Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

A manda ran into the emergency room and rushed to the counter, slanting over it as if that would move her closer to Madi. "My daughter was just brought in. Madison Johnson."

The woman reached beneath her desk, and Amanda heard a muffled buzz. "Go ahead," she said. The lock released on the door leading deeper into the hospital. Amanda pulled it open and entered to find Sophie sitting on a chair outside of a gray door.

"Mommy!" Her daughter ran into her arms. "Mommy, I was so scared. Madi's lips were all blue, and she was all white, and she looked so bad."

Amanda lifted her daughter. "I'm sure she's going to be fine," she said, though the fear she'd been trying to keep at bay now shivered through her. She held Sophie closer. "Where is she?"

The little girl pointed to the door. "They made me wait out here."

Amanda shifted Sophie to her hip to free her hand and swung the heavy door open.

A nurse inside the door stepped back, startled. Then she smiled and brushed past Amanda and out the door. "You must be Mommy. Glad you're here."

Inside the room, Mark stood at the head of Madi's bed, brushing hair out of her face. He turned to Amanda, relaxed his shoulders, and turned back to Madi. "Here she is."

Madi slid a mask off her face and smiled. "Hi, Mommy."

"Hi, baby." Amanda set Sophie on the floor and approached the bed. She ran her fingers along Madi's hairline, felt her warm cheeks. "How you feeling?"

Madi scrunched up her tiny face and pursed her beautiful, red lips. "They gave me a shot!"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Relief coursed through her as she studied the color in her daughter's face. "Did it hurt?"

"A little, but it's okay," she said. "I couldn't breathe."

Her daughter said the words so off-handedly that it took Amanda's own breath away. She squeezed Madi’s mattress while the wave of fear dissipated.

"She's okay." Mark was standing on the opposite side of the bed, Madi's hand in his. "She was struggling, but they got her back here really fast." He cocked his head to the side and studied her. "Are you all right?"

She wasn’t, but she nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay." Forcing a smile, she said, "Put the mask back on, honey."

Madi obeyed, lying back on the raised bed and inhaling deeply.

"Hey, little lady." Mark ruffled their older daughter's hair. "Sorry I made you sit out there. It was sort of crowded in here." He placed his huge hand on her shoulder.

"Is she going to be okay?" Sophie asked.

He met Amanda's eyes and nodded. "Of course. She's going to be fine."

She could see the terror in her husband's face. Did he see hers? Ever since Madi's first asthma attack when she was a baby, they'd both lived with the fear that one day, they wouldn't get to her in time.

The nurse breezed in, checked on their daughter, and breezed back out. They stood and watched Madi breathe, letting the silence relax the girls. The steady hum of the nebulizer filled the room, eventually lulling Madi to sleep. Mark indicated a chair against the wall. "Let's sit down."

She did, dropping her purse on the linoleum floor.

Mark rolled the doctor's chair beside her and sat, pulling Sophie onto his lap. Eventually, she drifted off.

They sat in silence. A half hour had passed when the nurse returned, unplugged the breathing machine, and carefully pulled the mask off Madi's sleeping head. She patted her forehead and turned for the door.

"How much longer until we can go home?" Mark asked in a hushed voice.

"I'll check with the doctor." The nurse closed the heavy door with a soft click.

Mark rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Could he be sleeping at a time like this? No, his lips were moving.

Her stomach squeezed into a ball. Why did the thought of her husband praying cause her such anxiety? Was it because she knew her own shameful past had been the catalyst that took him to church? Or was it because those same terrible things in her past would keep her away from God forever? If there even was a God which, after everything she'd been through, she highly doubted.

He caught her staring and gave her a half-smile. "You okay?"

She shrugged. Whatever. If he wanted to believe in some higher power, who was she to argue?

She looked at her frail daughter on the bed. "Any idea what triggered it?" she whispered .

"Nope. She coughed a couple of times at dinner."

Amanda shifted to face him. "She was coughing? That's a clue. You should've?—"

"Two little coughs. Nothing serious. Just like she always does."

A wave of irritation. "Something had to cause it. Did you dust before she came over? You know she's allergic to dust."

His lips tightened. "Of course I dusted. I know her triggers."

"Obviously you missed one tonight."

Sophie stirred in her father's arms, shifting her head on his shoulder.

"Please keep your voice down," he said.

Amanda glared at him.

"So you think this is my fault?" he asked.

"I'm just saying something caused this. That crappy apartment you rented is probably filled with mold or something. You should've gotten something nicer."

