Read the book: «Second Honeymoon»

“What are you suggesting? That we cut right to the divorce?”

Scott nodded. “One incision. Swift. Neat.”

Like hammer blows his words penetrated Meg’s consciousness. Her throat clogged with sudden tears, and she struggled to keep her voice even. “Is that what you want, Scott?”

Head down, he marched another thirty yards, then stopped and whirled to face her. “Want? I’ll tell you what I want. I want the girl I married.”

Anger replaced shock. “What’s that supposed to mean? Am I so awful?”

“You’re not awful.” His shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand tiredly through his hair. “You’re just…different. Meg, we started out with big dreams, and, hey, we’ve even achieved a lot of them.”

“But apparently they didn’t buy happiness.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t, does it?”

“That’s up to you,” she said.

Laying his hand on her shoulder, he sought her eyes with his. “No, Meg. It takes two of us. But is there any us left?”

Dear Reader,

In most of my previous books, setting has been an important element. I’ve enjoyed researching various areas of the country and discovering how my characters not only belong in their particular environments but are molded by them.

This story, however, could take place anywhere in suburban America. The landscape is not one made up of mountains and rivers or rolling farmland. Rather, it is the territory of family.

Often when we think of romance, we envision the thrill of attraction and courtship or dewy-eyed newlyweds walking dreamily into an everlasting sunset. Yet the most enduring love stories are not always pretty. Sometimes it is not until a relationship is tested in the crucible of real-life crises that a genuine, lasting understanding of love and commitment is forged. This, then, is a love story that unfolds in the most important place of all—within a marriage.

In Second Honeymoon, Meg and Scott Harper are not unlike many of us who face the challenges of work commitments, child rearing, social obligations, community involvement and responsibility for extended family. As life grows more complicated, Scott buries himself in work, Meg devotes herself to their children and, along the way, they forget that marriage is a lifelong effort and that love can never be taken for granted. Bur where there is a spark, there can be fire. I hope you’ll enjoy discovering how Scott and Meg learn to tend the flame.

Laura Abbot

P.S. I enjoy hearing reader comments. You may write me at P.O. Box 373, Eureka Springs, AR 72632, or access the Superromance authors’ Web site, www.SuperAuthors.com.

Second Honeymoon
Laura Abbot

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my tolerant, accepting and loving daughters-in-law,

Lailan and Lynne.

Thank you for being such blessings to me and our family.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

Tulsa, Oklahoma

Early September

WHEN THE AUDITORIUM LIGHTS flickered, Meg Harper twisted around in her seat, scanning the latecomers straggling in the door. Where was Scott? He’d promised her. Promised their son. She glanced at her watch. Two more minutes.

The seat beside her remained conspicuously empty, but what else was new? She watched other children’s parents—other children’s fathers—scurry to find seats before the program began. Meg faced the front again, her eyes darting to the stage where in a few moments Justin would lead the Pledge of Allegiance. Her manicured nails bit into the flesh of her palms. She didn’t ask much of her husband, but Scott should be here supporting his son, and later accompanying her to the classrooms for the middle-school open house.

She craned her neck toward the door again. Her tennis partner, Jannie Farrell, and her lanky, absentminded husband, Ron, scuttled in just as the lights dimmed, leaving behind a deserted lobby. Meg’s jaw tightened in anticipation of Scott’s apology. Sorry, babe, something came up at the last minute. As if his son were a mere afterthought to some business deal. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected Scott to show up. But that didn’t make her disappointment any less painful or quell the childhood memories of all the times she’d searched the audience for the father she knew would never come, the father buried in the cemetery on the hill.

The balding principal stepped up to the podium, greeted the assembled parents and uttered the usual platitudes about the school year getting off to a great start. When he finished, he introduced Justin, who strutted with his athlete’s swagger toward the microphone, his baggy khakis bunching at his ankles, pretty much obscuring the new Nikes he’d insisted on wearing. “Please stand and join me in the Pledge,” he croaked into the mike.

