Heart Song Anthology, Carolyn Faulkner [simple ebook reader .TXT] 📗

The door closed, and Carla walked down the hallway alone. Her shift relief would be downstairs soon. Somehow, she would drive home and try not to think of the unpleasantness with Martha Farmer, or the astonishing stranger who had insinuated himself into her evening.

And, she thought sadly, I’ll sleep in the guest room.

7

Decisions Made

“That was tasty,” Carla said the next morning, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She patted her stomach. “I should have turned down thirds on the pancakes though. Gotta keep my girlish figure.” She smiled at Doug before taking a sip of coffee. “I really appreciate the way you always make me breakfast when I’ve worked late. It’s very kind of you.”

Doug frowned as he joined her at the kitchen table. “You’re welcome.” She seems different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, though. “You’re feeling chipper. Did you sleep well? I slept hard. I didn’t even realize that you were in the guest room until I got up this morning.”

Carla nodded. “I slept just fine, thanks. In fact, I think you’re right about having separate rooms. Why don’t you stay in the master? The guest room suits me. After I do the dishes, I’ll start moving my things before I go back to the Royal. I took a shift for one of the girls so she could spend Valentine’s Day with her boyfriend.”

Doug put up his hands. “Whoa, there, Nellie. I just thought we could talk about it. I wasn’t thinking any time soon.” He was surprised to find that now that Carla was agreeable to the idea, he was having second thoughts himself. Her sudden change of attitude didn’t sit well with him. It was one thing to make a suggestion, hoping to get into an argument that might spark real conversation – something he knew had been sorely lacking for too long. He took the blame for that, but this? Did she have to be so enthusiastic? His feelings were a little hurt. And damned if I didn’t completely forget Valentine’s Day again.

Doug Danvers was not a man to admit mistakes easily. He was not a man to express affection easily. Losing Katie had just about wiped him out, emotionally speaking. He’d watched Carla grieve openly, even loudly. He’d listened to her tell the whole story to whoever would stand still long enough. Even though it pointed to the fact that their personalities were different, he could see that her approach had worked for her. Her openness had helped her move on, anyone could see that. Yes, she was still heartbroken, but he was a little jealous of her ability to function. Sometimes at work, he would have to just sit down, frozen by his thoughts.

In the beginning, when feelings were still so raw, he’d assumed that physical intimacy would be the furthest thing from Carla’s mind. He didn’t want to intrude, wanted to be respectful of a grieving mother, even when he felt that it would help him cope. He saw now that he should have brought it up.

We never did talk enough, not even from the beginning. Now and then over the past few years when he couldn’t take it any more, he had reached out for her in bed. She’d been amenable, always had been. For some reason, he’d always believed that sex was more enjoyable for men than for women, but now that he thought about, Carla had always been more or less pleased. She even initiated it. Until he’d brushed her off a few times. He saw now that mentioning separate bedrooms may have been the ultimate brush-off in Carla’s mind. Damn.

“You know, I brought that up because–”

“Because you no longer wish to sleep with me,” Carla said briskly. “I understand. You’ve reached a time in your life when you don’t need me that way. You’ve made that perfectly clear.” She smiled, a little too brightly. “No problem!”

Doug watched as Carla cleared the table and started filling the sink with hot water. Miserably, he got up and walked down the hall to the master bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Carla never understood people who complained about washing dishes. She loved the feel of the hot water on her skin. She appreciated the simple sense of accomplishment. The open kitchen window over the sink looked out on an orange grove their property backed up to. She took a deep breath, inhaling the strong scent of orange blossoms. This was her favorite time of year in Florida, when it was a cool in the mornings and evenings. The air, with its smells hinting of spring, was not so humid.

Despite her assurances to the contrary, she had not slept well, instead endlessly reliving the events of the night before. Unless she was going absolutely stark-raving mad, she saw clearly now that she had in fact, seen a ghost. The ghost of Clark Gable, no less. What a dreamboat!

But that wasn’t all. Seeing a ghost hadn’t even been the most stressful thing about last night. She had also been faced with the biggest challenge of her career. The real Mrs. Farmer showing up like that had rattled her. The relationship between her husband and whoever-he-was-so-in-love-with had been placed in sudden jeopardy and it had fallen to Carla – somewhat unfairly, it felt – to work it out. She sighed as she stood a sparkling plate in its slot on the drainer. It had been quite a night.

Now to tackle the pans. Doug always managed to use every skillet and bowl in the house when he cooked. Carla scrubbed harder than was necessary, energized by troubling thoughts. The fact that the couple she’d enjoyed so much over the last several years was not married, gave her pause. They were happy. Not married, but happy. Gloriously, deliriously so; any fool could see that. But weren’t they wrong? She knew what her circle of friends would say, that was certain. They’d be