The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [109]
With that, he cuddled against her, pulling her close.
The following morning, Denise woke alone.
This time Taylor wasn’t sleeping on the couch. This time he didn’t surprise her with breakfast. He’d slipped out unnoticed, and calls to his house went unanswered. For a while Denise debated stopping by his work site later in the day, but the memory of her last visit kept her from doing so.
Instead she reviewed their evening, trying to get a better read on it. For every positive thing, there seemed to be something negative as well. Yes, he’d come by . . . but that may have been because his mother had said something to him. Yes, he’d been great with Kyle . . . but then he might be focusing on Kyle to avoid what was really bothering him. Yes, he’d told her he cared about her . . . but not enough to even think about the future? They’d made love . . . but he was gone first thing in the morning, without so much as a good-bye.
Analysis, debate, dissection . . . she hated reducing their relationship to that. It seemed so eighties, so grounded in psychobabble, a bunch of words and actions that might or might not mean anything. No, scratch that. They did mean something, and that’s exactly what the problem was.
Yet, deep down, she realized that Taylor wasn’t lying when he said he cared about her. If there was one thing that kept her going, that was it. But . . .
So many buts these days.
She shook her head, doing her best to put it all out of her mind, at least until she saw him again. He’d be by later to take her into work, and though she didn’t think there’d be time to talk to him about her feelings again, she felt sure that she would know more as soon as she saw him. Hopefully he’d come by a little early.
The rest of the morning and the afternoon passed slowly. Kyle was in one of his moods—not talking, grumpy, stubborn—and that didn’t help her own mood, but it did keep her from focusing all day on Taylor.
A little after five she thought she heard his truck on the road out front, but as soon as she stepped outside, she realized it wasn’t Taylor. Disappointed, she changed into her workclothes, made Kyle a grilled cheese sandwich, watched the news.
Time continued to pass. Six o’clock now. Where was he?
She turned off the television and tried unsuccessfully to get Kyle interested in a book. Then she got down on the floor and started playing with his Legos, but Kyle ignored her, focusing on his coloring book. When she tried to join him in that, he told her to go away. She sighed and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
Instead she straightened up the kitchen, killing time. Not much to do there, so she folded a basket of laundry and put it away.
Six-thirty and still no sign of him. Concern was giving way to a sinking sensation in her gut.
He’s coming, she told herself. Isn’t he?
Against her better judgment she dialed his number, but there was no answer. She went back into the kitchen, got a glass of water, then returned to the living room window. Looking out, she waited.
And waited.
Fifteen minutes to get there or she’d be late.
Then ten.
At five until seven she was holding her glass so hard that her knuckles had turned white. Loosening her grip, she felt the blood rush back into her fingers. Her lips were pressed together when seven o’clock rolled around and she called Ray, apologizing and telling him she’d be a little late.
“We’ve got to go, Kyle,” she said after hanging up the phone. “We’re going to ride our bikes.”
“No,” he said.
“I’m not asking, Kyle, I’m telling you. Now move!”
Hearing the tone of her voice, Kyle put down his colors and started toward her.
Cursing, she went to the back porch to get her bike. Rolling it off the porch, she noticed it wasn’t gliding smoothly, and she jerked it before finally learning what the problem was.
A flat tire.
“Oh, c’mon . . . not tonight,” she said almost in disbelief. As if not trusting her eyes, she checked the tire with her finger, feeling it give as she applied only a little pressure.
“Damnit,” she said, kicking at the wheel.