. Of facing our home.” When her throat tightened, she swallowed hard. ”It's full of pain, Mac.”
He reached up and tugged on his tie to loosen it. ”That's an awful thing to say.”
”But it's true. You know it is. It's full of hurt and anger and misery, and I wasn't ready to face all that again. Not yet.”
”So I guess that means you haven't found whatever answers you went looking for in the past month?”
”Not really.” She licked her lips. ”Have you?”
”I know that it's lonely without you there.”
”It was lonely when I was there.”
He shrugged. ”I got a dog.”
Ali's mouth gaped. Years ago, one of the kids accidentally let their dog Draper out. He'd been hit by a car and his back injured, paralyzing his hind legs. With the kids then busy preteens, care of the high-maintenance dog had fallen on Ali's and Mac's shoulders. When Draper died five years ago, Mac had sworn he never wanted another pet. ”I'm surprised.”
Again he shrugged. ”He's a friendly dog. A springer spaniel mix. He's good company.”
Unlike me. She filled her lungs with air, then said, ”That's nice. I hear you bought a car, too.”
”Yeah. Don't quite know what got into me, but I like it. Midlife crazy, I guess.” He frowned down into his scotch. ”Ali, the kids have been calling me. A lot. They're frustrated because you're not communicating with them.”
”What?” That annoyed her, and she folded her arms. ”I'm not ignoring them.”
”Caitlin said you've told her not to call.”
She didn't like the accusation in his tone. ”I told her not to call during business hours unless it's an emergency. That's the same rule you've had all these years.”
”Well, she feels like you're abandoning her.”
”What?” Annoyance grew into anger. ”That's ridiculous. I have a job now. Caitlin needs to learn to respect that. She was calling me ten times a day.”
”Look, I'm just telling you what she's said to me. It's understandable that she'd think that way. You've always been there for her, Ali, and now you're not.”
”I'm still available to my children, just not between the hours of eight and five. I don't think that's too much to ask. You shouldn't think it is, either, considering I'm simply following your example.”
He finished his drink and set down his gla.s.s. ”When Caitlin called me this morning, she said she'd decided not to come home for the summer.”
That bit of news took Ali aback. ”Does she want to go to summer school?”
”No. She wants to get a job.”
”Caitlin? Our Caitlin?”
His mouth quirked wryly. ”Yeah.”
For the first time in months, and for just a moment, they shared the same wavelength. Caitlin had never been one to concern herself overmuch with working. She wasn't lazy-far from it-but she'd always managed to arrange her life in such a way that she managed to earn the funds they'd required her to contribute without working a traditional job. She'd babysat, she'd tutored, she'd set up an easel in the park and drew portraits for money. Only once in her life had Princess Caitlin ever held a job-as a clerk at a clothing store in the mall. She'd lasted one week.
”She thinks she can get a job at a fast-food joint near campus that is open around the clock,” Mac said. ”She said they're always needing workers for the late s.h.i.+ft. I don't want her doing that, Ali. It's not safe.”
”Then tell her to look for something else. You're still holding the purse strings. You still have control.”
”I want her home. The boys both came home between their freshman and soph.o.m.ore years. Cait should, too.”
Ali shrugged. ”Then tell her that.”
”But you're not home to be there with her.”
The comment irritated her. Caitlin was eighteen, almost nineteen. An adult. She'd have her friends, her social calendar. It would be no different from last summer, when she did little more than sleep at home. If Cait truly needed her to be at home this summer-if she had a real problem that she needed a mother's help dealing with-then of course, Ali would be there for her. She'd be there for the boys, too. But that wasn't the case here. Odds were the new boyfriend planned to remain in Nashville over the summer. Mac needed to open his eyes.
”Our daughter is an adult now. I don't have to be there to babysit. My work is done. I've raised my kids, and I think I ... we ... did a pretty good job of it. No one is on drugs, no one is in jail, no one had children of their own when they were still children. They're good people and they don't need me anymore.”
”That's ridiculous,” he scoffed, scowling. ”Of course they need you. You're their mother.”