Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (26 page)

“It was the only seat left.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He touched the hair ponytailed in her hands, ignoring how she leaned away, elbows out to ward him off. “Your hair was so long, so pretty. You had some fake, hot-pink flower pinned in your hair. The way you walked, the way you held yourself—I never thought I’d get someone like you to notice me.”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

Her words closed his eyes. She was sorry she’d married him.

He was sorry he’d let her go.

“Mike, how many—how many women?”

His fingers clenched. “Aww, Meg.”

“I want to know. How many?”

Didn’t she understand all of
that
was over? He toyed with his thumb, tugging at a hangnail until it bled. The pain gave him a mental excuse for the moisture in his eyes. “Not—it’s not like you think.”

“How many?”

“Not that many.”

She gave a soft laugh. “That’s relative, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t look at her. He wiped the blood across his knee and stared at the water crashing against the dark sand. “After Brooke, there were five.”

“Five,” she repeated. “So six total.”

Six.
He nodded, unable to speak. Such a small number—Will would laugh—yet it sickened him.

She heaved a sigh. “I guess… considering—I mean, all week I’ve wondered…”

Blood pooled along his thumbnail and skin. He watched the blood turn at the base. Whatever wrath she unleashed was less than he deserved. He tilted his thumb and watched blood slide beneath his nail.

“For all I knew,” she said, “you could have had another child somewhere, but I told myself you’d—”

His spine locked at her words, his back rigid, breath on hold. The pain slashed through him as torturous as that first time. A guttural moan fought past his lips, and Mike covered his mouth with his hand.

“Oh no. You do.”

He closed his eyes as heat seeped out and down his face. He wiped it with the back of his fist, and when he looked down, the blood on his thumb had transferred to the inside of his fingers.

Beside him, the wind carried Meg’s aching voice away. “You have another child.”

“Not on this earth.” He swallowed the sting the words brought. “It was after Brooke left. Another woman. Just a stupid, meaningless…” Anguish choked him. “I called after a road trip. Her sister was there—said she wasn’t well.”

Twenty feet away, Terrell smoothed the crumbling mound of sand.

Mike pictured another child hunched beside him. “I went to see her. She was a mess. I had to take her to the hospital. They told me she was suffering complications after the—after—”

A sob shook him. “She did it while I was gone. Never told me. Never gave me a choice. I wanted to kill her.”

The familiar burn flooded him again. He’d done so much wrong. He’d hurt so many people, had caused so much irreversible harm to so many. Raindrops pelted his back, but Mike let them. He was worthless. All he’d ever done was ruin things.

Beside him, Meg struggled to her feet. She tugged one corner of the blanket. “Get up.” Tears choked her words. “Get off my blanket.”

Severe storms pounded the northwest suburbs until midnight, but when Meg woke Friday morning, the sun shone in a brilliant blue sky.

Meg moved through the day as if yesterday’s clouds still surrounded her. Even preparing for an afternoon design pitch could not force away memories of the awful beach conversation.

By the time she returned home with the go-ahead on a basement remodel, her neck and back ached. Terrell had spent the day at Jill’s, and Meg called to let her know she was back.

“Come on over,” Jill said. “Clark’s gone, Samuel’s napping, and Terrell’s in the middle of
Monsters, Inc.
Bring whatever you’ve got for a salad, and we’ll eat here.”

The plan appealed. Meg scrounged up a bag of lettuce, croutons, and two dressings before wandering to Jill’s house. Anything more required brain cells.

Jill emptied her hands at the back door. “Lettuce and stale bread isn’t going to cut it. Let’s see what else I’ve got.”

Meg leaned against Jill’s chipped laminate countertop as Jill added the food to bowls of cherry tomatoes, freshly cooked bacon, and pungent blue cheese, Jill’s salad staple. Meg dropped her cheek into her palm and closed her eyes. “Sorry. I’m on zombie mode.”

“How’d your meeting go?”

“They hired me.”

“Congratulations. What are you doing?”

She opened her eyes. “A basement in Barrington.”

With no warning, Jill tossed her an egg, then another.

Meg caught them against her chest, relieved that they didn’t crack down her front.

