She sipped the coffee. “Yeah. A big mistake, all that wine.”
He raked his fingers back through his spiky brown hair. “Stupid.”
She sipped again. “Beyond dumb.”
Another silence. Then he said, “And no one has to know about it. We can agree that it never happened.”
Easy enough for him to say. He wasn’t the one with an engagement ring on his finger. The closest he’d ever come to an engagement was his on-again, off-again relationship with Tabby Ellison, the daughter of one of Aleta’s Phi Beta Something-or-Other girlfriends from college. Tabby was beautiful and rich and traveled in the same social circle as the Bravos. She would have made Matt a very suitable wife. If only Matt wanted to settle down.
But he didn’t. Never had. Matt wasn’t a ladykiller type or anything. He just didn’t particularly want to get married. He wasn’t ready for that, he said, seeming to mean that he would be. Eventually. Maybe that was true. And in four or five years, whenever that “right” time finally came around, he and Tabby would have a country club wedding and then Tabby would produce a couple of little darlings destined to grow up rich and very spoiled.
“Corrie, did you hear me?”
She puffed out her cheeks as she sighed. “Yeah. I heard you. And I can’t do it. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Bob has to know.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” He made a low, pained sound in his throat and rubbed at his temples.
She felt a certain…tenderness toward him. Okay, he’d started it last night. And he’d been more than happy to finish it after he got that yes out of her. Then he’d dropped off to sleep instead of staying awake so she could yell at him.
But this morning, he’d fed their daughter and driven her to school. And then he’d come in here to deal face-to-face with the mess they’d just made. He hadn’t tried to slink away. She had to give him credit for that at least.
Softly, she offered, “There’s aspirin in the kitchen cabinet, on top, to the right of the sink.”
He let his hands drop. “I know, thanks.”
“Did you take some?”
“I’m fine, damn it.” He hung his head. He looked so forlorn, she could almost feel sorry for him—and did that make her a total sucker or what? She leaned back into the pillows and concentrated on getting more caffeine down. Several minutes passed. He slumped in the chair, looking at the floor, and she finished up the big mug of coffee. She was about to tell him they’d said all there was to say and he could go when he lifted his head and said, “I have to ask this.”
What now? She set the mug on the night stand.
“I don’t suppose you’re on the pill or anything?”
On the pill…
Corrine’s stomach did the strangest thing. It lurched, hard. As if the bottom had just dropped out of her world. She carefully smoothed the edge of the sheet over the blankets. Until he’d asked that question, she’d thought things couldn’t get much worse.
Wrong.
She’d not only had sex with him when she was engaged to someone else, she’d had unprotected sex with him.
“Corrie, did you hear me?”
“Of course I heard you.”
“Well?”
“No,” she made herself admit. “I’m not on the pill. Or anything.”
Matt said some swearwords. Several. “It’s déjà vu all over again.”
“What are you talking about?” She demanded, as if she didn’t know.
“It’s how you got pregnant with Kira.”
She wanted to throw something at him, just for saying that out loud. “I’m not pregnant.”
“How can you be sure? What about that Plan B thing they have now? Maybe you should—”
“Take my word for it. I don’t need to load my body up with a bunch of hormones.”
“Corrie…”
“It’s the wrong time of the month, okay?” And, oh, she was so very glad about that. Her cycles had always been regular, her period right on time, every twenty-eight days. Her period had ended Saturday. Last time, with Kira, it had been the right time of the month. And there had been no Plan B back then. This time, there was nothing to worry about—except for how rotten, disloyal and irresponsible she’d been.
“You do seem certain.” He looked relieved. She nodded. Firmly. “I promise you, Matt. I’m not pregnant.”
Armadillo Rose was closed Sundays and Mondays. But there were bills to pay, orders to make and deliveries to take. Corrine went to the bar at eleven that morning and stayed till three. While she worked, she kept seeing Bob’s kind face, those soft brown eyes of his, his warm, generous smile that could light up a dark room, his gentle voice, the way he always knew to say just the right thing.
She called Matt on his cell before she left the Rose. “I kept Kira in day care today. Can you pick her up at five at the school? I would ask Sandra to do an extra night, but she’s in Dallas visiting her mom until tomorrow.” Sandra Yee sat with Kira four nights a week while Corrine worked and was usually willing to take an extra night now and then.
“No problem.” He didn’t even ask what was going on. He’d probably already guessed. “You want me to keep her overnight?”
“No. I’ll come and get her later, by nine or so at the latest. If that’s okay?”
“I’m on it. No worries.”
No worries. She wished.
She started to call Bob next. But she stopped mid-dial. Barring some emergency, he would be in his office at home, beginning work on his message for next Sunday’s services. She decided she would just go to him.
In no time, it seemed, she was pulling into his street on the far west side, an area of starter homes not far from Lackland Air Force Base. She parked at the curb and went up the concrete walk, half hoping he wouldn’t be home, that something might have come up to make him change his routine: a parishioner in need of counseling, an unexpected meeting of one committee or another. Which made her not only a cheater, but a coward as well, longing for any excuse to put off telling him what he needed to know.
But she got no reprieve. When she knocked, he answered, his face lighting up with a big smile of welcome. “Corrine. What a surprise.”
She gulped. “If it’s a bad time…”
“Are you kidding? I’m always happy to be interrupted by you. Especially today.” Mondays were the worst for him, when he started on a new message for the next week.
“Having trouble with the sermon?”
“Yeah. I’m a little stuck, I confess. I get this feeling sometimes that I’ve already said all I have to say on a topic.”
“You say that every week.”
“And it’s true every week.”
“You’ll think of something. You always do. Your sermons are wonderful.”
He beamed. “How is it you always make me feel that I can do anything?”
She beamed back. Or she tried to. “What’s the topic?”
“Sin and forgiveness.”
She wanted to sink through the front step, just melt right down through the concrete all the way to the other side of the world. She babbled inanely, “Ah. Forgiveness. Well…”