Part 8 (2/2)
Okay, he was right about that. Her kids would always need her, just like she would always need them. But for once, during this particular moment in time, she needed to work on herself. She needed to find herself, define herself. She needed to figure out who she was going to be in the next part of her life.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears and stood tall. ”You're right. I am their mother, but don't you think it's time that I got to be more than simply that? More than simply the Timberlake kids' mom-and, frankly, more than your wife? What's wrong with that?”
”Nothing's wrong with that.” He set his gla.s.s down on the bar. ”I don't understand why you've decided you have to go to the mountains to do it!”
Ali closed her eyes and counted to ten before quietly asking, ”Be honest with me, Mac. Isn't it easier for you, too, if I'm not there?”
A full minute pa.s.sed before he replied, his voice low and gruff. ”In some ways, yeah. But Ali, this is no way to conduct a marriage.”
Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. ”Actually, I think it may be the way we save our marriage.”
He shot her a sharp look but waited for her to say more.
”I think that you and I have been angry at each other for a long time now. It's been an undercurrent in our lives for months. Now it's out in the open. That's a positive step.”
Mac didn't deny it. He rubbed the back of his neck. ”Okay, then, spell it out for me. This is more than a few weeks' vacation from each other. Is that right? Are we officially separated?”
Now her stomach took a sick roll. Was that what she wanted? A clean break into the single life? During all this time, he had never once asked her to come home. Instead, he'd asked, Are you coming home? Big difference there. ”Could we call it a trial separation?”
”Fine. Now, if this is what we're doing, I suggest we discuss a few important matters in order to avoid misunderstandings. First, are you comfortable keeping it informal or do you want to get lawyers involved? I think your father would like you to seek advice from Walt Prentice.”
Her stomach pitched and rolled. ”I don't want a lawyer. We don't need to do that, do we?”
”I'd prefer not to involve anyone else as long as you and I are on the same page. Finances aren't a problem with us, and child custody isn't an issue. It would help me if we had a time frame to work with. I need to know what to expect. What are you thinking? Two months? Three? I'll probably be tied up with the Sandberg trial through the end of the summer.”
That was absolutely the wrong thing for Mac to say. She'd be hanged before she'd schedule her separation around his trial. She'd done that with vacations for more years than she could count. Reacting from emotion more than thought, she said, ”I've made a commitment to Celeste and to my job. I'll need to stay until the restaurant is open and running smoothly.”
”How long do you expect that to take?”
”Four to six months.” That was longer than she truly antic.i.p.ated, but she didn't want to go home before that darn trial was over.
Mac's jaw tightened. ”All right, then. I'll agree to a six-month separation. Do you want to see each other from time to time, or are you thinking a complete break?”
He had s.h.i.+fted into negotiating-lawyer mode now, and Ali didn't like it. It felt cold and clinical when the subject was thick, hot emotion. Her instinct was to lash out, to say she didn't want to see him until Christmas, thank you very much, but she stopped herself. Barely. ”I'd think it'd be good for us to see each other some. Maybe you could visit me in Eternity Springs.”
”I'll be busy with the trial.” When Ali snapped her mouth shut, he hastened to add, ”I could probably come in the fall.”
”Maybe we should leave that question open,” she suggested, a bite to her tone. Once again his needs came before hers.
”All right, then. There's just one other thing I think we should put on the table in order to avoid misunderstandings.” He pinned her with a laser gaze she simply couldn't read. ”What about s.e.x?”
”Excuse me?”
”How far do you want to take this separation? Do you want to date? Do you want to sleep with somebody else?”
Now she could read the emotion in his eyes. It was accusation. Ugly and mean, and it made her blood run cold.
”Maybe you have your eye on the sheriff?” Mac continued, his tone biting. ”He certainly has his eye on you.”
”That's enough.” Ali picked up her purse. ”You've obviously reached your limit of civilized behavior. I'm leaving. Since you've rented this lovely room, I suggest you stay here tonight. I'm going home for the night. I need to pack more clothes. Don't worry about the dog. I'll see to him.”
”Ali ...” Mac grimaced, closed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair. ”Look. I'm sorry. It's just ... our s.e.x life ...”