Jill laughed at her. “They’re hard-boiled. Peel them, and I’ll chop them up.”

She sniffed. Yes, they were hard-boiled. She tapped the first egg against the counter’s edge, and for a minute the only sounds in the kitchen were the running faucet and eggshell cracking.

“Are you making it without Dana?”

Was she? “For now, I guess. I wish she’d come back, but I get it. She doesn’t want to be anywhere where Ben might look for her.”

“Poor girl. At least she isn’t going back to him.” Jill rinsed a piece of lettuce. “Where’s Mike tonight?”

“At the stadium. The team’s back in town.” She handed the peeled eggs to Jill without looking at her and busied herself collecting eggshell. Just the mention of Mike, and her eyes were full.

“You okay?”

No. Every part of her wanted to drop to the floor and give up.

“Meg?”

She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and shook the damp shells into the trash. One triangular piece stuck to her palm. She slid her nail beneath it and flicked it into the garbage. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

She closed the cabinet door with a bang, softening the action with a smile. “Sometimes I hate how well you know me.” She washed her hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Great. She sounded like Mike.

“I understand. You and Mike are going through a lot. We pray for you two every day.”

Words that comforted in the past now grated. “You pray for Mike?”

“Yes,” Jill said, dragging out the word. “Don’t you?”

“He doesn’t deserve it.” She shrugged. “Neither of us deserves it. You should stop.” She picked up the crouton bag, a salad dressing, and the bowl of tomatoes and walked past Jill to set them on the table.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’ve just decided I don’t like Mike.” She slid into a chair and folded her hands on the tabletop, meeting Jill’s eyes at last.

“That’s a change, isn’t it?”

“Well…” she hedged. “Maybe it was up in the air before, but now I know. I know I don’t.” His answers flashed through her mind—the women, their relationships, the role she’d played.

“You found something out, didn’t you?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

Jill sat down opposite her. “As long as you’re talking with God.”

Talking to God wasn’t possible. How could he listen to her? Had he ever listened to her?

Tears threatened, and as she’d done all day, she forced them back. “I’m hungry, and my blood sugar’s low. I promise I’ll smile after we eat.”

“All right. Why don’t you pray?”

Not tonight. “You pray.”

Jill did, including in her prayer a request for wisdom for Meg and Mike.

Meg’s tears escaped. Cascaded down her face.

Jill flew around the table and wrapped Meg in her arms.

Meg rested her head on Jill’s shoulder and let the sobs take over.

Everything she’d learned was too much. The fault in their marriage lay at her feet. She’d driven Mike away, and he’d never looked back. He’d turned to other women, and one of them—

“Jill, it’s my fault.”

“What is?”

“I was so caught up with myself, and I lost him. Because of
me
, he had that affair. Because of
me
, one of them—” The truth gagged her, but she opened her mouth for air, forcing out the horrible words. “She had an abortion.”

Her hands were coated with her tears, coated with a child’s blood.

“Who, Meg?”

“One of his girlfriends—” The rawness of her words tore through her. From behind her, she heard Terrell run across the linoleum, but she couldn’t stop. “Because of me, a baby died.”

“Terrell, go back to your movie.” Jill’s voice was firm. “Your mom will be fine.”

What a lie. She’d never be fine.

Terrell must have obeyed because Jill turned back to her. “That’s not your fault, Meg.”

“Yes, it is! If I had loved Mike, he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have… have
slept
with that woman. She wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, and that baby wouldn’t have been killed. How is that not my fault?”

Jill left her chair, returning seconds later with a Kleenex box.

Meg took a handful. “What do I do?” Hopelessness seeped into her words. “How do I talk to Mike? Half of me wants to tell him how sorry I am, and the other half is so mad at him.”

“Meg, you did not kill that baby. There’s another woman who will answer for that.”

“But I started everything.”

“You are responsible for your actions, and that’s what you need to deal with.”

“My selfishness.” She wiped her cheeks and nose, her foundation smearing on the Kleenex. “It sounds petty, but that selfishness has done so much.”

“That’s the way sin works. What starts out tiny grows until it brings consequences. My mom used to say that sin, no matter how little, brings pain.”

“But for how long? When does it stop?”

