Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance) (22 page)

Carson paced the living room floor for nearly an hour, leaving a shoe-print trail from the living room to the kitchen. He had to calm his nerves and co
nvince himself not to jump to conclusions as Lloyd Ballinger had jumped to conclusions about him when he read the article. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. He rewound Mr. Parisi’s words and gave Katharine the benefit of a doubt. He reminded himself that there are three sides to every story: his, hers, and the truth.

First things first. He must find out who W. Fre
eman is and why he’d written the slanderous article. Next, he’d ask Cindy about the photographs and why she would have them in her possession.

These were troubling questions.

My Kat is too devoted to me and our children to have an— He refused even to think the word
affair
.

Chapter 29

Natalie would be in Los Angeles
on business all week and had asked Katharine to look after Stephen when he returned from his conference in D.C. She wanted Katharine to make sure Stephen ate properly and didn’t spend the majority of his free time with his nose stuck in medical books.

Katharine had cheerfully accepted the commi
ssion, left the door unlocked for him, and now Stephen stood in the receiving room of Katharine’s home looking at the framed photograph of Carson posing with Charles Barkley that sat on the baby grand piano beside a beautiful brass candelabra. The autographed picture of Barkley showed him in one of his most pompous, aggressive poses. What a buffoon, Stephen thought.

He turned to see Katharine coming towards the doorway. He hadn’t seen her since his and Natalie’s last visit there a few weeks earlier, and he was imm
ediately struck by the thinness in her face. She looked as if she were going through a bad time; and yet, as always, he was entranced by her brown-haired beauty as she hurried across the room wearing a loosely fitting designer’s pants suit.

“It’s so wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed, embracing him. She took his hand and led him to a floral printed sofa in front of the French doors leading out to the garden, her excitement and pleasure a
lmost like a little girl’s.

“You’re so thin,” she said as they sat down t
ogether on the sofa. “Didn’t they feed you on your medical retreat?” she smiled.

“The food was okay.” He searched her face with his eyes. “And how’s your diet?”

Her smile faded. “I don’t have much appetite anymore.”

He maintained his stare.

“What?” she demanded to know, taking obvious notice of his observation of her.

“An emptiness,” he said, lowering his voice. “A spiritual emptiness because both of you have left the church.”

“And you, Dr. Harper, of all people should preach. As far as that goes, I never left the church. I just don’t go as much anymore. I’m tired of all the hypocrisy and sinning that goes on in our congregation.” That was only part of it.

He took her hand. “I know you think I’m out of touch with spiritual reality because I’m a medical doctor, but I’d like to try to show you that I have a deeper sense of spirituality than you imagine, that I feel a peace neither you nor Carson feels. I want to help both of you, Kat. Let me try.”

“I’m really not in the mood to deal with it right now,” she protested sulkily.

He gazed into her eyes, conveying an unspoken plea.

She gave in. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

“Let me come here in the evenings and talk with you for the next few days. I won’t preach. I’ll just talk and listen. Maybe together we can find an answer to your grief, for lack of a better word.”

“You’ve said it right—grief. Although it seems to me that Carson is the one who needs your counseling.”

“Absolutely. But let me meet with you first and Carson later. Then, hopefully, the three of us can come together.”

“So, what are you now, a marriage counselor?”

“If that’s the hat I have to wear to get my good friends back on track, then I’m willing to make the effort,” he replied in a soft voice.

“Hah! I didn’t even hear you come in,” Katharine gasped looking over Stephen’s shoulder.

Wondering what she was talking, Stephen turned to see Carson glaring at them suspiciously.

“I was just finishing dinner for Stephen and me,” Katharine said to Carson. “Natalie asked me to take care of him while she’s out of town. The children are with my sister.”

Stephen saw how his arrival surprised her.

“I-I was on my way upstairs to change. I’ll be back down shortly.”

A hush fell over the room as she moved down the hall.

Stephen remained on the sofa, now wishing he didn’t have to stay for dinner but feeling too awkward to leave.

