Home for Christmas (Willow Park #5) (14 page)

He closed his eyes. “I know. I just don’t know what I can do
anymore.”

“You can do anything. You can do anything you want.”

“What if I want to do what I did before?”

She swallowed over a coil of intense fear at the idea of him
going back to the Middle East, back to where it had been so dangerous for him
before. But all she said was, “If…if you do, then we can talk about it. Is
that…is that what you want?”

“I just want to be who I was before.”

Of course, he wanted that. She wanted to be who she’d been
before too—happy, laughing, helpless, so completely innocent. She wrapped her
arms around his neck. “I know, Mark. I want that too.”

He didn’t reply at all, but maybe he just didn’t have the
chance. Someone called out, “The mistletoe is over there,” and Sophie looked
over and saw Abigail grinning at her.

Sophie smiled back, feeling a little embarrassed, although
she and Mark had not really been having a romantic moment.

She wasn’t sure exactly what kind of moment it was.

They went over to talk to Abigail and Thomas, and Mark was
his friendly, natural self. It was like their discussion near the Christmas
tree hadn’t even taken place.

She should be glad he was having a good time and getting to
know other people. She wanted that. But it felt like something very
important—their future, his career, the way he kept pushing away any support
she tried to offer him—had just been swept under the rug.

She remembered, shortly after he’d returned, when they’d
been standing in the park in D.C. and he’d asked her to help him be his old
self. Maybe he couldn’t have what he really wanted, but he could still have
something. She was still determined to help him, whether he wanted her help or
not. If he wasn’t yet ready to live life without some nudging, then she would
continue nudging him gently. Mark needed a job—a job he could pour himself
into, a job he could genuinely enjoy. Tomorrow, she would give Roger a call and
encourage him to call Mark up and feel him out some more, to see if he was
planning to take the position with the station he’d been offered.

He had two decent possibilities, and she was sure he could
find more options if he would just take some initiative. She couldn’t slack off
on helping him, just because she was getting tired and discouraged. This was
too important.

She wanted the best for him, and it was her job to help him
get there.

Tomorrow, after she talked to Roger, she would see if she
could get Mark to call Milton Bucket as well.

***

On Monday morning, when Sophie
headed down to the bookstore, Mark was lying on the couch reading. She asked
him if he wanted to come to the bookstore too, but he didn’t.

The store was actually quite busy during the morning and
early afternoon, since a lot of people came in to buy Christmas presents. But
there was a lull around four o’clock, and she used it to call Roger.

He was as friendly and sympathetic as ever, and he promised
to call Mark right away and give him a little gentle pressure about deciding
about the job.

Then she pulled out the slip of paper she’d written Milton
Bucket’s phone number on that morning, having found the business card still in
Mark’s trouser pocket.

She looked at it a long time.

Then she decided it wouldn’t be fair to do anything without
giving Mark a chance first, so she called up Mark instead.

“Hey,” he said, sounding relaxed, almost sleepy.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Just reading.”

“If you wanted to do something today, we can use a trip to
the store. We’re out of paper towels and garbage bags, and we’re getting low on
laundry detergent.”

“Okay. I can go. When will you be home?”

“Not until six, so you’d have plenty of time if you want to
go before then. You could go to the—”

“I know where to go.” He sounded a little abrupt.

She blinked, wondering why he was crabby about such an
innocuous conversation. But she brushed it away in order to get to the real
point of her call. “Okay. Good. You didn’t get the chance to call Milton
Bucket, did you?”

He was silent for longer than was normal in a phone
conversation. “No.”

“Oh. Okay. It might just be good to know if it’s even a
possibility. Just to size it up. Not to make any decisions.”

“I understand that.”

She bit her lip and waited a few beats to control her
impatience. “Okay. Good. Do you think you’ll call him, then?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Okay. I was just checking.” She sounded overly bright and
overly casual, but it was the best she could do.

This wasn’t good for him. This sitting around,
procrastinating on starting life wasn’t good for him.

And he wouldn’t even talk to her about it for real.

Trying to think of something entirely different to talk
about, she said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about Evergreen Farms, where we
got our Christmas tree.”

“What about it?” Mark sounded curious, rather than cool,
which was an improvement.

Encouraged, Sophie said, “There’s an inn there, you know. I
was wondering if we should go up there for a couple of days after Christmas. It
looked really nice, and Wendy said it was a great place to go and recharge.”