"I have something nicer, Amanda. But you kicked me out."

"You'll have to move," she said, shoving away the guilt his remark stirred up. "One of the ladies at my class tonight lives right off Route 3 in those new condos. Why don't you look into those?"

"I'm not moving again."

"So you're willing to risk your daughter's life?—"

"My apartment didn't cause this."

Amanda pushed her hair behind her ear to better glare at him. "You sound pretty sure of that. So what caused it, oh wise one?"

"Stress."

She smirked. "She's six. What does she have to be stressed about?"

His jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"What are you talking about? "

"Amanda, you yanked the rug out from under them when you kicked me out. You don't understand what that's like."

"Neither do you. You were almost thirty when your parents divorced."

"Yeah, and I felt like my world crumbled." He glanced at Sophie's sleeping form. His words were calm, but the vein on his temple throbbed. "I'm sure this is much, much worse for them."

Amanda's constant, niggling guilt bubbled up like sauce around the edges of lasagna. "They don't understand what's going on."

His free hand covered his face. "You're the one who doesn't understand. We talked about it tonight, talked about why I don't live with them anymore."

"Why would you bring it up?"

He lowered his hand and rubbed Sophie's back. "I didn't. They asked me why I moved out. Sophie said her friend's father moved out because he found, in her words, 'a younger, prettier wife.' She wanted to know if that's why I moved out."

Turning away from him, Amanda slumped against the chair. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that her mother was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Why would I want anyone else?"

Amanda's heart fluttered at his words as if he were uttering them on their honeymoon, not after almost a decade of marriage. She stole a peek at his face to find him staring at Madi. Avoiding her eyes. She didn't know what to say.

He continued, voice matter-of-fact. "I think stress triggered tonight's attack."

"So this is my fault?"

"It's our fault. Together we made a mess of our marriage. I don't blame you."

She sat back and folded her arms. "Yes, you do."

"If I was such a bad husband that you'd rather . . ." His voice caught. He cleared his throat. "If you'd rather put our family through this than try to work it out, well, I have to own that."

A few minutes of silence passed. A door slammed far away, a phone rang outside the door. Finally, in a whisper, Amanda said, "I don't think there's anything left to work on."

Rolling over, Madi turned her tiny back to them and curled into a ball.

"We have them," Mark said. "Couldn't we start there?"

With a sigh, Amanda watched their baby girl sleep. "It's just . . . there are things I need that you can't give me."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Mark nod. "That's true," he said slowly. "There are things I need that you can't give me."

"Right," she said through gritted teeth, "like my innocence."

He turned to face her. "What are you . . . ? I just meant I've always felt kind of . . . unfulfilled. And even though I love you and, well, I thought you loved me, there was always this sort of . . . emptiness. But when I started going to church?—"

"Oh, Jesus." She didn't need his preaching tonight.

"Yes, Amanda. Jesus. He filled my empty places."

"Great. See, you didn't need me after all." Mark didn't need her and her sin . He had Jesus. Irrational, cold jealousy assaulted her, and she crossed her arms to protect herself.

"You know what, Amanda, I don't need you. Not the way you think. I hate living alone, but I can do it. I can cook for myself, I can clean up after myself, I can do my own laundry, okay? I can raise my girls, thank you very much, without your help. I don't need you."

Like bubbles rising from the bottom of thick soup, her anger reached its boiling point. If he didn't miss those things, then why did he want to get back with her? "Congratulations. I'm happy for you. "

He adjusted Sophie in his lap. "And I'm assuming you can manage just fine without me, too."

"You know I can," she said. "We've been doing great."

"So you don't need me and I don't need you," he clarified, glaring at her.

"Sounds about right."

He leaned back in his chair. Sophie twisted, rubbed one of her eyes with a fist, and rested against his shoulder again.

"But it's not true." His shoulders slumped. "I'm miserable without you."

Could that be true? She remembered the nightmare she'd had earlier, the memories it awoke in her, and she knew it wasn't. Mark loved his daughters enough to put up with her. He loved his house, loved having someone take care of him. But he didn't love her. How could he, after all she'd confessed? When she'd told him the truth about her past, she'd hoped he would still love her, but Mark could never accept her faults. And now that he was a Christian, he was even worse. No, Mark wanted her back because he loved his daughters, and he loved his home, and he loved his life. Just not her.

She would not be used again.

Mercifully the doctor returned and woke Madi for a breathing test. A few minutes later, they were released.

