The Man I Should Have Married by Pamela Redmond

Author:Pamela Redmond
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2003-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

It was 5:30 in the morning and I’d already been up for almost three hours, first lying awake in bed and then sitting in the living room and then pacing the house, growing more and more frantic. In the middle of the night Frank had called to say there was a problem with Amanda and he was rushing back with her. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, even when I insisted. I told myself it couldn’t be a terrible accident or else he wouldn’t be driving all the way from the end of Long Island to New Jersey, at least a three hour trip. It couldn’t be a disease; he’d bring her back during the day if it were a disease.

At first I calmed myself by thinking that, having ruled out the two worst things, whatever was left couldn’t be that bad. But for Frank to wake me up, to drive through the night, to refuse to talk about it on the phone, saying it was too important, too serious: It had to be something major. And if it wasn’t the obvious possibilities, the others, when I allowed myself to think about them, were all deeply disturbing. Sexual abuse. Some sort of serious psychological or emotional problem. Night terrors. A refusal to speak, or eat.

Finally, I saw Frank’s headlights and I sprinted outside to meet them. He was walking up the driveway, carrying the sleeping Amanda in his arms.

“Is she all right?” I cried. “Just tell me she isn’t going to die.”

He smiled a little. “She isn’t going to die.”

“Oh, God, I’ve been so worried, Frank. What is it? What’s going on?”

I held out my arms to take Amanda from him but he shook his head and carried her inside and laid her down on the black velvet couch, the only piece of furniture remaining in the living room.

“Where’s the blue afghan?” he said.

“I sold it at the yard sale.”

“Is there something else we can use to cover her?”

I ran upstairs and got the comforter from her bed. She looked fine sleeping there on the sofa, tan, her hair streaked blond, almost as light as Frank’s.

“She’s okay?” I said.

“She’s fine.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Can I have some coffee? I’m sorry but, you know, I didn’t make any before I left and I didn’t want to stop.”

I looked full at him then. “What?” I yelled. “You woke me up in the middle of the night and I’ve been sitting here going out of my mind for hours and now you want to drink coffee before you talk to me? What in hell is going on?”

Instead of answering me, he walked out to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee, ignoring the milk—“I’m really trying to stay away from animal products.” Then he carried his coffee into the dining room, where he settled himself onto the floor in the lotus position, gazing out the window at the rising sun.

“Frank.”

He faced me and I saw he was blinking back tears. I held my breath.

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