Right Next Door by Debbie Macomber
“Tonight’s a new beginning for us. I’m crazy in love with you. I need you so much I can’t think straight anymore.”
“You brought me here to make love to me, didn’t you?”
“You mean it wasn’t obvious?” he asked as he nibbled kisses along the side of her neck.
“Why now? Why not that night on the Washington coast…? Why tonight?”
“Carol, do we need to go through this evaluation?”
“I have to know,” she cried, pushing herself away from him. Her hands trembled, and it was with some difficulty that she rebuttoned her dress. “The truth, Alex. I want the truth.”
“All right,” he murmured. “I thought…I believed that if we made love, it would help you decide you wanted to marry me.”
Carol felt as though he’d tossed a bucket of ice water in her face. She raised her hand to her pounding heart. “Oh, no…” she whispered. “Not again.”
“Carol? What’s wrong?”
“Bruce did this to me, too…pressured me into giving in to him…then he hated me…punished me….” Blindly she reached for her purse and shawl, then headed for the front door.
Alex caught up with her before she made it outside. His hand clasped her shoulder as he turned her to face him. By then she was sobbing, her whole body trembling with terror. Stark terror—stark memories.
Alex took one look at her and hauled her into his arms. “Carol.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “It’s all right, it’s all right. I would never have forced you.”
Twelve
All Carol could do was cry, and the pile of used tissues was mounting. Alex tried to comfort her, to help her, but everything he did seemed to make matters worse. One thing he’d immediately recognized—she didn’t want him to touch her.
She’d curled herself up on his sofa and covered her face as she wept. She wouldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t look at him. The only comprehensible statement she’d made in the last fifteen minutes had been a demand that he take her home.
Fear knotted his stomach. He had the inexplicable feeling that if he did as she asked, he’d never see her again. He had tonight and only tonight to repair the trust he’d unwittingly destroyed.
“Carol, I’m sorry.” He must have told her that twenty times. It was true enough. Everything he tried to do with this woman was wrong. Tonight was the perfect example. For days he’d been searching for a way to prove to Carol how much he loved her and how right they were for each other.
This evening had seemed the perfect place and time. He’d planned it all—the music, champagne, the carefully worded proposal, the diamond ring.
He’d thought that if everything went well, they’d make love, and afterward, they could discuss the details of their wedding and their lives. He wanted her in his bed, and although it was more than a little arrogant of him, he didn’t think he’d have any problem getting her there.
He’d also come to the conclusion that once they made love, she’d be convinced that they belonged together, and their marriage would naturally follow.
At first, his plan had worked flawlessly. Carol had walked into the house, seen that the table was set and the candles ready to light. She’d looked at him with those huge eyes of hers and given him a seductive smile. Then, with barely a pause, she’d waltzed into his arms.
From there everything had gone downhill.
One minute he was kissing her, marveling at the power she had over his body, and the next, she was cold and trembling, demanding answers that should’ve been obvious.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked her gently for the second—or was it the third?—time. Although his arms ached with the need to hold her, he resisted.
“No,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”
“We need to talk first.”
“Not now. I need to go home.” She rubbed her face and plucked a clean tissue from the nearby box. Apparently she’d regained her resolve because she stood, wrapped her shawl around her, and stumbled to the door. “If you won’t drive me, then I’ll walk.”
Alex heard the desperation in her voice and was helpless to do anything other than what she asked. As he stood, the regret swept through him. If there was anything he could do to ease her pain, he would’ve done it. If there were any words he could have uttered to comfort her, he would’ve said them gladly. But all she wanted him to do was take her back to her own home. Back to her own bed. Her own life.
Who did he think he was? Some Don Juan who could sweep this beautiful, sensitive woman into his bed and make love to her? He felt sick to his stomach at the way he’d plotted, the way he’d planned to use her body against her, to exploit the attraction between them to serve his own ends.
Now he was losing her, and there wasn’t anyone he could blame but himself. He’d known his chances weren’t good the night he’d asked her to marry him. He’d hoped to see joy in her eyes when he suggested it. He’d longed to see happiness on her face. He’d wanted Carol to hurl herself into his arms, excited and overcome with emotion.
He should’ve known he’d been watching too many old movies.
He’d asked Carol to marry him, and none of the things he’d hoped for had happened. Instead, her eyes had reflected fear. And tonight…tonight he’d witnessed stark terror.
Alex was astute enough to realize the problem lay in Carol’s brief marriage. Whatever had gone on had left deep emotional scars. Even when he’d felt the closest to her, Alex had learned very little about her relationship with her late husband. She’d let tidbits of information drop now and then, but every time she did, Alex had the feeling she’d regretted it.
On her way out the door, Carol grabbed a handful of fresh tissues, and with nothing more to say, Alex led the way to his car.
He opened the passenger door, noticing how she avoided any possibility of their accidentally touching as she climbed inside.
The tension inside the car made the air almost too thick to breathe. He could hardly stand it and he wondered how she could.
When he braked at a stop sign, he decided to make one last effort.
