Memory of Love by L.R. Reeves

Author:L.R. Reeves
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781733782791
Publisher: Glasswing Press

Chapter 9

JEANNE

I hated the way Jeremy got to me. The way I let him get to me. I was a calm person, a reasonable person. Everyone I worked with said I was easy to get along with. But that man got under my skin so easily, riling me up until it was all I could do not to punch him in his smug face.

It was even worse when he was right.

I should have talked to him first, I knew that. Regardless of his opinion of Mark, it was a decision he should have been involved in from the start. But I’d known how he was going to react, so I’d taken the coward’s way out, trying to get Dylan on my side, and then when Jeremy had called me out on it, I’d gotten so flustered I couldn’t even apologize like an adult, but had resorted to yelling at him like some spoiled teenager.

No, Jeremy had been right about talking to him first, and he’d been right about another thing—the two of us needed to avoid each other as much as possible. For everyone’s sanity.

Fortunately, it wasn’t all that hard to do. He spent the majority of the day in the pool, and when Dylan returned home the two of them watched a movie while I hid in my room. Then Jeremy disappeared while I fielded bedtime. I barely saw him for more than five minutes through the course of the evening, and the next morning I was out the door and on my way to work long before he was out of bed.

And thus began our awkward dance of avoidance. I had plenty to keep me busy—between work and dealing with the aftermath of the fire, I didn’t need an excuse to stay away.

It turned out that the fire had been caused by some faulty wiring in the laundry room, and little in the house had been salvageable. I had insurance claims to deal with, a new car to buy, new clothing to shop for, toys and clothes of Dylan’s to replace. At least by staying with Jeremy I didn’t have to worry about replacing things like dishes and sheets and years of accumulated home goods. But I had plenty to mourn as well. Old photo albums, sentimental trinkets collected throughout my life. It wasn’t hard to understand why Dylan still cried over the loss of his beloved stuffed Finley when some of my lost items hit me just as hard.

So, when I wasn’t dealing with the fallout from the fire, I attempted to bury myself in my work, coming in early and staying late. But, in the end, my avoidance was short-lived. I just couldn’t seem to stay away.

I told myself it was because I needed to spend time with Dylan, but if I was completely honest, it was also because the longer I stayed there, the harder it was to pretend that Jeremy was the same man I’d married six years ago.

Oh, his fundamental character hadn’t changed—he was still infuriating, still cocky, his ego still grossly oversized.

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