He was glad when Katharine came downstairs ten minutes later looking ravishing in an above-the-knee black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps. He suspected she wanted to wear something exciting that would encourage Carson’s desire.

Stephen looked at Carson, who watched Katharine take each step downward. They held each other’s stare until Stephen asked him a question.

“Doesn’t she look lovely, Carson?”

Carson’s smile was genuine but uncertain. “Beautiful, simply beautiful,” he responded without taking his eyes from Katharine.

“I thought I’d dress up for a change,” she said, snapping the gaze with an expression that said,
Isn’t this how you’d like for me to look all the time?
“Did Stephen give you something to drink?”

“You have that backwards, don’t you? After all, this is still my house, too,” Carson answered, soun
ding slightly ruffled. “But Stephen knows my home is his home,” he added with a strained smile.

“I told him I’d wait until dinner,” Stephen put in.

“So what brings you over?” Katharine sought.

“I—I needed to pick up a few things.”

“Oh.” Katharine brushed off the feeble excuse. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Yeah,” he paused briefly. “I think I
will
stay for dinner.” He glanced at Stephen as if to say
, I want to talk to my wife, and you’re in the way.

All through the meal, Katharine kept up a stream of light conversation. Carson managed an occasional brief response, but Stephen was noticeably silent.

After dinner, she put on some light music, twirling around the room as Stephen watched her and Carson watched Stephen.

“Why don’t you dance with Kat?” Carson said to Stephen as he searched through a stack of CDs. “Dance with Kat. She’s a terrific dancer.”

“I can’t,” Stephen said.

“Why? Because you’re Nat’s husband? Don’t be silly—it’s all in the family. Nat and Kat are pract
ically sisters. See, they even share twin names.” Carson continued to comb through the square plastic cases. “Ah. Here’s one of my favorites and an appropriate selection for you, Stevie-boy.” He paused long enough to insert the CD, and the languorous melody began softly uncoiling. “
If Only for One Night
, by none other than Mr. Vandross himself.”

Stephen said nothing, but the insult stung.

Katharine gave Stephen a compassionate glance. She crossed the room to him, her hands outstretched.

“Dance with me, Stephen,” she coaxed.

He shook his head. “I can’t. If nothing else, I don’t know how.”

“I’m not surprised,” Katharine said. “That wife of yours doesn’t know how, either. She dances like a female Heathcliff Huxtable—stiff and goofy. You two are the only black folk I know that don’t have any rhythm,” she added with a smile in her eyes. “It’s easy. Come on. I’ll teach you.”

“I can’t. Please—this is embarrassing.”

She took his hands and pulled him gently from his seat.

He saw Carson watching them from beside the stereo, clearly fascinated by the exchange.

“Put your left arm around my waist,” Katharine said, “and hold my other hand, like so. That’s right. Now follow me.”

It’s incredible, Stephen thought. I’m dancing—and with rhythm! He was half-aware that Carson was baiting him with his own wife and she was baiting Carson. Stephen was sure her flirtations were innocent—just taking advantage of his presence to get her husband’s attention.

The music stopped, but they danced a few se
conds longer.

Carson wore a jealous smile. “You dance very well for someone who claims not to know how,” he said to Stephen, turning off the stereo.

“She’s a great teacher.” Stephen and Katharine remained in the center of the room, whispering to each other.

“If I didn’t know you were married and a pra
cticing Christian, Stephen, I might be jealous,” Carson said. “You two look as if you really go for each other. As a matter of fact, you looked really cozy on the sofa when I walked in.”

Stephen swiped his fingers over his sweating brow. “I’d better go.”

Carson laughed devilishly. “Natalie’s terrific and all, but maybe you need a different type of experience,” he taunted.

Katharine went back to the sofa. “You’re being disgusting, Carson,” she said.