As the crowd stood, Meg moved to the left for a clear view of her son, his spiked black hair, so like Scott’s, gleaming in the spotlight; his tall, skinny body braced at attention. He looked angelic, a far cry from the mouthy thirteen-year-old who, only an hour ago, had resisted wearing the freshly-ironed dress shirt she’d laid out for him. He’d held it up as if it were some odious life-form. “This is nerdy! I suppose you think I’m wearing a tie, too.” After a brief battle, they’d achieved a compromise. The shirt, yes. The tie, no.

Yet watching him now, seriously intoning the Pledge of Allegiance, she could almost believe that one day he’d grow into a responsible young adult.

As the audience sat back down, Meg felt a tap on her shoulder. Her neighbor Carrie Morrison leaned forward. “Justin did great,” she whispered. Then came the infuriating question Meg had heard all too often in the past several months: “Where’s Scott?”

WHEN SCOTT PULLED his SUV into the garage of their two-story Tudor-style house, he noted Meg’s missing Lexus. He slumped over the wheel. Hell. The middle-school open house. He buried his head in his hands, as if that act would both absolve his oversight and wipe away the exhaustion riddling his nerves. It would be only a matter of minutes before Meg returned and recited the litany of her complaints: his thoughtlessness, his forgetfulness, his self-absorption, his selfish disregard for her, his willingness to sacrifice his family on the altar of his ambition. He’d heard it all. And then some.

What was it about his goals she didn’t understand? She had no concept of the pressure he was under at the agency or how responsible he felt for his employees. Beyond that, didn’t she know that the reason he worked so hard was to support her and the kids in the lifestyle to which they’d grown all too accustomed?

Wearily, he picked up his briefcase and headed into the house, which was for once blessedly quiet. He set down the case and loosened his tie while he sorted through the mail—all of it bills, except for the monthly country-club newsletter and a cruise brochure from his university alumni association. It was no mystery why the brochure was prominently displayed instead of thrown in the trash. Meg’s suggestions that he needed a break had become tiresome. She kept pointedly reminding him that the Farrells took annual trips, just the two of them.

He slung his suit jacket and tie over the kitchen bar stool, grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped down on the family-room sofa, foraging under the cushions for the TV remote. Tuning into the replay of a golf tournament, he took a swig of beer and rested his head against the sofa back. He felt burdened by challenges on all sides. The Atkisson project had hit a huge snag, John Miller’s sudden resignation had left the firm perilously shorthanded and there was the unsettlingly provocative behavior of his colleague Brenda Sampson. On the home front, he and Meg couldn’t have a simple conversation without its deteriorating into an argument. The subject didn’t matter. Child-rearing practices, social obligations, current events, the household budget. The list of triggers was never-ending.

Hoisting his beer, he watched Phil Mickelson sink a putt, then chugged half the can. As for sex? What was that? Either he was too tired, Meg was too tired or one of them was angry with the other. Would a cruise change that? Or would it just put a further dent in their savings? A romantic getaway was idle speculation, anyway, because he couldn’t afford to take time off from the advertising agency he and his partner, Wes Williams, had built from small capital and big dreams.

Meg needed to get a grip. His eyes swept across their expensive furnishings and decorative accessories. Did she think the good fairy made all of this possible? Just once he’d like a little appreciation.

Over the sound of the golf commentator, he heard a car door slam, followed by the front door opening. “I’m home,” his fifteen-year-old daughter, Hayley, shouted.

“In here,” Scott said.

“Where’s Mom?” Hayley looked around the room.

Who was he? A giant dust bunny?

“She’s at your brother’s school open house.”

“Ha! I can’t wait to hear what the teachers said about dork boy.”

“Is that any way to talk about your brother?”

She flopped in the armchair, her low-rise jeans revealing an expanse of bare flesh that caused him to gnash his teeth. She and all her friends made themselves fair game for every horny punk in the county. How often had he heard, Chill out, Dad, it’s the style?

“He needs to get a clue. Sports are all he’s got going for him. It’s sure not his grades.”

Scott tried to conceal his disappointment, but he had to acknowledge Hayley was right. His son wasn’t much of a student. Still, boys often lagged behind academically, or so he’d been told. “Hey, why don’t you try looking on the bright side for a change?”

Tugging on her thick, dark French braid, she gave a wry grin. “There is one?”

Sibling rivalry. Some things never changed. “Of course. Without Justin, you’d be an only child.”