“Carol, please, how many times do I have to tell you how sorry I am? I made a mistake. I behaved like a jerk. Tell me what you want me to do, because I’ll do it. Anything you say. I love you! You’ve got to believe I’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you.”
His pleas were met with more of the same strained, intolerable silence.
In frustration he pressed his foot to the gas, and they shot ahead. The seat belts were all that kept them from slamming forward with the car.
The fiercest argument of their courtship now ensued, and the crazy part was, neither of them uttered a word. Every once in a while, Alex could hear Carol drag a breath through her lungs, and he knew she was doing everything in her power not to cry. Each tear she shed, each sob she inhaled, felt like a knife wound.
He was losing her, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. It wouldn’t be so tragic if he didn’t care for her so much. After Gloria’s death, Alex had never truly believed he’d fall in love again. Even when he’d made the decision to remarry, he hadn’t expected to find the depth of emotion he’d experienced with Carol.
And now it might be too late.
“Hey, Mom, did you and Mr. Preston have a fight or something?” Peter asked the following morning.
“W-why do you ask?”
Peter popped two frozen waffles in the toaster, then stood guard over them as though he expected Carol to snatch them out of his hands.
“I don’t know. Mr. Preston was acting strange last night when he picked us up from the movie.”
“Strange?”
“Sad. Mr. Preston’s usually loads of fun. I like him, I mean, he’s about the neatest adult I know. He doesn’t treat me like I’m a kid, and he likes the same things I like and—I don’t know—I just think he’s an all-around great guy. Fact is, Mom, men don’t come much better than James’s dad.”
“He is…nice, isn’
Peter leaned toward her and squinted. “Have you been crying?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said lightly, trying to make a joke out of it.
“Your eyes are all puffy and red like you have an allergy or something.”
“Pollen sometimes affects me that way.” Which was the truth. It just didn’t happen to be affecting her eyes at that particular moment.
The waffles popped up, and Peter grabbed them, muttering under his breath when he burned his fingers. He spread a thin layer of butter on them and followed that with a puddle of syrup. Once that task was complete, he added two more waffles to the toaster, then sat across the table from Carol.
“I kind of thought you and Mr. Preston might’ve had a fight,” Peter said, obviously feeling it was safe to probe some more. “That would’ve been too bad because on the way to the movie he was telling us that he wanted to make this dinner the most romantic night of your life. Was it?”
“He…tried.”
“How did the Baked Alaska taste?”
“The Baked Alaska?” Carol made a nondescript gesture. “Oh…it was great.”
“Mr. Preston made everything himself. Right down to the salad dressing. James told me he’d been shopping for days. It would’ve been terrible if you’d had a fight and ruined it…. You love Mr. Preston, don’t you?” Peter asked earnestly.
Carol closed her eyes to the emotion assaulting her from all sides. She would be lying if she didn’t admit it. And her heart refused to let her lie. But no one seemed to understand that love wasn’t a cure-all. She’d loved Bruce, too—or thought she did—and look where that had gotten her.
“Yes,” she whispered. She’d averted her gaze, but she could hear Peter’s sigh of relief.
“I knew you did,” he said cheerfully, slicing into his waffle. “I told James you were wild about his dad and that whatever happened at dinner would be okay in the morning.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Carol murmured.
An hour later, Carol was working in the garden space Alex had tilled for her several weeks earlier. She was cultivating the soil, preparing it to plant several different herbs that afternoon. She’d done her homework and discovered a wide variety that grew well in the moist climate of the Pacific Northwest.
Her back was to the kitchen, and she hadn’t heard the doorbell. Nor was there the usual commotion that occurred whenever Peter let someone in.
Yet without a doubt, she knew Alex was standing in the doorway watching her. She felt his presence in the same way she experienced his absence.
Running her forearm across her damp brow, she leaned back and removed her gloves. “I know what you want to say,” she said, “and I think it would be best if we just dropped the whole issue.”
“Unfortunately that’s a luxury neither of us can afford.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” she sighed, awkwardly struggling to an upright position. The knees of her jeans were caked with mud and the sweat was pouring down her flushed face.
There’d probably been only two other times in her life when she’d looked worse, and Alex had seen her on both occasions.
With the cultivator gripped tightly in her fist, she walked over to the patio and sank down on a deck chair. “All right, say what you have to say.”
Alex grinned. “Such resignation!”
“I’d rather be working in my garden.”
“I know.” He flexed his hands a couple of times. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
“Oh, Alex, this isn’t necessary, it really isn’t. I overreacted last night. So, you made a mistake—you’re only human and I forgive you. Your intentions weren’t exactly honorable, but given the circumstances they were understandable. You wanted to take me into your bed and afterward make an honest woman of me.” She made quotation marks with her fingers around the words honest woman. “Right?”
“Something like that,” he mumbled. Although of course the issue was much more complicated than that….
“The thing is, I’ve been made an honest woman once and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m not planning to repeat it.”
“What was your husband’s name?” Alex asked without preamble.