“Well, she owns it, doesn’t she, so she’d have reason to say
something like that.”

“Yeah, but I really liked the place. I liked Wendy. It might
be nice for us to get away for a little while. Do you not want to?”

“Sure. Why not?”

She frowned. “Well, that doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. If
you don’t want to go, you could just say so.”

“I just said it was fine.”

“But I want you to want to go too. I don’t want everything
to have to be my idea, and you just go along for the ride.” She hadn’t meant to
say so much, and she immediately regretted the thoughtless words. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean—”

“I guess it never occurred to you that I don’t want to be
just along for the ride either.”

“I know you don’t.” She wanted to bite her tongue off for
saying something that he would interpret as a complaint about his behavior
lately. Hadn’t John told her a few days ago that Mark didn’t want to feel weak
and helpless around her? “I didn’t mean you were. I just didn’t want to do a
trip that you weren’t excited about.”

He was silent for a long time on the phone, and she had no
idea what he was thinking. Whether he was angry or upset or defensive or sick
of putting up with her.

She’d always thought she was good with people, but she’d
done nothing but bumble around and make mistakes with Mark, ever since he got
back. And now she was so, so tired of trying to do the right thing, of always
being strong for him.

“I love you,” she said, out of the blue, desperately wanting
for him to know it was true.

There was a brief hesitation before Mark said, “I know you
do.”

“I just want to help.”

“I know you do. I’ll talk to you later.”

When she hung up, she stared down at the phone number on the
slip of paper again.

Then she made up her mind. She might be tired. She might be
utterly exhausted and on the verge of falling apart. But she was going to help
Mark anyway.

She dialed the number. When a man’s voice picked up, she
introduced herself and said that Gabe Alexander had given them his business
card and recommended they call.

Her husband was a world-class journalist, and he was looking
into different job options in the area.

Sophie heard nothing about either of
the job possibilities for the next three days.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to hear, but she
assumed she’d hear results from at least one of her calls.

But she didn’t get a call from either Roger or Milton
Bucket, and Mark didn’t mention receiving a call from either of them.

So, on Christmas Eve morning, she was starting to assume
that nothing was going to happen after all. Milton had said he was going to
look into some options and then figure out if he was ready to make a big change
for the newspaper—one that would make Mark’s experience in journalism an asset
to him. Maybe he’d decided he wasn’t ready, that he wanted the local paper to
basically stay as it always had and mostly provide folks obituaries and coupons
for the grocery store.

Maybe there really was no place for Mark here in Willow
Park. Maybe Sophie was being selfish to want to keep him here, when his career
would naturally lead him to a bigger city.

Maybe Willow Park wasn’t really as good for them as she
believed it would be.

She thought and she prayed and she worried about it as she
sat behind the cash register at the bookstore at ten o’clock in the morning. A
few people had come in right at nine to buy last minute gifts, and she was
keeping the store open until noon, in case there were any other stragglers.
She’d volunteered to take this shift herself, since she and Mark weren’t
planning to do anything until the afternoon.

She’d suggested they go to the Christmas fair going on a few
towns away, and Mark had seemed agreeable to the idea. Then, this evening, they
were going to the Christmas Eve service at the church, and they were going to
have a quiet evening with just the two of them afterwards.

She was trying to be excited about it, but she was so
emotionally exhausted—so stressed about his mental state and apathy regarding
his future—that she couldn’t really look forward to it the way she otherwise
would have. He’d been back in the country for almost two months now. And she
had absolutely no idea how long it would take him to really get back into life.

At a little after eleven, she hadn’t had a customer in an
hour, and she was thinking she might as well close up for the day. Then her
telephone rang, and she fumbled it slightly when she saw it was Roger calling.

“Hi, Roger,” she said, feeling a little breathless.

“Hey, Sophie. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. I’m doing really well. How about you? How are
Carol and the kids?”

“Everyone is doing great on my end. Hey, I just hung up the
phone with Mark.”

Sophie swallowed. “You did? On Christmas Eve?”

“Yeah. I’ve called him a couple of times, and he didn’t
return my messages, so I figured I’d try to catch him today, just in case.”

She felt a little sick at the way Mark had ignored Roger’s
calls like that. She understood that the idea of his job situation would create
angst for him, but he had to do something. He couldn’t keep stringing the
station along forever, when they’d already been incredibly generous about
giving him whatever time he needed. “I’m sorry he’s been hard to catch. We’ve
been…well, it’s been a hard transition.”