“I wish!”

Scott decided to ignore that response. “Where have you been?”

“Cheerleading practice, then at Jill’s for supper.”

“Where’s your homework?”

“I finished it at school.”

He didn’t know whether to believe her, but until her grades dropped, he’d have to trust her. Lately she’d become more uncommunicative. Typical teenager behavior? Or something more?

She stood, her navel exposed in all its questionable glory. “Gotta call Jill. See you later.” She took the stairs to her room two at a time.

He shook his head. Why would she have to call Jill? She’d just been with her. A few seconds later, his tranquility was shattered by the reverberations of music—or what passed for it—blasting from Hayley’s CD player.

The half hour chimed on the hallway grandfather clock. Nine-thirty. Meg should be home soon. Would she be accusatory or icily stony?

Did it matter? They’d already discussed the S word. Separation. He didn’t know what had happened to the connection they used to have, the dreams they’d shared. They’d been so good together, once. There’d been a time when he couldn’t wait to get home from work. Now? They were hardly more than a habit to each other. And not a particularly pleasant one, either.

He missed their old closeness, but couldn’t begin to put his finger on when things had started to go south. The kids were the glue that kept them together. But at what cost?

Although he’d never imagined it would come to this, he had to admit the prospect of some time apart held a certain appeal.

But it was a big step. Maybe an irreversible one.

The whir of the garage-door opener soured his stomach. He knew that no apology, regardless of how sincere, would suffice. Meg would come in poised to take the offensive.

SCOTT IGNORED Meg’s withering gaze and went straight to his son, clapping an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, buddy, sorry I couldn’t be there tonight. How’d it go?”

Justin stiffened. “Good.”

Scott winced. Increasingly, Justin limited his responses to monosyllables. “Were you nervous?”

“Come on, Dad, everybody knows the Pledge. It was no big deal.”

Scott wanted to disagree. Justin needed as much affirmation as he could get. The big deal was being selected in the first place. “It was to me. I’m proud of you, son.”

Justin wriggled out of his embrace and grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry. Scott strained to hear his muttered words, which sounded ominously like “If you’re so proud, why weren’t you there?”

Meg shot him a scathing look as if echoing their son’s question, then picked up the phone and turned her back on him. Justin carried the chips into the family room, where he collapsed on the sofa, gangly legs splayed. Scott stood in the middle of the kitchen, abandoned. Persona non grata in his own home. Meg’s falsely cheerful voice rang in his ears as she called a list of soccer parents to inform them of a change of playing field.

Scott’s stomach growled, and he moved to the refrigerator, rummaging for cold cuts. He’d skipped dinner and was suddenly ravenous. He slathered two pieces of bread with honey mustard, unearthed a limp leaf of lettuce and a single slice of Swiss cheese and slapped the sandwich together. Meg glanced up, her brow furrowed, and mouthed, “I could’ve done that.” Wonderful. Now, on top of everything else, he had to feel guilty for making his own dinner.

He grabbed another beer and took his meal into the family room where he settled in his recliner, aware of the jarring sounds of both his son’s action movie and Hayley’s stereo. Chewing the sandwich, he thought about asking whether Justin had any homework, but why add to his troubles? Justin would be resentful and Meg irritated that he didn’t trust her to oversee their son.

Meg carried the phone with her as she paced back and forth in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. Between her chirpy voice and the clang of silverware, he longed for his earlier solitude.

He’d just finished his sandwich when Meg entered the room, phone held between her chin and shoulder, and stood behind the sofa. “Justin, did you finish the notes for your oral book report?”

He stared at the TV. “Yeah.”

She gave her son a you-better-be-telling-the-truth glance before strolling back to the kitchen. “I know, I know,” she clucked, “that coach just seems to have it in for our boys.”

Scott rolled his eyes. Women micromanaging sports. It didn’t seem right. Scott faced Justin. “What book did you read?”

“Huh?”

“For your book report.”

“I dunno. Everybody’s reading different books. Mine’s something about a dog.”

Before he could inquire further, Hayley came pounding down the stairs. “Mo-om, you’ve gotta help me.” She dashed past Scott holding a tiny piece of fabric. “Mo-om!” she repeated.

