Page 28 of Dirty Husband
The surprise registers in my stomach. That's it? He enjoys my company? I don't expect this kind of sincerity from Shep. "Oh."
"I guess I don't have to ask if that's news." His eyes drift to my lips. He watches as I take another sip of my tea. "I know you don't think well of me."
"Yes." That's one way to put it.
"I won't ask you to forgive me."
"I won't." Maybe if he apologized. Ifhegot on his knees and begged. Dad says forgiveness is good for the soul. That holding onto resentment, frustration, anger only hurts the person who's angry. But Dad never dealt with Shepard Marlowe.
He nodsI know. "I won't try to erase the past. But I will ask you to give this a chance."
"You buying my time?"
"Yes. I'm going to try to make it as comfortable for you as possible."
"You won't even tell me why."
His gaze shifts to the window to our right. The bright afternoon light. The sun shining on the Hudson. "I wish things were different, but they aren't. Now. We need to talk about tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Your father. We're visiting the hospital in"—he checks his watch—"an hour and a half."
I swallow hard.
"What are we going to say to him? How are we going to convince him this is real?"
Chapter Nine
Shepard
Her dark eyes fill with surprise. She holds my gaze for a moment, then she looks down at her tea. Stares into the liquid like it has all the answers to the universe.
"I understand it's uncomfortable." I take another sip. Let the drink warm my lips and throat. It's not the same as bourbon, but with her here, it's comforting in a different way.
This is Jasmine. A quiet afternoon with a fresh pot of tea and heartfelt conversation. We spent a million lazy Sundays like this.
Sundays were easy. My mother and stepfather went into the city for brunch and gallery showings. It was the only day I could relax. The only day that was easy.
And now I'm thinking about that bastard. Because she's here. Because all those bright memories of her are surrounded by an ocean of darkness.
It's not too late to call this off. Pay her the money I've promised and send her on her way.
My stomach twists.
My heart refuses. I'm not sure how that's possible—since it's been MIA for years—but it is.
"I am sorry. About your father." That weight on my chest grows. It was awful, watching my mother fall ill. Watching her lose her spark. By the time she died, she was so frail she could barely hold her fork. She could barely smile.
If she'd known the truth—
I'm glad she died believing someone would take care of me. I'm glad she died happy. If I can offer Jasmine the same comfort—
She doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to face the possibility of her father dying.
I understand that.
I don't want her to experience that pain. If there was anything I could do, I'd do it. But there's not. This is out of my hands.
