1105 Yakima Street - Debbie Macomber [14]
“Hello,” he said, grabbing the phone, his heart bounding into his throat.
“This is David Miller,” intoned the recorded message, “and I’m running for state senator. Are you tired of runaway government spending? If that’s the case, I need your vote—”
Bruce disconnected the line before he heard any more. He kept his hand on the receiver and hung his head, fighting back his disappointment.
“Dad,” Jolene muttered. “You wanted that call to be Rachel, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t going to deny it.
“We don’t need her,” Jolene insisted, looking up at him from the kitchen table. “It’s been a lot better since she left. I’ve made dinner all week, haven’t I?”
Bruce didn’t agree or disagree. Jolene had done her best to fill in, and while the meals weren’t always palatable, his daughter had tried.
“I know I overcooked the macaroni and cheese.”
“I hardly noticed,” he said, and it was true because he’d covered the entire plate with ketchup.
“The meat loaf was good, wasn’t it?”
“You did an excellent job.” Not exactly, but at least he’d found it edible, again with the addition of ketchup.
Jolene beamed with pride. “Like I said, we don’t need Rachel.”
It wasn’t Rachel’s cooking Bruce missed, it was Rachel herself. He missed holding her in his arms and chatting in bed. He missed pressing his hand over her stomach and silently transmitting his love and excitement to their baby. He missed Rachel’s smile when he walked into the house at the end of the day and the way she hugged him, welcoming him home. They’d only been married a short while and yet Rachel had filled every nook and cranny of his world. He hadn’t realized how alone and lonely he’d been until she’d come into his life. Without her nothing felt right.
“Dad, my homework, remember?”
“Yeah.” He’d do his best but he wished Rachel was the one helping Jolene… .
It took him nearly an hour. He wasn’t a natural teacher and had to grit his teeth several times, but made it through the ordeal without losing his patience. Still, once he’d finished, Bruce was cranky and ready for bed.
Walking into his room, he looked despairingly at the crumpled sheets and the bedspread, which had slipped off and pooled on the carpet. Rachel made the bed every morning before she left for the salon. Apparently the aunt who’d raised her had insisted on it, and the habit had stuck. Then every night Rachel would remove the decorative pillows and neatly fold back the covers. The twisted and disheveled bedding depressed Bruce. He sagged onto the end of the mattress and came to a decision.
He was going to the salon tomorrow, and he’d try his hardest to talk Rachel into giving him a second chance. He had to believe she missed him as much as he missed her. Surely she’d want to come home. That belief was the only thing that got him through the day.
Friday morning, Bruce woke in good spirits. He had coffee brewing and Jolene’s glass of orange juice poured before his daughter even wandered out of her bedroom.
She stared at him a moment before taking her glass off the counter. “You seem to be in a happy mood this morning.”
“Do I?” He was seeing Rachel today and he couldn’t help feeling a sense of anticipation.
“Dad…” Jolene regarded him skeptically. “You aren’t going to see Rachel, are you?”
He didn’t answer.
“She’s the one who left us, remember? If she wanted to come back she would have by now, don’t you think?”
Bruce ignored his daughter. “Do you have your lunch money?”
“Quit avoiding the subject.”
“I have to leave now or I’ll be late for my first appointment.”
“Dad!”
Bruce wasn’t listening. He scooped up his keys and headed out the door, letting Jolene precede him. If he stopped work at four, which he fully intended to do, then he should be at the salon no later than four-thirty. He was his own boss and set his own hours. While he did his utmost to keep his computer clients happy, he had his priorities. Oh, yes, he’d see Rachel, and once she heard how desperately he missed her, how much he needed her, she’d move back home. Bruce couldn’t wait.