Mark carried Sophie to the parking lot while Amanda carried Madi. Sophie asked her father a couple of sleepy questions, but Amanda could tell she was barely awake. They'd decided during those few, tense moments while the doctor was in the room that Madi and Sophie would be more comfortable in their own beds for the rest of the night, so Amanda led the way to her car. While she set the sleeping Madi in her booster seat, Mark did the same with Sophie, who was already asleep again .

Through the darkness of the backseat, he said, "I'll follow you home."

She clicked the seat belt and stood to face him over the top of the car. "I can manage without your help."

He turned and walked across the parking lot to his truck. "See you in a minute," he called over his shoulder, leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, she climbed into the driver's seat. A few minutes later, she turned into her driveway. The house looked deserted. She hadn't even flipped on the porch light before she'd run out earlier.

She'd barely slipped the gear into park when Mark climbed out of his truck. He ran around the front of his car, scooted between their two cars, and knocked on her window. The little she could see of him in the darkness revealed a worried, intense expression. She rolled down the window. "What?"

"Stay in the car and lock your doors." With no word of explanation, he turned and yanked open the passenger side door of his truck. She could only see his back now, inches from her window. A moment later, he closed the door again and headed toward the house. Something reflected in the moonlight. He was holding something in his right hand. She gasped. He'd grabbed his gun.

Her heart thundered. What was he doing? What had he seen?

He slowly drew the storm door back, then nudged the front door open with his foot. The gun disappeared into the house an instant before he did. All was silent except for the sleepy sounds of her daughters and the rush of blood through her veins. A sliver of the moon broke through the darkness, but the naked, shimmering branches of the trees that arched over the driveway hid most of its light.

She stared at the clock. Should she call the police? What would Mark say if she did? What would she tell them except that her husband was sneaking through her probably empty home carrying an illegal gun? No, calling the police wasn't an option.

He'd only been gone one minute.

What had he seen? She studied the front of the house and the driveway in front of her. In her rearview mirror, she studied the driveway behind her. She looked at the forest to her left, at the grassy yard to her right, and saw nothing unusual.

Two minutes down.

She remembered Chris's words about Mark's uncanny instincts. The prophet—that was what they called him. What had his intuition told him this time? The clocked ticked past three minutes, four minutes, and five, while she considered the question.

A dim light flashed upstairs in the master bedroom windows. A flashlight, she realized. Was he searching the entire house? What if someone was in there? What if that person was armed, too? Would she hear a gunshot? What would she do? Mark would want her to drive away, to protect their daughters, but what about him?

Six minutes down.

She tried to analyze why it was, if she no longer loved him, that the thought of something happening to him caused her breathing to go nutty again. How many times would she hyperventilate in one week?

Seven minutes . . . eight minutes.

Finally, the front door opened. Mark emerged and climbed down the front steps. He held the gun in his right hand, the flashlight in his left.

She opened her car door, and he glared at her. The message was clear. Stay in the car. She slammed the door and locked it.

Mark aimed the light on the bushes against the house, then passed the garage, seemed to search the woods beside her, and turned the corner. She watched as the flashlight beam faded and disappeared. How far could he possibly search, and what was he looking for?

Mercifully, he emerged on the opposite side of the house a few long moments later, gun swinging by his right hip, flashlight casually leading the way back to her car. Tentatively, she unlocked her door, opened it, and stepped outside. His eyes were intense, but he offered an unconvincing smile.

"Everything okay?" Her voice shook, and he nodded, forcing his smile to spread.

"Yes, everything's fine. I checked in every room, behind every door, inside every closet and beneath every bed. There's nobody in there."

"Then what in the world?—?"

"Did you lock the door when you left?"

She thought back. She'd bolted down the stairs and sat on the bottom step to slip on her sneakers. When she'd yanked the door open, she'd been frightened by the unexpected, low tone sounding from the alarm. She'd entered in her code. She remembered sprinting to her car, but . . . "I don't think so."

"It was open."

"Open?"

"Just a crack."

"How'd you even see it?"

He shrugged and slipped his gun into the waistline of his jeans. "Let's get the girls."

"Put that thing away first."

He smirked. "That thing? If there'd been someone in the house, that thing would have saved your life."

She stepped away from her car and slammed the door before covering her face with her hands. She did not need asthma attacks and loaded guns in the midst of the craziness she was dealing with these days. She needed normalcy. She wanted to get the girls, put them to bed. Go to bed as if everything were fine.

