Heartache Falls Part 19

She looked around. "Oh, Mac, I didn't hear you come in."

"You were on the phone," he replied.

She slipped her cell phone in her pocket. "I have a few last things to coordinate for the reception for Sage tomorrow."

Oh, yeah. One of her friends-the artist-had been invited to speak at the Denver Art Museum, and a bunch of people from Eternity Springs planned to attend. Ali had offered to host a reception for her afterward. He'd forgotten all about it.

He waited, expecting her to descend the stool and cross the room to greet him with a kiss like she'd been doing each evening since their reconciliation. Instead, she wiped a bookshelf with her dust rag and remained perched on her step stool.

Mac was annoyed. He recognized that his behavior was childish, but recognizing it didn't seem to change anything, and that simply annoyed him even more. He scowled at the mess in his office. "Why didn't you have the service do all this?"

She visibly bristled, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. He noted that her makeup was perfect. "We're having guests in tomorrow," she said. "I wanted it done right."

We aren't having guests. She's having guests. Those people were part of her life, not their life together.

The tension in the room was palpable, and as his own temper built, Mac decided a swim was in order before he opened his mouth and said something he shouldn't. "I need a swim," he stated flatly, then turned and left before she could say anything more.

He took the stairs two at a time, changed clothes quickly, and dove into the pool a few minutes later. He swam hard, taking out his anger and frustration on the water until his sixth lap, when something hit the water in the shallow end in front of him. Mac halted in midstroke and pulled up, his feet finding the bottom of the pool. He blinked the water from his eyes, thinking he must be imagining things. "Ali?"

She'd jumped into the pool. Wearing her clothes. When he said her name, she drew back her arm and sent a big splash of water flying at his face. "d.a.m.n you, Mac Timberlake. You should have called me. Why didn't you call me? Some maniac takes a shot at you and you let me hear about it from somebody else!"

Mac's chin fell until another splash of water had him snapping his mouth shut.

"Why, Mac?" She beat the water again. "Why didn't you call me?"

As he shut his eyes against the wash of water, his temper and frustration swelled to a breaking point. He would never, ever hit his wife, but here she was in his pool, interrupting his swim, splas.h.i.+ng water at his face. She'd chosen this battlefield, and it was one that allowed him to slip free of the tight tethers of control.

So he splashed her back. "Because I wanted you to call me, Alison. I wanted you to care. I wanted you to be here where I needed you, when I needed you!"

"You should have called me!" She splashed the water with both hands.

"You should have been here!" he fired back, moving toward her.

She swiped her hand across her face, wiping water from her eyes. "I'm sorry that I wasn't here when you needed me, Mac. I called the moment I heard and you didn't answer. You wouldn't call me back. Since when does a federal judge act like an eight-year-old boy?"

"An eight-year-old? Really?" He smiled then, showing her lots of teeth, and he wondered if she just might hear the theme song to the movie Jaws in the background. "Okay."

He let his knees go soft, dropped beneath the surface, grabbed for her legs and tugged her beneath the surface. When she bobbed up, he put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her underwater once more. Then he stepped back, folded his arms, and waited.

She launched herself at him like a rocket. Mac fell back a step as she wriggled and wrestled and grappled and grasped. The woman was slippery as a fish and hissing like a kitten. Holding her was heavenly.

Mac wrapped her in his embrace and held her tight. "Ah, Ali. Don't." Then he spoke the two most powerful words in any language. "I'm sorry."

She melted against him and began to cry. Mac kissed away her tears, whispered for her to hush, told her that he loved her, that he was sorry he'd hurt her, that he was sorry for being an a.s.s. Ali responded by saying that she was sorry, too, that she wished she'd been here for him, that hearing about the shooting had frightened her to death. She gave him the attention he'd craved yesterday, and her sobs soothed his soul. Admitting that made him feel like a world-cla.s.s a.s.s. Or an eight-year-old.

Wanting to rid himself of the eight-year-old boy inside him, he gave himself over to the forty-four-year-old man and turned his attention to making love to his wet and oh-so-s.e.xy wife. He always enjoyed makeup s.e.x. And pool s.e.x ... well, it had been way too long.

At first when she wriggled away from him, he thought she was playing. Then he tuned into what she was saying. "No. I'm not doing this. Not now, like this. I'm not ready for makeup s.e.x because I'm not ready to make up. I'm sorry I hurt you, but Mac, I'm so mad at you!"

Disappointment morphed into confusion. "Me! How is this my fault? I'm the one who was shot at."

"That's right. You were. And somehow the problem became my fault. Because I have a job and jobs are your territory, aren't they?"

"What does that mean?" And where had the "I'm sorry" disappeared to?

"It means every decision in our family, in our marriage, has revolved around your career. Where we're going to live, who our friends are, even what schools the kids attended. Now that I've found something worthwhile and fulfilling, you can't stand it."

"That's bull. Helping Celeste sell that restaurant to outsiders who think reality TV is real life isn't something you find fulfilling. You don't like what's happening with the restaurant. You don't like those Hollywood people any more than I do. You should have cancelled that meeting and come to the luncheon with me."