“She’s on the phone,” Scott said, to no effect.

“Look. The zipper on my cheerleader skirt broke. You’ve gotta fix it. It’s our uniform for tomorrow night’s game.”

Scott heard Meg mumbling a hasty goodbye before hanging up the phone. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve gotta have it.” Hayley was wringing her hands. “It’s required.”

Scott ambled into the kitchen. “You could explain the problem to your sponsor.”

“Oh, right, like that would do any good.” Ignoring him, she appealed to her mom. “Can’t you do something?”

Meg’s shoulders slumped and Scott noticed the dark shadows beneath her eyes. For a fleeting second, he thought about reaching out to her.

“I’ll run over to Wal-Mart and get a new zipper,” Meg said.

“Can you finish it by morning?”

Meg’s lips were set in a thin line. “I suppose I’ll have to.”

“Why?” Scott’s one-word question had a stun-gun effect on his audience. “Your mother’s tired. Not wearing your uniform for one day isn’t the end of the world.” Besides, Meg’s constant catering to the children made him feel oddly jealous.

Hayley glared at him. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. I’d rather stay home than wear something else.”

“That could be an option.”

Meg clasped her daughter around the waist, and the result was a solid line of defense against which he was powerless. “She needs her skirt. I’ll take care of this.”

Hayley gave her mom a quick hug and started from the room. “Just a minute, young lady.” Scott felt adrenaline pumping. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“What?”

“You could thank your mother.”

“Oh. Sorry, Mom. Thanks.” As she brushed past him, she muttered, “Satisfied?”

He wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Not with Hayley, consumed by her own self-importance; not with Justin, a lazy, indifferent student; and not with Meg, who always put the children’s needs above everything else.

And what about himself? He obviously wasn’t doing so well in any aspect of his life except for his business. Little wonder that was where he invested his time and energy.

Meg scowled at him. “Do you have to be so hard on everybody? You hurt Justin tonight. Your absence sent a big signal. And Hayley is required to wear her uniform. If you spent a little time around here, you might actually begin to learn the lay of the land.” She picked up her purse and fished out her car keys. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t wait up. The sewing project will take a while.” The door leading to the garage closed abruptly and she was gone.

If it wasn’t the sewing project keeping her from their bed, it would be baking cookies for teacher-appreciation day or assigning the pairings for the ladies’ golf event at the club. Any handy excuse.

When he passed through the family room on his way to their first-floor master-bedroom suite, he noticed Justin had already gone upstairs, leaving the television blaring. Scott turned it off, dimmed the lights and continued, head down, toward the bedroom. As sexual evasions went, wifely headaches were passé. Now Little League, PTA, the golf association and kowtowing to the kids served just as effectively.

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Meg had made love.

Sadly, he wasn’t sure he cared.

MEG LAY ON HER BACK coaxing sleep, yet unable to turn off her brain. She needed to quiz Justin on his spelling words at breakfast, call the upholstery shop about the fabric for the dining-room chairs, retrieve her cocktail dress from the cleaners before the country-club dance this coming Saturday, and then she had to find time to go to the supermarket. She closed her eyes, mentally composing a grocery list.

Beside her, Scott sprawled on his back, one knee drawn up, the sheet tangled around his legs. His gentle snoring used to comfort her. Now it punctuated her dissatisfaction. She glanced over at him—his dark hair against the white pillow, his strong chin, now lightly stubbled, his muscled chest tapering to a trim waist. One hand lay close to her hip. There was a time she would have picked it up and held it until she fell asleep. As she was often reminded by teasing friends, he was a handsome man. A charming, attractive man. She was so lucky, they told her. Earlier in their marriage she would’ve agreed. But now?

That train of thought led her not to Scott but to Jannie and Ron Farrell. Ron hadn’t missed the school open house tonight. On the contrary, not only had he made it, but the way he’d ushered Jannie through the halls, one hand at the small of her back, his head tilted to smile at her as if she were the only person in the corridor, said all kinds of things about his dedication to her and to his kids. There was a special glow about the two of them that set them apart. Like her and Scott, the Farrells were coming up on their twentieth wedding anniversary. Yet they still acted like honeymooners.

