Page 43 of Destiny Reclaimed
His mom rested her hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Though he knew she would, guilt still squeezed at his heart. He should be the one watching over his wife.
Jack carried a tray up the stairs, the whole while knowing Gwennie wouldn’t eat much of anything. He pushed open the ajar door, and she didn’t move.
He set the tray down on the nightstand next to her side of the bed, then sat, causing the mattress to dip and his spouse to stir. She offered the slightest of a forced smile that in no way even came close to reaching her sunk-in eyes surrounded by dark circles. Her once peaches and cream skin now looked pasty with a grayish hue. Her bow-shaped lips, normally moist and sweet, were dry and cracked, but not nearly as fractured as his heart. He’d give anything to set the clock back a couple of weeks to when they were happy newlyweds.
It was heartbreaking to see her like this. If only he knew how to time travel on demand, he could go back in time to fix this for her.
Leaning toward her, he kissed her cheek, then reached to help her to a seated position.
“Are you hungry?” he asked for lack of something better to say.
“Not really,” she replied in not much more than a whisper as she averted her gaze.
“I really think you need to try to eat something.” He placed a finger lightly under her chin as to not break her, and slowly moved her head back in his direction.
He lowered his hand, grabbed the fork, filled it with some scrambled eggs, and lifted it to her mouth. Her lips reluctantly parted, and she took the food. Luckily, he was able to get her to take several bites before her gaze transitioned to that newly familiar, nonconforming look he’d grown to detest.
Jack set the fork down and handed her the small glass of orange juice, which she drank without protest. Pushing his luck, he lifted a piece of toast to her.
“No thanks. I’m done.”
“Please, just eat a little more. You need some sustenance.”
He wasn’t sure if it was his pleading tone or likely the desperation in his gaze that caused her to take the toast and nibble on it, but he was thrilled she did.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go to work. I’ll be home late tonight. Probably about ten or so. Can I get you anything before I go?”
Weakly, she lifted her clammy hand to meet his cheek. “I’m fine.”
That was an outright lie, but it was all he had to go on from her.
“Mom will be home all day if you need anything.”
She nodded, set her half-piece of eaten toast onto the plate, and then slid down. His chest tightened. Deep down, he knew this was exactly where he’d find her when he returned home.
––––––––
The light in the studyshone through the crack in the drapes as Jack pulled into the driveway. His pulse kicked up a notch. It was a little after 11:00 p.m. Normally, his father was in bed by now. He always went to bed after watching the ten o’clock news. This wasn’t right.
He cut the engine, hustled through the chilly air, and entered the house through the kitchen entrance. As usual, his mother had left a light on for him. Without breaking stride, he slipped out of his coat and flung it over a chair as he bee-lined for the study.
The long, narrow hallway was dimly lit by the warm glow of light from the study. He bounded through the doorway to find his dad sitting in one of the leather captain chairs facing the fireplace. His dad glanced up from the thick book he’d been reading. The seriousness emitting from his gaze let Jack know they were about to have a conversation neither he nor his father wanted to hold.
“Is Gwennie okay?” Jack asked.
His dad closed the book and set it on the end table. “Yes and no. I’m worried about her.”
“Me, too.”
His dad nodded, then he stood and walked over to the cocktail cabinet. “Let’s have a brandy.”
Yep, this conversation wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. His father wasn’t much of a drinker, but he did enjoy a snifter of brandy now and then. Sadly though, Jack had a feeling this brandy was not going to be a drink for the pleasure of it.
He followed his dad over to the cocktail cabinet and watched him as he pulled open the thick, black walnut door to retrieve the bottle. Jack grabbed two glasses from the rack and set them on the dark surface. His father poured about one and one-half ounces of liquor in each then set the bottle down, took hold of the snifter, and like clockwork, he lifted the glass to chin-height and inhaled gently. Then, he slowly brought the rim of the glass to his lips and took a sip. It was always the same choreographed maneuver no matter if the brandy was for pleasure or to ward off pain.
To please his father, he went through the same process to get to the first sip, trying hard not to rush through it to get the unavoidable conversation started.