"Well, you should have called me yesterday. It was ridiculous for you to a.s.sume I'd see the news, and selfish and childish for you to wait for me to call you, and just plain mean to ignore me when I did call. Bet you thought I'd be wallowing in guilt because I wasn't there to comfort and mother you. Bet you thought you'd find me in the kitchen cooking marinara, didn't you? Because once again, like always, everything is always about you. My wishes and desires are inconsequential compared to yours. You don't take me seriously, Mackenzie Timberlake. You never have. And another thing. Did you tell the kids not to bother me with the news?" She must have read the guilt on his face because her eyes glittered with triumph. "I knew it."

"Fine." Mac folded his arms across his chest. "I should have called. My bad. But don't try to lay all the blame on me. How many counseling sessions have we had? Hmm? That would be one, wouldn't it? And whose schedule is the reason for that?"

Now she was the one with guilt on her face. "Once I get past the sale-"

"Then something will come up with the Patchwork Angels."

Her chin came up. "Or, maybe the Sandberg trial or even a new case."

Like the Hutchinson circus. Mac closed his eyes, feeling weary to the depths of his soul.

"Enough of this," Ali said, her voice tight. "I don't have time for this. I have a million things to do. It'll have to keep for another time."

She partially swam, partially walked to the steps and climbed out of the pool. She grabbed a towel and as she headed for the house, an irrational anger rose inside Mac. His voice scathing, he called out, "So what, now we have to fight on your timetable, too?"

She paused, glanced over her shoulder, and offered him a silent, withering look.

The silence between them continued the rest of the night. When time came to go to bed, Mac seriously considered the couch in his office, then decided against it, partially because he knew it would hurt her, but mainly because the symbolism of it depressed him. They'd come further than that, hadn't they?

Apparently not. He went to bed in the master bedroom, and he lay there for a full hour before falling asleep.

Alison never joined him.

After a fitful night's sleep on the bed in Caitlin's room, Ali rose early to complete preparations in time for the afternoon party. When she came downstairs, Mac was in his office slipping papers into his briefcase. Uncertain of his mood-or her own, for that matter-she tentatively said, "Good morning."

He shot her an angry look but didn't speak. He simply nodded shortly and abruptly.

Ali felt the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Instead she went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. A few minutes later, he walked through the kitchen on his way to the garage. He didn't veer to kiss her good-bye, and the arrow scored a hit against her heart.

With his hand on the doork.n.o.b, he paused. He must have had second thoughts, because he cleared his throat, then said, "This party is an afternoon event, correct? Would you want to go out to dinner tonight?"

Ali shut her eyes and fought a wave of frustration. He was trying, but why was he so bad at it? "Mac, it's less than two weeks until they film the first show at the Bristlecone. I am drowning in work. I know we discussed the fact that I needed to be in Eternity Springs during this time. I have a breakfast meeting myself tomorrow morning. I'm driving back after the party."

He stiffened. "Of course."

"Mac, can we talk about-"

"I don't have time," he said, cutting her off. He opened the door saying, "I have a full day scheduled. You'll probably be gone before I get home. Gus will be fine in his crate during your event, but be sure to put him in the backyard before you leave. Drive safely."

With that, he stepped outside and shut the door behind him, just shy of a slam. Ali decided to give herself five minutes to fret and fume and fight back tears, but after that she needed to get to work. She still had a lot to do before her guests arrived.

She did a fair job of putting the whole mess out of her mind until midmorning, when the doorbell rang and she spied Celeste Blessing's warm and friendly face through the peephole. Opening the door, Ali said, "Hi, Celeste. Please come in. I'm so glad you're here."

"As a co-hostess and your friend, I came early to help with preparations. Your other co-hostesses should be along shortly, too."

At that, tears pooled in Ali's eyes. "Party prep is under control. I'm afraid it's my marriage that needs help."

Celeste clicked her tongue. "Oh, dear. Why don't you pour us both a gla.s.s of iced tea and tell me all about it?"

Ali did just that, pouring out her troubles and speaking from the heart. Celeste reached across the table and patted her hand. "Honey, if you need to leave the job, I'll manage without you. In fact, I might just give in and sell the place to Lorraine, like she wants."

"No." Ali shook her head forcefully. "Don't do that. We've worked too hard on the rental agreement. I want to see this through. I honor my commitments. Besides, I really don't think I'm the problem here. Part of the problem, sure, but not all of it. Something's going on with him that I simply can't put my finger on. I don't know. Maybe it's his turn to have a midlife crisis."

The ring of the doorbell signaled the arrival of her guests. As Ali rose to answer the door, Celeste gave her arm a comforting squeeze. "Don't give up on him, dear. Don't give up on yourself."

"I won't."

Smiling thoughtfully, Celeste added, "It's a shame that Eternity Springs isn't three hours closer to Denver. I think that your Mac could do with a little dose of heaven, too."

FOURTEEN.