“Am I?” His voice rose angrily. “Since you have this terrific new body, you mean you wouldn’t like to challenge Stephen—your best friend’s husband? Now wouldn’t that make for a story for the Ledger? I can see the headlines now—‘National Sports Journalist’s Wife Has Fling with Best Friend’s Doctor-Husband’! Talk about juicy drama! That sort of scandal might even get Stephen some inquisitive new patients or spice up the social hour gathering at Berkley!”

Carson stared hard into Katharine’s face as if trying to read her mind, but she kept her thoughts hidden.

“Carson!” she exclaimed.

“Why are you saying these things?” Stephen asked softly. “Why are you tormenting yourself?”

Carson’s eyes traveled to Stephen in a cold stare. He went over to his wife, took her hand, and pulled her up off the sofa, twirling her around and lowering the spaghetti strap off her left shoulder.

“Stop it!” Katharine yelled, replacing the strap.

“Isn’t this one fine woman?” Carson said softly. “Just look at her.” His eyes scanned her body
.
Using his index finger, he outlined the letter S in the air. “Sexy written all over her.”

The silence and tension and heat thickened. Feeling hurt, angry, and out of place, Stephen left the room and raced down the central hall, making his way to the vestibule where he flung open the front door. The last thing he heard as he rushed to his car was Katharine raising her voice in fiery anger at Ca
rson.

* * *

“Have you lost your mind?” she yelled, and r
etreated to the kitchen.

“Maybe if you looked like this more often, I wouldn’t have to resort to peeking at those dirty pi
ctures,” Carson said, yanking her forward.

She turned her head to avoid his kiss and tried to push him aside, but he backed her against the counter and pinned her there.

“Stop it, Carson!”

Her anger only seemed to excite him. His face suffused with longing as he ground his lower body against hers. “Oh, I see,” he remarked. “I’m your husband and you don’t want me to touch you, but you invite Freeman to put his hands and lips all over you!”

Katharine stared at him, her eyes widened in alarm. “You know Freeman?” Her soft words were barely heard.

“The question is: does Freeman know
you
, in the Biblical sense?” He sank his lips into her neck hard and deeply.

She pushed him hard enough to send him reeling backwards into a table. Covering her mouth with her hand, she tried to stifle her sobs. She was equally ou
traged and frightened. Her husband had become a stranger.

Carson regained his footing and collected hi
mself. He stared softly into her face with a look of regret.

Katharine stared back with horror in her eyes. Why was he so intent on destroying the love they’d once had? Why would he willfully choose to release his anger this way?

Carson didn’t move immediately. She watched as he came to himself, apparently realized what he was doing and weakened like a punctured inflatable toy.

“Kat, I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He snatched up his jacket and keys, and the house shook with the impact of the slamming door.

Katharine staggered to the nearest chair and sank onto it. Her head felt like it was about to explode. For several minutes, she wept softly, relieved the children hadn’t been there to witness the spectacle.

Her life was falling apart, and she could do nothing about it. Even now, she loved her husband. But didn’t she mean more to him than two balloons of silicone and rounded rear end? And how, she wo
ndered, could he have learned about Detective Freeman?

* * *

Alone in his apartment, Carson came to his full intellect. He couldn’t believe how he’d embarrassed himself and Stephen. And poor Katharine, he thought. She must really hate me now. He could no longer blame himself or Katharine for what had happened to their marriage. So he blamed God for his irrational behavior.

It was time to mend his broken family, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted Katharine’s new look. It would drive him insane knowing that a huge chunk of the male population in Atlanta would be lusting after his wife. He’d drive himself crazy when he was away from her wondering what she was doing and with whom.

The house was quiet. Cindy and Deanna were still away. He was glad because he wanted to be alone. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cindy, but enough time had passed for her to regain independence and establish a permanent home and future for herself and Deanna.

Between his busy schedule and Cindy’s sche
dule, oddly enough they barely bumped into each other. By the time he’d make it home, Cindy would be sound asleep and gone by the time he’d awaken the next morning. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought she was intentionally trying to avoid him altogether. If that were the case, he couldn’t blame her, especially after what had happened the night of the banquet.