Part 28 (1/2)

She remembered the time early in the summer when Tim had come home from work with a dozen roses and tickets to a show. She had thanked him for the flowers but begged off on the night out. ”I have a photo shoot at eight tomorrow morning; I thought I'd get to bed early.” The way Tim's expression had fallen was something that never hit her until this morning. He had wanted to surprise her with something nice, but she'd been too busy to notice.

There had been other moments too. Times when he would hand her one of his columns, anxious for her approval, and she would lay it aside to read later.

Most of the time she never got around to reading his work. Looking back now, she was sure her lack of interest must have hurt him.

And then there were the conferences and university functions he wanted her to attend with him. Once it was merely a picnic with a few couples he knew from the university. She had imagined them mocking her for her lack of intellect and shaken her head.

”You go, honey.” The memory of her response made her wince. ”I've got a hundred things to do around here.”

She'd made time to go to the lake with Ryan, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd gone anywhere with Tim-not just for fun and companions.h.i.+p. When did I start treating him more like a fixture than a friend? There were no answers, and she imagined her witty, charming husband growing silently disenchanted and lonely while she busied herself with a hundred more important tasks.

No wonder he'd been vulnerable to Angela Manning. The woman had probably jumped at the chance to do things with him, even something as simple as meeting him for lunch.

No doubt she was the companion Kari had once been.

Kari tried to remember what was so important that she'd so often declined his invitations, and she knew it was because she didn't feel like she measured up.

Tim's columns were often 247 about issues she didn't follow, and he sometimes made points she disagreed with but didn't really know how to argue. And Tim's colleagues and their spouses-well, she'd had enough of them after that awful dinner conversation about books. They were always talking about foreign affairs and compelling literature and ”films”-never movies-when they weren't gossiping about university politics. Being with them always seemed like a compet.i.tion to see who was the cleverest in the group and who could drop the most names.

She had neither the desire nor the courage to venture much into university society. So she had begged off from all but the most crucial functions. Now she could picture Tim at those same affairs, talking with other couples, being clever, dropping names. But always alone.

No, Tim was clearly not the only one contributing to the problems in their marriage. Kari still felt sick at the thought of his affair. It would take months, years of healing before their marriage might be again what it once was.

But this morning-in the wake of her guilt and responsibility-she was ready to try, anxious to get home and start picking up the pieces.

She turned sideways in front of the mirror and checked her figure, noting that her abdomen showed just a hint of roundness. Their baby was growing within her, their child ... part her, part Tim.

Suddenly she realized she was not only anxious to get home, she was also looking forward to it.

Those were still her feelings when she pulled into their driveway an hour later.

The blinds were shut tight, the way she had left them, and the house looked utterly quiet. But the garage door opened to reveal Tim's Lexus. Had he come home?

”Tim?” she called out hopefully as she let herself in through the utility room.

No answer.

Then she walked into the kitchen and saw the empty liquor bottle on the counter.

What was this? Her breath caught in her throat. But after a moment she forced herself to continue 248 through the house. Through the dining room, where unopened letters lay in a stack on the table and her wedding portrait had been removed from the wall.

Through the living room, up the stairs, and down the hall toward their bedroom.

Get me through this, G.o.d. Please.

She took the few remaining steps down the hallway and quietly opened the bedroom door. Tim lay sprawled across the bed, dressed in sweats and a T-s.h.i.+rt, his ragged snoring filling the air. The whole room smelled of alcohol and vomit and body odor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a sudden storm of revulsion rained down on her.

It took everything G.o.d had given her to not turn around and drive back to her parents' house. Help me, Lord.

She tiptoed into the room, sure he would wake up from the sound of her heartbeat alone. Who had he been drinking with? Had Angela been here?

Kari gritted her teeth and settled her eyes on Tim.

Was this the man she'd married? The one who had once made her think it was actually possible to forget Ryan Taylor? The one who had sworn that no matter what, he wouldn't touch an alcoholic beverage?

The man who had promised to be faithful until death parted them?

She crossed the room in a trance and settled into a chair near their bed. Her stomach churned, and she was choked by a growing nausea. Three times she nearly made a dash for the bathroom, but she managed to swallow back the bile. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and she knew her pregnancy was partially responsible for the sick feeling.

But clearly it was more than that. Tim rolled over in his stupor, and another putrid wave of alcohol and underarm sweat a.s.saulted her senses. Dirty laundry littered the floor, along with scattered books and papers.

Kari stood to leave and then caught herself as a Scripture pa.s.sage 249 from their wedding flitted through her mind: Love endures all things.

She locked her jaw, sat down again, and gripped the arms of the chair. Gone were her feelings of guilt and RESPONSIBILITY GONE right along with her desire to work things out. In the depth of her being was a rock-bottom certainty that G.o.d wanted her to love her husband. But if this was what their love would be like, Kari had no idea how she'd endure a lifetime of it.

For two hours-until sleep mercifully took over, Kari watched Tim the way she might watch a horror film. Only this time the monster was her husband, and the terror was as real as her last name.

Tim Jacobs was certain the vision of Kari in the chair beside the bed was part of some alcohol-induced daydream, some stage of intensive hangover he hadn't hit before. He lifted his head and squinted at her before dropping back to the pillow. One thing was sure: Even in the midst of a dream Kari was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Why are you here? He still wasn't thinking clearly from the alcohol he had downed earlier this morning, and he was hating himself with a pa.s.sion for not dumping the liquor down the drain. He studied Kari's sleeping form as slowly, insidiously, guilt slithered into bed beside him and made its way around his midsection like a boa constrictor. Did you come to torture me?

It wasn't until Kari opened her eyes that he fully realized he wasn't dreaming.

And suddenly he could see and smell and sense everything through Kari's perspective-his own drunken haze, the clothing and books littering the room, the whiskey bottle in the kitchen.

The realization sent him stumbling to the toilet, where for ten minutes straight his body tried to rid itself of every drink he'd consumed for the past month.

But no matter how many times 250 his stomach convulsed, it couldn't get rid of the fear inside him, the guilt and anguish at having Kari see him this way.

When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shuffled toward the bed. He sat down and s.h.i.+fted so he could see Kari's face. There could be only one reason she was here now, and the thought made him blink back tears.

She was the only good thing that had ever happened to him, and now he'd lost her.

No, he hadn't lost her; he'd destroyed her. ”You have divorce papers for me?” he asked.

Kari stared at him, and he cringed inwardly at the pain in her expression. ”No.”

No papers? Tim's mind raced, trying to imagine why she might come unannounced.

As he searched for a reason, he saw a few tears meander down her cheeks.

She wiped the sleeve of her s.h.i.+rt across her face, and he sensed she was holding herself back. His breathing was shallow, and his heart raced near the surface of his chest. What could have happened to make her cry this way? Was it her parents? Was someone sick? He reached his hand toward her but stopped short of moving to her side. The last thing she would want now was his nearness.

”Why'd you come, Kari?”