”Sucks,” she finished, speaking past a lump the size of a baseball in her throat.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, looked down at the floor for a moment, then glanced up to meet her gaze. ”You looked so beautiful tonight. But that dress, those shoes. It's not you. This job isn't you. I feel like I'm losing you. It scares me.”
As she reached for the doork.n.o.b, she said, ”We may be separated, Mac, but we're still married. As far as I'm concerned, our wedding vows are still in effect. For both of us.”
She opened the door and took one step into the hallway before pausing to look back at her husband. ”Do you remember the last time you told me I was beautiful, Mac? I do. It was a year ago last Valentine's Day.”
The hotel door shut behind her and Ali braced a hand against the wall as her knees went weak and watery. From inside the room, she heard a thwack and then the crash of breaking gla.s.s as Mac, Mr. Control, threw his gla.s.s at the door.
SEVEN.
Ali spent a restless night in her and Mac's bed, where his scent clung to the sheets and created a hollow sense of grief inside her. She'd lain awake fretting that he would come home after all, while at the same time worrying that he wouldn't.
He didn't. She couldn't decide if that made her happy or even sadder.
As dawn broke, she abandoned her attempt to sleep, washed, dressed, and prepared to pack the items she wanted to take with her. That meant a trip to the guest room closet for a large suitcase. There her gaze snagged on the box that stored her wedding gown, and she sucked in a deep breath.
The quilting bee she'd joined in Eternity Springs made quilts out of donated wedding gowns. The finished products were simply stunning. Should I ...?
Ali tugged the gown box down from the shelf. She hadn't looked at the dress since the dry cleaner packed it away after the wedding. Once upon a time she'd imagined that Caitlin would want to wear her gown when she married. By the time Cait turned twelve, Ali knew that wouldn't happen. Even if she'd wanted to wear Ali's timeless, sophisticated Scaasi gown when she married, the girl had her father's height and stood four inches taller than her mother. The gown would never suit.
”Yes, I should. No reason not to,” Ali murmured. Celeste wanted wedding gown quilts for all the bedrooms at Cavanaugh House, so the Patchwork Angels could certainly find a use for it.
An hour later, suitcases, boxes, and wedding gown in her car, Ali left her house, left her husband, for the second time.
Back in Eternity Springs, the days pa.s.sed swiftly as she worked with Gabe Callahan fine-tuning the remodel design and discussed colors and appropriate art with Sage Rafferty. She shopped catalogues and the Internet and anguished over appliances purchases. Had it been her own money she was spending for a restaurant of her own, she'd have been much more comfortable with her choices. In her experience, stoves and ovens were such personal things to those who used them on a daily basis. This was like buying a mattress for a stranger.
On a Tuesday evening in late May, she put her wedding gown box in her car and drove to Nic Callahan's house for a Patchwork Angels meeting. Ordinarily the group met in the attic workroom at Angel's Rest, but Celeste had decided to refinish the floors, so they'd temporarily relocated to Nic's. Ali looked forward to the weekly meetings of the quilting bee. She enjoyed the camaraderie and treasured the friends she'd made in Eternity Springs-Celeste, Nic, Sarah, Sage, and recently Sage's sister Rose. And, of course, Celeste. Ali liked these women very much. They made her laugh-not an easy feat these days.
Nic lived in a charming Victorian on the edge of town. Her cozy library had been transformed into a sewing room. Tonight's group was small, but conversation was lively. Very lively-Ali feared fisticuffs might break out at any moment. She hadn't had this much fun in months.
”You are so wrong!” Nic said, waving her rotary cutter in Sarah Reese's face. ”It's Princess Grace by a million miles.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose. ”So says the woman whose idea of style is to wear jeans 360 days a year. Look, we're talking about the dress itself. You're giving it extra points for the whole prince-princess thing. When you take the dress and only the dress, Liz Taylor's gown wins by a mile.”
”You have to be more specific, Sarah,” Sage pointed out. ”Liz Taylor had a lot of wedding gowns.”
”Fine. I'm talking about the gown she wore to marry Conrad Hilton.”
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