And everything was fine, right? The color had returned to Madi’s cheeks. The house was empty of intruders. She dropped her hands to look at him. "We're safe now, right?" He nodded. "Then please put the gun away. It scares me, and the girls don't need to see it."

He took a few steps toward her, between her driver's side and his passenger's. She pressed her back to her car, and he turned sideways to slide past her.

Face to face, separated by inches, he stopped. In that instant, she was a student again, he the stranger who'd tracked her down. He'd smiled that day as he met her on the sidewalk. Thank God I found you. She'd loved his mouth first, even as they formed those first words. His strong jaw, his broad shoulders and intense brown eyes. His were not the pretty features of movie stars. Mark was Superman handsome. A man beautiful in the face and the body and, she'd known that day, deep in his heart. She fell in love during their first date. Or maybe with those words. Thank God I found you.

Mark leaned almost imperceptibly forward, head cocked, reading her mind. She blinked and swallowed.

Then he continued past her.

Where she'd been warm a moment before, now she shivered, missing him though he stood only a few feet away.

His car door opened, then closed again, while she stood motionless, staring at the crescent moon through the trees, wondering what those feelings meant.

"We can go inside now," he said.

"Oh. Right. I'll get Madi."

Five minutes later, Amanda smoothed blankets over Sophie and kissed her on the cheek. She stepped into the hallway. Mark had gone into Madi's room, so Amanda crept to the door and watched him. Kneeling beside her bed, his head bowed, he rested one of his hands on the edge of her mattress, the other covered their baby's tiny chest.

Tears dripped down her cheeks. Why would seeing her husband praying for their child release such an onslaught of emotions? Except that . . . her tough, ex-marine husband, the one she'd just watched search her house, gun in hand, looked so vulnerable on his knees.

He turned to see her standing in the doorway. After placing a kiss on Madi's forehead, he scooted past Amanda and down the stairs.

She followed silently, wiping the moisture away. Downstairs, he headed straight for the door. She stopped on the far side of the dining room table, leaving a good five feet between them. A buffer zone.

"I'll stop by tomorrow morning with the girls' stuff." He turned after he grabbed the knob. The light inside the entryway was on from when they'd entered a few minutes before, and in the artificial glow she could clearly see the worry etched on his face. "Are you going to wake them for school?"

She considered the question. "They're exhausted. I'll let them sleep in."

"Okay. I can leave their stuff on the front step if you're still asleep."

"You know me. I'll be up."

"Okay. I'd like to talk to you in the morning, if you have time. Just for a few minutes about what I learned today."

Her heart stuttered. "Did you find out anything?"

"A little." He raked his hand through his hair. "I'm so tired, though. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

Amanda glanced at the clock on her microwave. Three forty-five. "Of course. We're both exhausted."

He grabbed the doorknob.

"Wait. I wanted to say . . ." Amanda took a step forward. "You could be right about stress being the trigger for Madi's asthma attack. I need to be more sensitive about that."

His eyebrows lifted.

"But," she added, "it's possible I'm right about your apartment being the trigger. Would you at least consider moving into those newer places by the highway?"

His shoulders slumped, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Automatically she started toward him, then stopped herself. He looked up, and she saw in his eyes naked, blinding pain. She took a step back.

"When I moved out," he said, "it was supposed to be temporary. You said . . . I thought . . ." His voice trailed off. Again, he raked his hand through his hair.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She was tired and confused. There was space between them, a few short feet that felt impenetrable.

He broke the barrier, closing the distance between them in three steps. Before she could react, he was inches from her, staring down at her. With his knuckle, he wiped her tears. His finger traced her face from beside her eye to the tip of her chin leaving a tingling trail. Against her will, her mouth opened. What was she doing? She snapped her jaw shut and stepped away.

His face shifted to a hard mask. "Fine," he said, though she couldn't remember what she'd said, or if she'd said anything. She couldn't think of anything she'd describe as fine .

"I'll need to get some more clothes. I didn't bring enough for this cold weather. Is it okay if I come by to pick some things up?"

"You can in the morning if?—"

"I won't have time tomorrow. I have to catch up on work. Thursday night? "

"Sure."

"When I searched the house earlier, I heard the faucet leaking again in the master. I'll bring my tools and fix it, if that's okay."

"Sure."

Rotating in place, he returned to the front door and yanked it open. She expected it to slam behind him, but instead he pulled it closed softly. An instant later, he pushed it open again. "Lock it and set the alarm please."

"Okay."

And then he was gone.