204 Rosewood Lane - Debbie Macomber [58]
“You were at the store. You might’ve picked up more than milk and bread, you know.”
“I work forty hours a week.”
“And I don’t?” she shouted.
“Look around you and answer that question for yourself. If you are employed, exactly who are you working for? Not your family. Not me. Not our children. A Christmas Bazaar is more important than a Saturday with your family. A bake sale at the mall outweighs decorating a Christmas tree.”
Rosie slammed a pound of frozen hamburger into the microwave. “Don’t paint yourself as a martyr in this marriage, Zachary Cox. If you think you’re so perfect, then you can start doing more to help around here. Who said it was my responsibility to buy the groceries? You seem to think that because I don’t have a nine-to-five job, you can rule my days. I have a life, too, you know.”
“Don’t yell!” Eddie screamed. “Don’t yell anymore!” He stood in the kitchen entrance, tears in his eyes, his hands covering his ears.
“Eddie, I’m so sorry,” Rosie cried, sounding close to weeping herself. She bent down to hug their son and cast an accusing glare at Zach. “Now look what you’ve done!”
“Me?” Funny how everything got turned around so that he was the one at fault.
Zach waited until after dinner—a pot of chili thrown together in about twenty minutes, but still an improvement over recent meals—before approaching his wife again. “It’s clear we have several issues that need to be addressed,” he began as she watched a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
“Several issues,” she repeated. “You sound like an attorney.”
“So, I sound like an attorney. Let’s just get through the holidays. The kids are hurting.”
“So am I, Zach.”
“I’m not exactly overwhelmed with happiness myself.” He walked out of the family room and into the bedroom. A second television was set up there. He put on the History Channel and tried to watch a documentary about Napoleon.
Rosie came in an hour later. “Do you want to talk this out?”
He glanced in her direction and frankly couldn’t see the point of any discussion. “Not particularly.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “That’s what I thought. Just remember I tried, Zach. I sincerely tried. But you’re impossible.”
If she was trying so hard, then she’d be with her family where she belonged, Zach thought and steeled himself against giving in. Rosie was the transgressor here, and he wasn’t going to drop this until she owned up to her faults.
Nine
Grace hadn’t been sleeping well since Thanksgiving Day. The more she dwelled on the phone calls, the more she came to believe it’d been Dan on the other end of the line. For some sick reason, her ex-husband felt it was necessary to destroy what little peace she’d found in the months since his disappearance. It had occurred to her that he might even have someone feeding him information about the details of her life. That would explain the timing of the calls.
During the last three weeks, she’d consistently awakened about four in the morning, when the night was its darkest. She was unable to return to sleep and lay there overwhelmed by guilt and fear and pain. She felt anger, too, as she imagined where he was and who he was with—imagined them laughing at her. It had been like this in the beginning, but gradually she’d come to terms with the shock of Dan’s actions. Now, following the phone calls, it was bad again, as bad as it had been those first few weeks.
When Grace arrived at the library on Monday morning, her eyes burned from lack of sleep and her spirits were in the doldrums. The only positive feeling she had about the holidays had to do with her grandson. Little Tyler was almost four months old now, and the very light of her life. The problems of the world faded away when she held her grand-baby.
Cliff Harding entered the library just before noon. Grace sensed his presence even before she saw him. He returned a book and then casually strolled toward her desk. He wore a lazy smile that touched her with its warmth.
Grace’s mouth went dry, and despite herself, she felt flustered. She