Paul understood her grief. He did. But, God, how that had hurt him. How it still hurt him that she hadn’t been able to turn to him for comfort, but instead had pushed him away.
But as devastated and grief-stricken as he’d been that night, the worst had been yet to come. A few days later he’d gotten home from work to find Elizabeth unconscious in their bed. Unable to rouse her, he’d called the paramedics, and they’d rushed her to the hospital, where the sleeping pills had been pumped from her stomach.
When she’d finally awakened a few hours later and seen Paul at her bedside, she’d slipped her hand from his and turned away.
She’d blamed him for saving her. Blamed him for pulling her back from the darkness.
“Why can’t you just let me go?” she’d whispered in despair.
Because I love you, he’d wanted to tell her. Because you mean everything to me.
Instead he’d turned and walked out of the room, and nothing had been the same between them since.
Elizabeth had been moved into the psychiatric ward later that same day and had begun sessions with Dr. Julian Summers, a specialist in grief therapy who had come very highly recommended.
She’d responded to treatment almost at once. It was like a miracle. Almost overnight the color had returned to her cheeks, her eyes had lost that vacant look and she’d even put on a few of the pounds she’d lost after the accident. Paul had begun to hope for the best, but when she’d come home a few weeks later, she was a changed woman. The breakdown had made her stronger in a lot of ways, but she was no longer the woman Paul had married. She’d become a polite stranger who shared his apartment and even his bed, but one who had no desire to share her life with him.
Paul hadn’t known what to do or say to get her back. The worst thing he could do was pressure her in any way, Dr. Summers had warned him. So he’d backed off. He’d given her the space she seemed to want and need. What else could he do? And the next thing he knew, the chasm between them had grown so wide he didn’t have a clue how to breach it.
Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough to reach her, Paul thought now as he rubbed the back of his neck. In some respects, it had been easier to let her drift away than to fight his way back to her. He’d had his own grief to cope with. His own guilt.
And now Elizabeth was ready to end it.
He knew it. He could feel it. They’d become strangers, but in some ways—important ways—he still knew her so well. They’d been together for thirteen years, and during that time he’d learned to read her expressions and interpret her body language. The nervous flutter of her hands always meant something was on her mind. Something important.
She was going to ask him for a divorce tonight, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that either.
Maybe it was what he wanted, too, Paul decided. He was tired of walking on eggshells. Tired of the loneliness. The silence. The grief that never seemed to lose its grip on his heart.
It would be nice to have someone to go out to dinner with again. Someone with whom he could share a leisurely Saturday afternoon.
It would be nice to have a woman in his arms again. He and Elizabeth hadn’t been together in over a year, and he wasn’t cut out for the life of a celibate.
He sometimes still found it hard to believe how far apart they’d drifted when they’d once been so close. They’d had what he’d always considered the perfect marriage. Friends first, then lovers. They’d done everything together, shared so much of themselves with one another that it had been hard to tell where he ended and she began.
The birth of their son had changed all that, in a good way for the most part. But there had been times after Damon was born that Paul had missed the closeness he and Elizabeth had once shared. He’d missed the times when they’d been able to throw a few things in a suitcase and go off for a spur-of-the-moment weekend without having to worry about soccer games and birthday parties. He’d missed the quiet evenings alone. The Sunday mornings in bed.
Those times of discontent had been rare because Paul had loved his son more than anything. And when Damon died, a part of him had died, too. He’d been consumed, not just by grief but with a killing guilt for having longed, however briefly, for a time without his son.
And now he was losing Elizabeth, too. In truth, he’d already lost her. She’d slipped away from him the moment she’d opened her eyes in the hospital, but now he supposed it was time to make it official.
Unless…
He spun back to his desk and picked up the invitation he’d received in the mail that morning.
You are cordially invited for a weekend of rejuvenation at the Fernhaven Hotel…a heavenly retreat deep in the heart of the Cascade Mountains…
Rejuvenation.
Perhaps that was what they both needed right now.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth left the shop in Pioneer Square early that afternoon and headed west on First Avenue, stopping briefly at Pike Place Market for fresh salmon and produce. Normally she liked to linger at the market and watch the tourists’ reactions to the fish throwers or dash in for a quick cup of coffee at the original Starbucks, but today she made her purchases quickly and headed back up First Avenue to their condo in Belltown.
Letting herself inside, she tossed the mail onto the console table in the hallway, then put away the groceries.
Late-afternoon sunlight flooded through the windows in the living room and drew her outside to the balcony, where she stood watching the ferries return from Bainbridge Island. The condo was a rare northwest-corner unit, so they didn’t get the morning light, but the view of Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountains was more than worth it.
In an hour or so the sun would set and the lights along the waterfront would twinkle on. Elizabeth loved Seattle by night. They had a partial view of the downtown skyline from their dining room window, and she used to sit there and watch the skyscrapers come to life while she waited for Paul and Damon to get home. And then the door would finally burst open and Damon would come charging in, excited about soccer practice or a Mariners game he and Paul had tickets for. Paul would come in behind him, smiling indulgently, the proud father…the loving husband as he came over to brush his lips against Elizabeth’s.
Then they would all sit at the table together and have dinner, usually something kid-friendly—spaghetti, hamburgers, pizza. But sometimes they’d have a grownup meal of seafood and salad, and she and Paul would share a bottle of wine over candlelight.
After dinner they’d watch TV for a while and then later, with Damon tucked in bed, she and Paul would finish off the wine on the balcony as they watched the boats in the harbor. Occasionally they’d see a cruise ship putting out to sea, and the sound of the foghorn—the final goodbye—always made Elizabeth feel lost and forlorn. But with Paul’s arm around her, the loneliness passed quickly.
Sometimes in bed at night, nestled in his arms, she would stay awake thinking about how lucky she was. She had everything any woman could possibly want—a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, a gorgeous home. She even had a promising career as a local fashion designer. And then it had all gone away. Just like that. In the space of a heartbeat, she had taken her eyes off the road to smile at something Damon said…and she’d lost everything.
The home was still there. Paul was still there…for now. Her career was even flourishing. But nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Elizabeth rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Now that the sun was setting, she could feel a chill in the breeze that blew in from the bay and she turned to go back inside. A draft slammed the door shut behind her before she could pull it closed, and the crash caused her to jump.
The wind swept some of the mail off the table in the hallway, and she hurried