“Bruce…why?”
“Do you realize you’ve never told me?”
She shrugged; she never talked about Bruce if possible.
“Tell me about him, Carol,” Alex pleaded, “tell me everything. Start with the minute you noticed each other and then lead me through your relationship to the day you buried him.”
“I can’t see how that would solve anything.”
“Tell me, Carol.”
“No.” She jumped to her feet, her heart in a panic. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Then why do you close up tight anytime someone mentions him?”
“Because!” She paced the patio. Stopping abruptly, she whirled around and glared at him, angry all over again. “All right, you want to know? I’ll tell you. We were teenagers—young, stupid, naive. We made out in the back seat of a car…and when I got pregnant with Peter we got married. Bruce died three years later in a car accident.”
An eternity passed before Alex spoke again. “That’s just a summary. Tell me what really happened in those three years you were married.” His voice was soft and insistent.
Her chest constricted painfully. Would nothing satisfy him short of blood? How could she ever hope to describe three years of living in hell? She couldn’t, and she didn’t even want to try.
Alex wouldn’t understand, and nothing she could ever say would help him. What purpose would it serve to dredge up all that misery? None that she could see.
Slowly she lowered herself onto the deck chair again, trying to still her churning thoughts, to nullify the agonizing memories. The pain was so distinct, so acute, that she opted for the only sane solution. She backed away.
Alex reached for her hand, holding it loosely. “I know this is difficult.”
He didn’t know how difficult.
“Bruce and I were married a long time ago. Suffice it to say that the marriage wasn’t a good one. We were much too young…and Bruce had…problems.” She bit her lip, not willing to continue. “I don’t want to drag up the past. I don’t see how it would do any good.”
“Carol, please.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I’m not about to dissect a marriage that ended thirteen years ago simply because you’re curious.”
“We need to talk about it,” he insisted.
“Why? Because I get a little panicky when you start pressuring me into bed? Trust me, any woman who’s gone through what I did would react the same way. You know the old saying—once burned, twice shy.” She tried to make light of it and failed. Miserably.
For the longest time Alex said nothing. He did nothing. He stared into the distance, and Carol couldn’t tell where his thoughts were taking him.
“I never expected to fall in love again,” he said.
Carol frowned at the self-derision in his words.
“Gloria knew I would, but then she always did know me better than I knew myself.” He paused for a moment, and he gave a sad, bitter smile. “I’ll never forget the last time we were able to talk. The next day she slipped into a coma, and soon afterward, she died. She knew she was dying and had accepted it. The hospital staff knew it was only a matter of time. But I couldn’t let go of her. I had such faith that God would save her from this illness. Such unquestionable trust. He did, of course, but not the way I wanted.”
“Alex…” Tears were beginning to blur her vision. She didn’t want to hear about Gloria and the wonderful marriage he’d had with her. The contrast was too painful. Too bleak.
“Gloria took my hand and raised her eyes to mine and thanked me for staying at her side to the very end. She apologized because she’d been ill. Can you imagine anyone doing that??
“No.” Carol’s voice was the faintest of whispers.
“Then she told me God would send another woman into my life, someone healthy and whole who’d love me the way I deserved to be loved. Someone who’d share my success and who’d love our son as much as she did.” He paused and smiled again, but it was the same sad smile. “Trust me, this was the last thing I wanted to hear from my wife. First of all, I was in denial, and I refused to believe she was dying, and second, nothing could have convinced me I’d ever love another woman as much as I loved Gloria.”
Carol shut her eyes tightly and took deep breaths to keep from weeping openly.
“She told me that when I met this other woman and decided to marry her, I shouldn’t feel guilty for having fallen in love again. She must’ve known that would be something powerful I’d be dealing with later. She squeezed my fingers—she was so weak, and yet, so strong. And wise, so very wise. Within a few hours she was gone from me forever.” He rubbed his eyes and hesitated before continuing. “I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think it would be possible to love anyone as much as I loved her.
“Then I met you, and before I knew it, I was falling in love all over again.” Once more he brought a weary hand to his face. His expression was blank, his eyes unrevealing. “And again I’m relinquishing the woman I love.” He paused. “I’ll give you the two weeks to make your decision, Carol. In fact, I’ll make it easy for you. I won’t call or contact you until the seventh—that’s exactly two weeks from the day we talked about it. You can tell me your decision then. All right?”
“All right,” she agreed, feeling numb.
Slowly he nodded, then stood and walked out of her house.
“The way I see it,” Peter said, holding a red Delicious apple in one hand and staring at his mother, “James’s dad can adopt me.”
Carol felt the fleeting pain that tore through her every time Peter not-so-casually mentioned Alex’s name. He seemed to plan these times with precision. Just when she least expected it. Just when she was sure she knew her own mind. Just when she was feeling overly confident. Then pow, right between the eyes, Peter would toss some remark carefully chosen for its effect. It was generally preceded by some bit of information about Alex or a comment about how wonderful life would be when they were one big, happy family.