“Some of that depends on you, Meg.”

Sounds of Samuel waking came from the baby monitor on the counter. Jill glanced at it. “I’ve got thirty seconds before he drowns us out so I’ll make this quick.”

“Okay.”

“Mike’s not dating other women.”

“Okay,” Meg repeated.

“What I’m saying is—he’s trying to reconcile. With you.”

Her meaning sunk in. Meg sank in her chair, letting go of Jill’s hand. “You’re telling me to marry him, just like that?”

“No, I’m not—”

“He’s not a Christian, Jill!”

“I know that. Meg, listen before you get mad at me.”

How could her best friend say these things? “You don’t know how much hurt he’s caused me. Forgive him, after everything he’s told me? You don’t know what I know.”

“You’re right, Meg. I don’t. But Mike is trying to make up for everything he’s done. Clark thinks he’s sincerely sorry.”

“Mike should be sorry.”

“But what about you?”

Meg clenched her teeth, her hands, her toes.

“You have to forgive him.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Then you’ll be continuing the consequences. God tells us to forgive, Meg. When someone asks for forgiveness, we forgive. If you continue like this, you’ll be sinning. First it was selfishness with its results. This time it will be anger, and its results will follow. Who will they hurt? You? Mike? Terrell?”

On the monitor, Samuel reached a full roar.

Meg covered her face with her hands. No one understood. Jill’s marriage was too simple for her to understand how badly she hurt.

“Meg.” Jill gripped her arms. “I know this is hard, but I’m telling you this because I don’t want to see you live with pain. Forgiving Mike will be freeing, and while there will still be hurt from the past, you won’t be entertaining hurt in the future.”

“I can’t, Jill.” She asked too much. For that matter, so did God.

“I have to get Samuel. Think about it. If you want to talk some more, we’ll talk.”

Not today, they wouldn’t. Meg would eat dinner and take Terrell home. After a week like this, she wanted to do nothing but sit alone in silence.

The Wind’s weekend home games were against the cross-town White Sox. Mike took Terrell and Clark to Saturday’s afternoon game and gave Clark a tour of the Wind’s stadium, introducing him to some of the team.

As on Friday, the White Sox won. Mike tried to let another Wind loss roll off him just like he tried to avoid the division’s standings.

After the game, Clark grilled a late dinner of burgers and brats. Meg sat across the table from Mike, staring at nothing while she toyed with her food. When the meal was over, she and Jill vanished to her office to work on the kitchen design. Terrell and his toys took a bath.

The sun dipped behind the trees, and chunks of gold and gaudy orange peeked between the leaves. Mike stretched out on his usual deck chair. Beside him, Clark turned up the baby monitor that sat between them.

Samuel, in bed for the night, jabbered to himself.

“I heard Meg say you’re watching Terrell,” Clark said. “When’s that?”

“Monday. She’s working with a client out my way.”

Clark hid a yawn with one hand, then tucked it behind his head. “That’s a good sign.”

“You’d think.” More like her way of giving him time with Terrell without having to see him herself.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“No, I’m sure. It’s not a good sign.”

“Why not?”

Mike shrugged. Another conversation he didn’t want to have. “She found out what a jerk I’ve been.” He lowered his eyes to the hangnail that had yet to heal. “So did I.”

“What’s that mean?”

“That I understand why she hates me.” He shrugged again, feeling his heart’s pain in every joint. “I’ve hurt her pretty badly.”

“But that doesn’t mean Meg hates you.”

He shot Clark a look. “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Above the trees, an airplane followed the now-familiar path to the airport, its wheels lowering before it disappeared. Mike looked to his right, waiting for the next plane to appear in the sky.

“So Meg hates you. Is she being unreasonable?”

“Nope.” He spotted the plane, a distant silver speck.

“Hmm.”

The plane grew to bullet size, the logo visible on the tail. “You wouldn’t understand, Clark. You’re one of those guys who’d never—”

“Stop it.” Clark held up a hand. “Pastors are men too. I get tired of people thinking we’re above everyone else.”

“You’re capable of murder?”

The shock Mike expected did not register on Clark’s face. “We all are.”

“Really. Well, not everyone does it.”