“I know it has. I understand. I just wanted to touch base
with you, since you seemed worried when we talked on Monday. It doesn’t sound
like he wants the New York job. I looked into some other options, but he
doesn’t sound too excited about those either.”

She closed her eyes, unsure of whether to be even more
concerned or hopeful that he was seriously considering staying in Willow Park.
“Okay. He’s been conflicted about it, and it was hard for him to make a
decision.”

“Well, we’ll be sorry to lose him if he decides in a
different way, but sometimes that’s for the best. After what he went through,
maybe it’s easiest for him to have a clean break.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Maybe it is.” She opened her mouth to ask Roger
how Mark had sounded on the phone, but then she thought again. She didn’t want
it to seem like she was checking up on her own husband. “I really appreciate
you making an effort.”

“Of course. He’s going to give me a final answer after the
holidays, but either way we’ll have to keep in touch.”

“Definitely. Merry Christmas, Roger.”

“You too. If anyone deserves to have a good Christmas, it’s
you and Mark.”

Sophie was almost crying as she disconnected the call, and
she wasn’t even sure why.

She just wanted a moment of peace, and she hadn’t had one in
so long—almost three years now, it seemed.

She prayed for peace, and for wisdom, and for answers, and
for the ability to love Mark the way he deserved. But it felt like she’d been
praying forever, and nothing ever got fixed.

Sometimes it felt like things were getting better, but then another
trail would appear out of nowhere.

She wasn’t sure how strong she could be in the face of the
endless road in front of her.

She took a few shaky breaths and gathered her strength, and
then she started to close up the bookstore.

Mark was waiting upstairs. They were going to have Christmas
together. They were closer now than they’d been at first. They’d definitely
made
some
progress. Things were getting better. She shouldn’t expect
everything to be fixed all at once.

She kept giving herself a mental pep talk as she made her
way upstairs.

The apartment had a strange vibe to it when she opened the
door and set down her purse, phone, and keys. She looked around as she slid off
her coat, trying to figure out what felt so strange.

Everything looked normal—pretty much picked up, all their
furniture in the normal places. Mark wasn’t visible, but it didn’t take long
for her to figure out where he was.

He was in the shower. He’d slept in late this morning. Maybe
he’d just now taken his shower.

That wasn’t really like him, but maybe she simply didn’t
know what was like him anymore.

She shook away her strange vibes and sat down to call her
parents, since she might not get the chance later today. She and Mark were
supposed to go down to Florida to visit them next week.

She chatted with them for twenty minutes, and Mark still
didn’t come out of the shower.

He hadn’t taken showers this long since he’d first gotten
out of the hospital.

Maybe there was a reason for the strange vibes she’d felt on
entering the apartment. Maybe something was wrong with him.

She waited a few more minutes, and then went to knock on the
bathroom door. “Mark?”

The shower turned off. “Yeah.”

“Just letting you know I’m back.” That wasn’t exactly true,
but she didn’t want him to think she was so worried about him.

He didn’t want her to feel sorry for him. He didn’t want her
to think he was weak.

“Okay.”

She sighed and went to sit on the bed, kicking off her shoes
and lying back on the mattress, with her legs hanging over the side. She wanted
to go to sleep and wake up to a different world, one where Mark had gotten over
the worst of the healing process, one where she knew what to do, how to love
him for real.

Mark came out of the shower with a towel around his waist.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, sitting up. “Just sitting here waiting
for you. That was a long shower.”

“When did you get back?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his
beard.

She gave a half-shrug. “Twenty minutes or so. I closed the
store early, since no one was coming in.”

“You all did pretty well in the last few weeks, though,
didn’t you?”

“Yeah. It was a pretty good year. Definitely better than
last year.” She wanted to bring up Roger’s phone call but didn’t know how to do
so. “Anything happening here?”

Mark gave her a sharp look. “No. Not really.”

“Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Do you still want to go to
that Christmas fair this afternoon?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. I was just asking.” She didn’t know why he
seemed so prickly. She didn’t know why she felt rather prickly herself.

“I’m ready as soon as I put on my clothes.”

She watched him as he got dressed, realizing he’d finally
started gaining some weight back. He’d been walking and running on the
treadmill a lot too, so he’d built back up some of his muscle tone. His limbs
were long and strong, and his body was masculine, attractive, solid.

She loved him. All of him. His body and his heart and his
mind and his spirit. She didn’t care if he was still damaged, if he never got
back into a career. She loved him anyway.