In contrast, she and Scott could hardly say two words to each other without getting into an argument. He was always so sure he was right. If he had his way, the children would live in a domestic boot camp. So what if she was busy? Hadn’t that been what Scott had wanted when he’d started his firm? It was primarily about contacts, he’d said. Well, she’d done her part, meeting all kinds of potential clients in the various organizations to which she belonged. And what thanks did she get? A husband who spent nearly every waking hour with business associates and couldn’t be bothered to help out in domestic crises. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good grief, I sound like the poster girl for self-pity.

She didn’t know who had been more hurt tonight by Scott’s absence—her or Justin. Oh, Justin didn’t want to let on. “No big deal,” he’d said. But his downcast eyes and silence in the car on the drive home had spoken volumes. She knew how he felt. Even though it was years ago, she remembered with painful clarity her humiliation at the Girl Scout father-daughter banquet. She’d sat red-faced, the only girl without a father, wondering how he could have just up and died before she ever really knew him.

Scott’s failure to come to the open house tonight was the final link in a long chain of disappointments. This was no marriage. The kids deserved better—and so did she.

Yet the prospect of separation terrified her. That was one step closer to divorce. What would that mean for the kids? For her? Was it what she really wanted?

But the reality was that she and Scott couldn’t continue on as they were. Living in an armed camp was no kind of life for any of them.

She flipped her pillow over, then lay back down, forcing herself to remember the good times, those heady days long ago when the mere sight of Scott could stop her breath, and the many nights they’d spent wrapped in each other’s arms, when they’d lose track of time, so insistent was their need for each other. That all seemed eons ago. Some other life.

A single tear moistened Meg’s cheek, and unrelieved tension stiffened her body.

When had romance faded to familiarity? And familiarity to contempt?

Silently she wept for what used to be. And for the inevitability of what was to come.

FRIDAY MORNING Justin groaned, then rolled over, burrowing his head under his pillow and ignoring the patter of his favorite disc jockey on the clock radio. He didn’t move, dreading his mother’s customary “Justin, are you up?” and then he heard her calling up the stairs. Well, she could yell all she wanted. He wasn’t moving. His stomach hurt. Big-time.

He didn’t have a soccer game today, so what did it matter if he stayed home from school? Mom would be running all her errands and going to meetings and stuff, so he could hang out watching TV and trying to get to the next level in his Nintendo game. Those other suckers could go to class. Take the stupid math test. Present their stupid oral book reports.

His stomach tensed as he remembered his father questioning him about his book. Dad would kill him if he found out he hadn’t read past the first two chapters.

“Justin?” His mother’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Then she was standing in his doorway. “Get up. You’ll be late.”

He moaned for effect. “I’m sick.”

She approached the bed. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I have a stomachache.”

“Is there a bug going around at school?”

Heck if he knew, but he glommed on to the excuse. “Uh, yeah. A bunch of kids went home yesterday.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it probably happened almost any day.

His mother placed a cool hand on his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Are you nauseated?”

Crap. He didn’t want to think about throwing up and the grotty taste afterward. “No, it’s more like a pain.”

His mother sat on his bed looking worried. “Is it on the right side?”

Jeez, he wasn’t angling for an appendectomy. He just wanted to stay home.

“No, it’s kinda all over.” He scrunched up his face, hoping she’d figure he was in agony.

Just when he thought he had her convinced, she put on one of those mother looks, like she could see straight through him. “I’ll tell you what. Get dressed and come downstairs. Try to eat something. Then we’ll see.”

He hated it when she said, “We’ll see.” That almost always meant no.

“You’ve worked so hard on your book report. I don’t want you to miss school today.”

“I’m not supposed to give my report until next week.” She didn’t look convinced. He tried one last ploy. “What if I go to school and puke?”

“I’ll come get you.”

Great. Now he’d have to take the dumb math test and worry about how to fake his book report in a few days. If his dad knew his current grade in English was a D, he’d flip.

But what else was new? Everything in his life was off track. The coach had moved him from goalie to center, his grades were in the toilet, his father was never around and when he was, all he did was criticize him. But Dad wasn’t the Lone Ranger. Both his parents nagged all the time. And argued with each other. He was sick of it. Some days he wondered why they’d gotten married in the first place. If that’s what love was like, no question about it—he’d stay a bachelor his whole life.

