Page 59 of Between Our Hearts

After two more confirmations and one misfire, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of Lake Trail Park beside his wife’s crossover. Having found her, he expected himself to bolt from his truck and run like he had before, but instead, his limbs felt filled with wet concrete as he stumbled onto the tiny rocks at his feet.

His eyes flowed over the ramada and bathroom. When he came up empty, he stepped to the trailhead to the circular path, said a silent prayer, and turned right. Soft, rain-saturated mulch compressed soundlessly beneath his work boots. After about a quarter-mile, a glimpse of dampened auburn hair flickered to the left of the trail.

A small clearing in the trees and brush was occupied by a fallen log some enterprising hiker had placed parallel to the water as a perch to gaze upon the lake. Sadie sat atop it, wet yellow T-shirt suctioned to her curved spine, hugging her knees. The sight of his wife soaking wet and broken because he’d told her not to come home ripped at him.

His pulse thrummed thickly in his neck as his chest squeezed. Not a muscle in her twitched as he stepped within three feet of her crumbled frame.

“Sadie,” his strained voice came out barely a whisper.

He didn’t think it was possible for her to slump farther, but she did, the back of her neck bowing so deeply it looked painful.

That movement did him in. He collapsed next to her and was a second from collecting her balled body in his arms, but her devastated eyes kept him at bay. “How’d you find me?”

“Buddy mentioned you bought more than the three flower plants you showed me.”

She winced at his words, her vacant gaze drifting over the water. “So you know.”

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? This is irreparable. I was so consumed with grief over losing them”—her moisture glazed eyes blinked to his—“that I’ve already lost you too.”

Even though it felt like his insides were being shredded, his answer sat stagnant in his open mouth because he honestly wasn’t sure. They’d shifted so far away from each other that he wasn’t certain they’d find firm footing again. In his silence, Sadie hunched over her knees.

“That’s what I thought.”

His elbows hit his thighs as a halting exhale blew over the placid water in front of him. Neither of them spoke for a long time, and soon the steely skies began to release their moisture. Thick drops darkened the azure of his T-shirt—the one Sadie had bought him because she said it highlighted the blue of his eyes.

When the warm liquid on his cheeks contrasted with those which dotted his exposed forearms and legs, it took several seconds to realize they were his own tears. The summer rainstorm picked up in strength, plopping and bouncing drops that mangled the lake’s even surface. His eyes pressed together before he ran a hand over his face.

“We have to try, right?” His voice was as hoarse as the frogs who’d joyously come out to play in the sheeting rain.

He could feel Sadie’s gaze on his face but couldn’t look away from the blurring landscape in front of him.

“If that’s what you want.”

His muscles turned automatically, taking in his wife’s dew dropped eyelashes. “That’s not what you want?”

She bit the corner of her lip. “Too much of our relationship has been what I want. You’re right. I haven’t considered you enough. From now on, I need you to tell me what you want—what you need—so things can be more even between us.”

“I’ve always wanted you, Sadie. I don’t think I know how to not want you.” He paused. “But you’ve been the one who’s put me at an arm’s length. Are you sure you still want me? Want us?”

Her whispered words were almost absorbed by the storm. “I miss us.”

Clark’s chest lightened a fraction. “Me too.”

The rhythmic sound of rainfall and the harsh rasp of his own strained breathing were the only sounds that entered Clark’s ears for a long time.

“So what do we do now?” Sadie pushed a matted strand of hair away from her face.

Clark hesitated only for a second, but then he let the words he wanted to say fall from his lips. “We’ve got that appointment tomorrow at nine.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes determined and focused in a way that told him she intended to put as much effort into repairing their relationship as she used in the OR.

His words scratched from his throat as the rain began to ease up. “I really need you to talk to me. I know it’s hard on you, but I need that from you.”

Pain settled in the hollows of her cheeks, but her gaze remained insistent. “I understand. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder before, but I will now.”

“And I need you not to run here”—he gestured to the lake—“when you’re upset and leave me blindsided and confused.”

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