Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

M ark inhaled the scent of the sheets. They weren't the cheap, scratchy sheets on his bed. These were worn smooth by age. The bed—he loved this bed, soft and inviting. The room smelled of vanilla from Amanda's favorite candle, reminding him of everything that mattered. He rolled over, wanting nothing more than to hold her and drift back to sleep.

All he found on her side of the bed was the shock of cold sheets.

He opened his eyes. The light on the ceiling of her closet spilled onto the bedroom floor in the otherwise dark room. He heard a sniff and sat up.

Amanda was seated cross-legged on the floor near her closet in the middle of a pile of clothes. An almost-full garbage bag sat behind her, another to her left. She folded a pair of jeans and slipped them into the bag beside her. Then she grabbed a T-shirt and wiped the tears spilling onto her cheeks.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

She flinched, sniffed, and folded the shirt.

Mark climbed out of bed and searched for his clothes. He found his jeans draped over a pile of dress shirts and pulled them on. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Amanda swiped the sleeve of her shirt across her cheeks. "I'm fine. I just thought I'd work on this."

Fine? Her voice was squeaky, her face streaked with tears. She was anything but fine. Mark sat on the floor across from her. "What's wrong?"

"I don't understand why . . . why did it take two years for you to want me again? Why couldn't we have done that"—she waved toward the bed—"before now?"

"I always wanted you."

Anger flashed in her blue eyes. "No. You didn't. You could barely stand to touch me."

She reached for another garment, but he grabbed her hands. "You're the one who changed, Amanda, not me."

She tried to tug her hands away, but he wouldn't let go. She glared at him. "You admitted it. You said it felt like Gabriel was in bed with us."

Mark dropped her hands. "Honey, I always wanted you. Always. But you were different. Even before you told me about him, I could feel it. When we were first married, you were nervous when we made love. I always wondered why, but I didn't want to press you. And then you were fine, it was good. Great. But suddenly, you were nervous again. You'd cringe when I touched you, like you were afraid of me. And then, when you told me about him, what he did to you, I understood. Those memories were creeping in, and you had to deal with them. Of course thinking about him would dredge up those emotions."

Amanda looked down. "You hated me."

"No, sweetheart. Never. I hated him. I'd touch you, and you'd stiffen, and I'd think about how I was going to hunt him down and rip him apart." His hands fisted. He forced himself to stretch them out. "It's hard to make love to your wife and plot someone's murder at the same time."

She looked up, her mouth twitching, fighting a smile as if he were kidding.

She had no idea how many times he'd typed that man's name in Google, how much will power it had taken him to walk away without hitting enter. Because if he discovered where Sheppard worked, then he'd be one step closer to killing him. The first step would inevitably lead to the second, then the third. Thank God Amanda didn't realize how serious he was about wanting Shepherd to die. Painfully.

Amanda watched him now, curious.

He smiled and took her hands again. "I was never angry with you. Never. And I always wanted you. But it was hard feeling your fear, knowing what caused it. I thought if I gave you some space, maybe you'd get over it."

She yanked her hands away. "Get over it. That sounds about right." She squared her shoulders. "I have to tell you something."

The back of his neck prickled. He had the irrational desire to cover his ears like Madi did whenever she and Sophie argued. "What?"

"My lawyer?—"

"Your lawyer?" His stomach twisted, his heart began to pound. "Since when do you have a lawyer?"

"Does it matter, Mark? She's going to file the papers on Wednesday."

"Oh, God." He dropped his head into his hands and gripped his hair.

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you, to warn you before you were served.” Her words jabbed him like a thousand nails. “I wouldn't just drop it on you like that. I mean, I know this is a shock, and I know it's not what you think you want. But you'll be better off without me. I wish I could've been what you thought I was. But I can't. I am . . . I've done what I've done, and I can't take it back."

Father, help me. He couldn't stop the tears that stung. Father, I don't know what to do. I need you.

Amanda continued, filling the thick silence with her babble. "I know this is hard for you, and I know it'll take some time to adjust. About tonight . . . I'm not sorry we did that. It was a good way to end things."

His head snapped up. "You're not sorry?" His voice rose in anger. "You're not sorry? You figured you'd expose my heart even more before you smashed it to pieces?"

Her jaw dropped. "No, no. I didn't mean . . . I wasn't trying to hurt you."

He stood, walked around her, and kicked the trash bag filled with clothes. She was glad they'd slept together. He'd woken up after making love to his wife thinking he was finally going to come home. She'd woken up determined to divorce him.

He paced around the opposite side of the bed near her bureau, her vanilla-scented candle assaulting him as he passed it. He grabbed it, squeezed it, and considered smashing it through the window. With an effort, he set the candle back on the bureau, turned, and paced in the other direction.

"Mark?"

"Quiet." He squeezed his hands into angry fists. Father, help. I don't know what to do.

Conversations they had before she kicked him out, others they'd had in the last few weeks, filled his mind. The things she'd said, the accusations . . . Their talk from a week before filtered in. I think you don't want anyone to know what a tramp you married . If she really believed that, no wonder she wanted to divorce him. He kneeled in front of her. "Amanda, I don't want a divorce. "

"I know, but I think eventually you'll realize it's the best thing for everyone."

