Always a Mother

“You didn’t give it up. You injured your knee.”

“I still had offers.”

“What?” The color drained from her face. “You weren’t taken in the draft and you never mentioned any offers.”

“Because I knew it was time for me to be at home for you and the girls.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You kept it from me? Did you think I was so weak that I couldn’t take the news?”

“You’re the strongest woman I know and it was so long ago I don’t know why we’re talking about it.”

“Because you kept it from me as if I was some dependent, fragile wife who needed you at home.”

“Claire, I turned it down for two reasons.” He held up one finger. “I wanted to be home.” He held up another finger. “Because of my injury I would have been second string, and that wasn’t acceptable to me.”

She glanced down at her hands, some of her anger leaving her. “That must have hurt.”

“Not really. I had to put my family first.” He took another step toward her. “Honey, we can work this out.”

“Probably,” she said. “But I need some time to accept the pregnancy graciously and with love—the same deep love with which I accepted Sarah and Sami.” She wasn’t sure why she was fighting for time or why she was arguing with Dean. Maybe she blamed him. She needed to come to terms with that, too.

“So what are you actually saying?”

“I’m saying you go home and I’ll stay here.”

He paled even more. “You want us to separate?”

“Yes. For now. College starts in ten days and by then I’ll know if I’m going to go or not.”

“I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out.”

“I don’t either. All I know is that I have to keep remembering, reading the letters to experience that deep well of commitment and love I had then. I have to let go of the dream with dignity and not blame it on a precious, innocent baby.” She blinked back a tear. “We’ll be in our sixties when this child graduates from high school. Can you handle that? I’m not sure I can.”

“Claire…”

“I’m just being honest, and I hate myself for the selfish things I’m thinking. At this moment I hate everything.”

He swallowed visibly. “Do you hate me?”

She looked at him. “I’ve loved you forever. I love your smile, your kind heart, your compassion and caring, even the gray in your hair. I love everything about you, but I’m not feeling any of that love right now.”

“You will. The Claire I love can deal with anything.”

“Maybe this is the one thing she can’t.”

“I’ll never believe that.”

“Dean.” She sighed. “Go home and let me sort through this.”

“We’ve never been apart.”

“Yes, we have. It just never felt like it.”

He blew out a hard breath. “I don’t guess I have a choice.”

“No.”

He pointed to the letters. “Read every one of those and you’ll feel our love again. We can overcome anything, even having a child at our age.” He leaned over and kissed her lips. She breathed in his scent and forced herself not to respond.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

“No, don’t. I’ll phone when I’m ready to talk.”

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything.

“Dean,” she called as he turned away. He quickly glanced at her. “Please cancel our plans for tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Tell Nita and Joan I’ll call them later.” She was passing the buck, but she couldn’t handle a conversation with anyone.

He nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” Slowly, he walked out of the lake house.

She wanted to call him back, but that wouldn’t solve anything. As the door closed, she knew their lives were changing, and she didn’t feel it was for the better.

They loved each other. There was no doubt in her mind about that. To save her marriage she had to feel that forever kind of love she’d felt at eighteen.

How did she do that when she felt empty, afraid and lost within herself? There was only one thing she knew to do.

She picked up a letter.

CHAPTER FOUR

November 26, 1986

BUNNY INSISTED on watching the girls so Claire could make one of the home games. She sat in the stadium, her eyes on her husband. To her he was the best player on the field. She stood and cheered when he caught the ball. She bit her nails when it seemed to go right through his hands.

Suddenly a crashing tackle left him lying on the turf, writhing in pain, his leg bent at a strange angle. Jumping to her feet, she made her way to the field, her heart thumping so hard it was about to pound out of her chest.

As she reached the sidelines, an official stopped her.

“That’s my husband,” she cried, as the medical staff crowded around Dean.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but—”

An ambulance backed into the stadium and she broke away. No one was keeping her away from him. Another official caught her before she reached him, but she jerked free, running to where Dean lay on a stretcher.

She fell to the turf by his side. “I’m here, honey.”