A blonde. Men were so predictable.
Jacqueline had turned her head the other way and pretended all was right in her marriage and her life. That didn’t mean this blonde-on-the-side didn’t hurt. The pain of Reese’s betrayal cut deep, but Jacqueline was mature enough not to dwell on such unpleasantness. Lord knew her husband hadn’t come to her bed in years. As far as she was concerned, his mistress was welcome to him.
To be fair, separate bedrooms had been by mutual agreement. Early on in their marriage she’d produced the requisite offspring and following a respectable two-year span they’d tried for another child. But after two late miscarriages and the subsequent depressions, Jacqueline had given up hope.
All too soon Paul was no longer a boy. Almost overnight, it seemed, he was ready for college. When their son moved into a dorm room, Jacqueline had casually suggested Reese take advantage of the extra bedroom. The very next day, he’d moved his things into the other room. She’d been a little chagrined at the promptness of his action, but relieved, too.
Frankly she’d come to look upon sex as an intrusion. All that sweating and heaving and grinding while she did her best to pretend she was interested—it was just plain silly. Oh, the lovemaking had been pleasant and even enjoyable, especially in the beginning and then for a while after Paul. She was sure it would’ve been different if she’d been able to carry a second pregnancy to term. Jacqueline had wanted a daughter, but that was never to be. With the perspective of the last twenty years, she understood that her lack of interest in sex was due to anxiety or perhaps guilt. Still, it didn’t matter now. And she had no intention of visiting the doctors with couches in their offices to find out.
Not having a daughter was one of Jacqueline’s lifelong regrets. Reese had told her years ago, when she was feeling particularly depressed, that she’d have her daughter when Paul got married. And that was supposed to be a comfort!
Involuntarily, Jacqueline cringed. Tammie Lee was so far removed from what any daughter of hers would be that it wasn’t worth contemplating.
“Jacquie, are you home?” Reese shouted from the hallway leading to their respective bedrooms.
“I’m taking a bath,” she called back, setting the book aside. It was barely after seven; perhaps his interest in the other woman had waned. The scented water and bubbles sloshed as she stood up. On second thought, maybe something was wrong, but she couldn’t imagine what. She reached for a thick oversized towel from the heated rack. “Is everything all right?”
Reese knocked briefly on the bathroom door and, without waiting for her to respond, walked inside. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, breathless and rosy from the hot water, with a towel wrapped around her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, flustered that he’d walked in on her practically nude. At one time, her body had been sleek and lovely, but the years had taken their toll. Her stomach sagged and her breasts were those of a woman in her fifties. She pulled the towel more securely about her.
“Are you kicking me out of the bathroom, too?”
“I’d appreciate my privacy.”
His eyes seemed to go cold for a moment before a blank look slid into place. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes when you’re available.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Reese backed out of the room and closed the door.
As Jacqueline stepped out of the tub, she realized she was trembling. She rested one hand on the counter to steady herself, and drew in a deep, calming breath while she gathered her wits. She dried off, then slipped into her satin nightgown and matching robe. She cinched it tightly about her waist and paused in an effort to still her pounding heart before seeking out her husband.
Jacqueline found Reese in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator. He removed a take-out container she’d brought home from lunch two days earlier. She rarely cooked anymore, especially since Martha, their housekeeper, was more than willing to assume the task. Jacqueline had her own commitments and no longer bothered with meal preparation. Reese usually ate alone because he tended to stay late at the office. Or so he said.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he lifted the lid and examined what remained of her Caesar salad with shrimp. Apparently it didn’t suit him because he closed it again and stuck the container back in the refrigerator. “Do we have any eggs?”
“I think so,” she said, stepping between him and the refrigerator door. “Would you like me to make you an omelet?”
“Would you?” He acted surprised that she’d offered.
Irritated, Jacqueline took the egg carton from the door and grabbed a cube of Monterey Jack cheese.
“What are you doing home?” she asked. If she was going to cook for him, the least Reese could do was answer her questions.
He perched on the bar stool and watched as she chose a small frying pan and set it on the burner. “Do we have any mushrooms?”
“No. Now answer my question.”
Reese sighed laboriously.
“Fine. Don’t tell me,” she muttered and turned away. Rummaging in the vegetable bin, she located a useable green pepper, half an onion and a questionable-looking zucchini, which she deftly tossed in the garbage.
“You sent Paul and Tammie Lee a floral bouquet, didn’t you?”
“I told you I would,” she said irritably. She wasn’t accustomed to explaining her actions to her husband. Since when was she accountable to Reese? And she hated the way he’d been nagging her about their daughter-in-law.
“Did you hear from Paul?”
Jacqueline pinched her lips to hide her displeasure. “No, but Tammie Lee phoned to thank us for the roses,” she answered with bad grace. Actually Tammie Lee had gushed with appreciation and chattered on as if she’d never seen a dozen roses before.