"No, it's not. It's not the best thing for me, or for Sophie, or for Madi. And it's not the best thing for you. Nobody will ever love you the way I do."

Fresh tears fell. "What? So you think I'm unlovable? You're the best I can do?"

"That's not what I mean." Jesus, help! "I love you so much, nobody else will ever be able to top it."

"Right."

"It's true. What you said last week about me being ashamed of you, embarrassed by what you'd done? If you really believe that, it's no wonder you want a divorce. I'd want to divorce me, too."

She wiped her tears on her shirt. "Good. We're on the same page."

"Except it's not true, Amanda. I don't blame you for what happened with Sheppard. He manipulated you and used you and hurt you. When I read your memoir, all I could think was how much I wanted to kill him. It never occurred to me that you'd think I was angry with you. I wasn't. You were just a kid."

"It's too late for this, Mark."

He grabbed her hands, ignoring the surprise in her face. "No, it can't be, because I can't lose you. I love you. I love you more now than I ever did before you told me that stuff. I think you're amazing, the things you went through, and how you handled them. Look at the things you've done with your life. Look at how you've recovered from the car accident. From him. I never blamed you. Not for one minute."

Amanda yanked her hands away, grabbed a T-shirt out of the pile beside her, and buried her face in it. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

Her blond hair, tangled and disheveled, fell forward. He stroked it gently. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you that before. I should have. It never occurred to me you wouldn't already know how I felt."

"Don't," she said, the single word muffled by the fabric of the T-shirt.

"I'm an idiot. What do I know about this stuff? All I thought about was myself and my anger. It never occurred to me to think about what you needed me to say."

"It's too late."

"No, it's not. Look at me."

She looked up, and he saw raw pain, pain that he'd put it there. He hated himself for it. "Amanda, it's not too late. I didn't tell you then, but I'm telling you now. It wasn't your fault. You were taken advantage of, and that man is a pig. A pervert. What he did to you . . ."

She lowered her head, so he crouched down and met her gaze. "What he did to you was unthinkable. He stole your innocence. Don't let him destroy our marriage, too."

Tears dripped off her chin onto her pajama pants.

He held her shoulders and tried to pull her close.

She resisted.

"Please, Mandy. I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. Just wait. A month. Give me one month to try to convince you."

"I don't know."

"Tomorrow's November first. Give it till December first. Please. Is that too much to ask? We can spend Thanksgiving together." Her eyes widened, almost fearful. "Not with my mother. Here, at our house. As a family." Another thought occurred to him. "I can go to New Hampshire with you this weekend."

"What about the girls?"

"I'll have Mom watch them. "

"No. Now that your mother knows we're separated, she'll turn them against me."

"I promise she won't, I won't let her. She loves them." With his knuckle, he wiped fresh tears from her cheek. "I'd like nothing more than to spend the weekend with you."

Her voice was weak, tentative. "I'm not going to have any free time."

"I'll bring a book. If nothing else, at least we'll have our nights together."

She blushed and turned her head.

Against his will, his heart throbbed with a fresh dose of hope. "Please? We can spend some time together without confusing the girls. And I want to be with you. There's no place I'd rather be than with you this weekend."

She pushed her hair behind her ears. "I don't want you to get your hopes up. I mean, I don't think I'm going to change my mind. But, if you really want to come this weekend . . ."

Mark could hardly sort through his emotions on the cold drive home. Thank God Amanda had agreed to put off filing for divorce. As she walked him to the door that night, she'd agreed to wait thirty days. What if they hadn't slept together? Would she have called him the next day? Hi! Thanks for taking the girls trick-or-treating last night. We need help getting the stupid ghost off the porch ceiling. And by the way, I'm filing for divorce . . .

Thank God he'd talked her out of it. And thank God she was going to let him go with her to New Hampshire. Not only would he be able to spend the weekend with her, but he could protect her. He wanted Sheppard to show up. They could end this thing once and for all .

But what made him think he could change Amanda's mind in a weekend or a month?

Despair seeped into him like the cold night air.

No, he wouldn't think that way. He'd been praying for a miracle, and tonight he'd gotten one. God was at work. Faith. He had to have faith. This weekend, nestled in the beautiful White Mountains, he would court her like he had when they'd first met back in Providence. He would win her back.

Driving his truck around his apartment building with a renewed sense of purpose, Mark scanned the lot automatically. The cars all belonged here except one. A racing green Porsche was parked to the right of the front door. He looked toward the Dumpster and spied a pile of broken-down cardboard boxes. Seemed the new renter had moved in to the apartment across the hallway, just like his landlady had promised.

Why would anyone who could afford a Porsche move into this building? Finding no plausible explanation, he parked his car and unlocked the exterior door of his building.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped short.

A tall blond woman was knocking on his door. She turned toward him just as he reached the landing.

"There you are!" she said, her perfect face breaking into a cover-girl smile.

"Annalise?" Mark said. "What are you doing here?"