Unhappy with the way he'd left things with Ali that morning, Mac cut his day short and arrived home before the party had ended. The weather was gorgeous, thus cooperating for an outdoor event and as Mac exited his car and approached the house, he heard the sound of laughter coming from the backyard. He was smiling as he stepped inside. Then he spied his wife and his smile faded.

He retreated upstairs to change.

Moments later, Ali followed him up. She entered their bedroom, shut the door behind her, then leaned against it. "I'm surprised to see you home this early."

He unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt. "I hoped to catch you before you left. I didn't like leaving things the way we did this morning."

"Me either." She took a step toward him, then stopped. "Mac, I'll find a way to get back to town for a counseling session next week if we can get an appointment."

He smiled sadly. "Next week is tough. The Sandberg trial will probably go to the jury."

"Oh."

Now Mac took a tentative step toward her. She looked as miserable as he felt. "Ali, it's okay. We can wait until after you're done with the Bristlecone. I know it's important to you to finish what you start."

"It is." She smiled tremulously and took another step toward him.

Mac returned her smile and opened his arms. She ran to him and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. "I love you, Alison. That much I'm certain of."

She lifted a teary-eyed, searching gaze his way. "What is it, Mac? What's wrong?"

What wasn't wrong? He didn't enjoy his job. He was being stalked by his larcenous mother. His wife was headed for the mountains, and his new dog had fleas. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know. Life just isn't very much fun these days."

Later, after the shower was done and his wife and her guests had departed, Mac had to get out of the house. He walked to the laundry room and reached for the dog leash hanging from a hook. Seeing what was happening, Gus leapt in the air, chased his tail, and dashed for the backdoor. "Wait for me, speed demon."

He snapped the leash to Gus's collar, then opened the kitchen door. The phone rang at that moment, distracting Mac. Gus took advantage, yanked the leash out of Mac's hand, and dashed away. "Gus! Get back here."

Ignoring the phone, Mac chased his dog. Loping around the side of the house, he was shocked to see Gus flop down at the base of his front porch steps, where a woman he recognized as Ali's employer reached out a hand and began scratching him behind the ears. "Um, Ms. Blessing?"

"Call me Celeste, dear."

She smiled up at him, and Mac reacted in a way that was downright strange. The tension inside him just sort of ... melted. He returned her smile. "Did you miss your ride?"

"No, dear. My car is parked down the block. I waited because I wanted to speak with you."

Gus plopped his head onto her lap and whimpered. Mac shook his head at his dog, then asked, "What about?"

"Oh, various things. Would you mind if I accompanied you and Gus on your walk?"

All Mac truly wanted at that moment was to be alone, but he didn't have it in him to be rude to an elderly woman-even if he did nurse a resentment toward her for giving Ali the job that kept her away from him.

"We'd be glad to have you join us," he lied.

They walked down the drive and onto the sidewalk, Gus leading the way. Mac antic.i.p.ated taking a slower pace than normal in order to accommodate Celeste. Instead, he worked to keep up.

Celeste Blessing was full of surprises. He didn't quite know what to make of her. She was elderly, but far from old. She was kind and gentle and compa.s.sionate, but she wasn't a dotty grandmother type. What sort of widow drove a motorcycle, made friends with everyone she met, and took on a dying town as her pet project? She was definitely a puzzle.

And what did she want with him?

"This is a lovely neighborhood," she said. "Ali tells me you've been happy here and that it was a fine place to raise a family."

"Yes." He glanced up the street and pictured his boys riding bikes, Caitlin on a scooter. He remembered games of tag with a dozen neighbor kids. "It's been a good home for us."

"Do you resent that Ali wants something different now?"

Mac was taken aback. "That's a personal question, ma'am."

"True. I don't shy away from them, nor should you shy away from the answers." They paused while Gus hiked a leg to water a fire hydrant. When they resumed walking, Celeste continued with tidbits of information about Ali's ideas and her successes, her skills and her talents.

"Your wife has excellent instincts," she added, waving gaily to a curly-haired toddler throwing a ball with her father in the yard across the street. "I wanted to reopen the Bristlecone as soon as I purchased it, but she convinced me to take the opportunity to do some remodeling. Then the lightning strike turned a little remodeling into a major remodel, and I don't know what I'd have done without her. Your wife really put her own special mark on the restaurant."

After that she talked about Ali's work ethic, her friendliness, and her compa.s.sion until finally, Mac felt compelled to respond. "I know she's a wonderful woman, Celeste. You don't need to sell me on her."

"Don't I?" She gave him a sidelong, knowing look. "I've been speaking for, what, ten minutes? How much of what I told you did you already know? Ninety percent? Seventy-five? Fifty?"

He frowned. "I might not know she vetoed using yellow in any of the Bristlecone's furnis.h.i.+ngs, but I do know her character."

"That's a good point. The bedrock of one's character doesn't change." They'd reached the corner and turned toward the park at the end of the block. Celeste continued, "However, Mac, dreams, wishes, and desires are something different. Some change over time. Others stay consistent throughout life. Tell me, dear, what do you know of Ali's dreams, wishes, and desires today?"