He closed his eyes. That might be okay. Yeah, he’d be a big-league pitcher or a pro soccer player and have lots of blond girlfriends with big boobs. But he wouldn’t have to marry any of them. Ever.

“Now, young man. Up.”

His mother ripped off the sheet, leaving him exposed. Thank God he didn’t have an early-morning boner. But that was the only good thing about the day so far.

SATURDAY EVENING Meg sat at the linen-covered table, nursing a gin and tonic, listening to the Earl Hines Orchestra and trying to muster a smile for Ward Jordan seated to her right. He and his inane wife, Melody, were their guests for the country-club dance. More importantly, they were potential clients. Meg bent forward to hear the punch line of Ward’s joke, finding it in questionable taste but managing to keep her mouth shut. Scott had come a long way. The chain of department stores the Jordans owned was well known locally. Now they were expanding throughout the Southwest, and Scott’s firm was bidding for the ad campaign. Meg sighed. More work, more travel for Scott.

His success and their affluence were a mixed blessing. Growing up with her hardworking, widowed mother in a cramped house on the wrong side of town she could never have imagined all the luxuries her marriage provided—stylish clothes, exclusive memberships, a lovely decorator home. She should’ve been satisfied. But something was missing.

She glanced over Ward Jordan’s head to see Scott steering Melody around the dance floor. The petite redhead had flung back her head to laugh up at Scott, who towered above her. They were flirting. Meg felt a pang of jealousy. Scott had that effect on women and he capitalized on his charm. Once, she’d been secure in his love and had found such innocent flirtation amusing. Not anymore.

Back then, there’d been no Brenda Sampson to worry about. Scott claimed his creative director maintained her professional distance, that her easy familiarity was simply a result of their working closely together. Brenda was a knockout—a big-boned Scandinavian blonde, comfortable with her own sexuality. Of course, she and Scott needed to stay late some evenings to work. Or… Meg shook her head impatiently. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough problems without the disturbing mental picture that had just popped into her head. She paused, considering her choice of words. Disturbing because it highlighted yet another flaw in their marriage? Or because the image left a sudden emptiness in her chest?

Around her she heard a smattering of applause for the band. Scott escorted Melody to the table and helped her into her chair. Then he put a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Dance?”

The band had segued into a slow number. Scott ushered her onto the floor and took her in his arms. He danced just as he did everything else—smoothly. He held her close, seemingly preoccupied. “How do you think it’s going?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the table.

“I have no idea. I’m doing my part, though.”

“You always do.” He whirled her around, then leaned closer. “I appreciate it. You’re a great asset.”

Wonderful. Just the sweet nothing every woman hopes to hear. Didn’t he understand she wanted to be his beloved, his everything? Not a business asset. Not just his housekeeper and the mother of his children. She ground her teeth in frustration. She ached for love and affirmation, knowing it was asking too much to expect romance. She longed to feel like an interesting, desirable woman again.

She stared, unseeing, over his shoulder at the kaleidoscope of moving colors. Twenty years. Simultaneously, it seemed like forever and a mere blip on the radar screen of her life.

When Scott nuzzled her cheek with his chin, she could hardly hold back the tears. She used to feel special in his arms, used to snuggle closer, teasing him with the pressure of her breasts against his chest. Suddenly, he dropped his hands and moved past her. “Lloyd, you son of a gun, good to see you,” he said, and he was off, schmoozing with a former client. Almost as an afterthought he turned to her and, encircling her waist, included her in the conversation.

Meg surreptitiously consulted the diamond watch Scott had given her last Christmas, a gift that had felt more like a payoff than a sentimental gesture. Another hour and a half to go. Somehow she would survive. But when they got home, it was time for a serious talk.

SCOTT ROLLED UP the sleeves of his dress shirt, fixed himself a brandy, then sat down in the family room, like the proverbial condemned prisoner awaiting his executioner. Meg had gone upstairs to change and check on the kids. On the way home from the country club she’d uttered the words no husband welcomed: We need to talk. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Why now, for God’s sake? He was on the brink of exhaustion.