He pulled on a pair of jeans over his underwear and then
pulled a clean black T-shirt out of a drawer and pulled it on over his head. It
was cold outside, but he almost never wore long sleeves. He’d just put a coat
on over the T-shirt.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asked, looking over at her as he
pulled on his socks.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“Well, if you’re worrying about me, I’d appreciate it if you
stopped.”

She sucked in a quick breath at the curt tone. She usually
didn’t react with temper, but she was tired and confused and in a strangely
glum mood today, and she didn’t appreciate his tone. “What makes you think I’m
even thinking about you?”

“Of course you’re thinking about me. You’re watching me like
I’m some sort of lost puppy that you’ll never get back.”

She didn’t usually get angry very easily, but she felt a
surge of it rush through her. What the hell was his problem, anyway? She’d tied
herself into knots trying to help him, trying to be there for him. And all he
could do was snap at her. She clenched her jaw as she said, “That’s ridiculous.
I’m not looking at you that way at all, and there’s no reason to be so mean
about it.”

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re thinking?” He
appeared angry too. It was evident from the tension in his shoulders, in the
muscles of his cheeks. “For God’s sake, even if I couldn’t see it in your face,
how many phone calls do I need to expect, from all these people you’ve been
nagging to give me a job?”

She stood up, since she didn’t like how he was towering over
her. He still towered over her, but a little bit less so than when she was
sitting. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve evidently been calling everyone you can possibly
think of who might be able to give your poor, pathetic, charity-case of a
husband some sort of a job.” His dark eyes were flashing, but his expression
was cold, the way it only was when he was very, very angry.

She was angry now too. All her work and worry, and he was
just throwing it back in her face. “I notice you haven’t bothered to even
mention to me that you’ve gotten any calls. How many job possibilities do you
have now that you haven’t said a word to me about? Do you think it doesn’t
matter to me? Do you think you’re the only person who’s involved in that
decision?”

“Of course, I know it affects you! Why do you think it’s
been so hard for me? How could I
not
know that it matters to you?”

“Well, you sure haven’t been acting like you know that. You
won’t even talk to me about it. It’s not just your decision to make, you know.”

“It’s not just your decision either, and I don’t appreciate
your trying to bully me into doing something.”

“Bully?
Bully
?” She could barely breathe over her
astonishment and outrage. “You think I’m bullying you? Tell me exactly when
I’ve pressured you. I haven’t even said anything.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?’ He’d raised his voice,
something he hadn’t done since they’d been reunited. She couldn’t even remember
the last time he’d raised his voice to her. “You think it’s better to go behind
my back and try to engineer things on your own?”

“I was trying to help! How can you not see that? I care
about you, and I want things to be good for you. And I’m sure you’ll be happier
when you get back into a job. I’m trying to help!” Her hands were clenched at
her sides.

He made a rough sound and turned away from her, evidently to
control his expression. When he turned back, he said coolly, “I don’t know how
to be any clearer about this. I don’t want your help. I don’t always want to
need your help. That’s not what I want. That’s never been what I want. I don’t
want your help.”

His words had been perfectly clear. She’d heard them without
mistake. And they hurt so much she couldn’t possibly keep her composure.

It felt like they were ripping her apart.

She turned her back to him, fighting to hold onto her
control, at least long enough to end this conversation. “If you don’t want my
help,” she managed to say, “then what are we even doing in this marriage?”

He didn’t answer for what felt like an endless stretch of
time. She was too distracted in holding herself together—not crying, not being
weak when it mattered the most—that she completely lost track of time.

Then finally he said, in a strange hoarse voice, “I don’t
know.”

That was the answer she’d been afraid of hearing since he’d
come home. If he didn’t love her anymore, if he didn’t need her anymore, if he didn’t
want her to help him, to share his life anymore, then why would he want to stay
in this marriage?

All those moments of hope, of closeness, had only been
clouding the real issue—based on memories of the people they used to be.

But it was clear now.

If he didn’t want her, she wasn’t going to beg him to stay.

“Okay,” she whispered, leaning over to pick up her shoes.
“Okay, then.”

“What are you doing?” Mark asked, as she slid on her shoes.
He sounded weird, but she was too upset to look at him or figure out his tone
of voice.

“I’m leaving.”

She’d fought as much as she was capable of fighting. She’d
been as strong as she could be. Evidently, it wasn’t enough.
She
wasn’t
enough.