Ladies' Night, Andrews, Kay [best time to read books .txt] 📗

before marrying his wife. If he left, he’d be living on a judge’s salary. Peanuts, he called it. The money I gave him, he called it our nest egg. We were going to buy a cottage on Anna Maria. I was going to work on getting my licensing back. He’d leave the bench, start his own law firm. We’d give our own version of my old divorce diversion seminars and travel all over. We’d write a book together. He even had a title: De-Toxing After Divorce.”

“Damn!” Camryn said. “That’s a fabulous title. I’d buy a book called that. You know, if it was written by somebody other than Stackpole.”

“And me,” Paula said. She shrugged. “That’s all I came to say, really. I’m sorry I allowed all of this to happen. Sorry I was a party to Cedric’s scheme. Sorry I failed all of you. Could you turn the camera off now, please, Camryn?”

Camryn set the camera down carefully on the tabletop.

“Thank you, Paula,” Grace said. “I mean it. Your coming here tonight and telling your story, that took a lot of courage. We all appreciate it, don’t we, ladies?” She looked around the table, but the women returned only blank stares.

Suzanne stood up. She clapped her hands together. Slowly. Grace nodded and stood, too, and began clapping, as did Wyatt. They looked expectantly at Camryn, who nodded, stood, and joined in. Slowly, one by one, all the women at the table stood and joined in the polite applause.

69

Wyatt tiptoed into the bedroom and set the teacup on the nightstand. He hurried to the windows to draw the curtains. The EMTs had versed him in postconcussion rules—no bright sunlight, sharp noises, or too much physical activity. Plenty of sleep, plenty of fluids, plenty of watchfulness. Grace had fallen asleep in the truck the previous night, just minutes after they’d left the Sandbox.

He’d hurried her into bed, and spent the night on the armchair beside it, waking occasionally, to listen to her soft, steady breathing, gently touch her hair, and to reassure himself that she was here and she was safe.

It was nearly ten now. Sweetie trotted into the room and sat expectantly at his feet. He tossed her a treat, and she chewed noisily.

“Shh,” he cautioned.

Grace turned on her side and sat up slowly. “Oh, stop tiptoeing around! I’m awake, and I’m fine.” She patted the bed and Sweetie jumped up, did a quick circle, and then settled herself into a nest just under Grace’s arm.

Wyatt dropped a kiss on Grace’s forehead and sat down on the few inches of bed the little dog hadn’t claimed.

“How’s the head?”

“A little achey, but better than it felt last night.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s ten already! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed to sleep,” he said. “And the EMTs told me you should take it easy for the next few days.”

“But I don’t need a babysitter. And you need to get to work. So move along, mister,” she ordered.

He held four fingers in front of her face. “How many?”

“Four.”

“How did you get hurt?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Humor me,” Wyatt said. “I’m supposed to test your memory.”

“I was in a speeding car driven by a maniac. We went off the road and into the bay. Things get a little blurry after we hit the water. I do know you pulled me out and saved my life.”

“And then you promised to love me forever and be my sex slave,” Wyatt prompted.

“That part I don’t remember,” Grace said.

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

Wyatt pulled a bottle of Tylenol from his pocket and gestured to the tea. “Drink that and take two of these. And then drink some more. You’re supposed to stay quiet today. I’ve already walked Sweetie, and there’s some cereal and fruit in the kitchen. I’ve got to get over to the park now, but your mom will be by after the lunch rush is over.”

“Run along now,” Grace said. “You’re sweet, but I really don’t need babysitting and I hate being fussed over.”

“Humor me,” he said. “I nearly lost you yesterday.” He thumped his chest meaningfully. “I love you, Grace. Really, deeply, truly.”

“I know it.” She yawned and her eyelids drooped. “I think I love you, too. But I think I need another nap.”

70

Grace slept. And then she slept some more. Despite her protests and much to her annoyance, Wyatt and Rochelle continued to cosset her.

After a week had gone by she’d had enough. When Wyatt showed up at the condo after work that Friday afternoon, he found her fully dressed, tapping away at her laptop at the dining room table.

“Hey you,” he said, unsnapping Sweetie’s leash and setting down the bag of take-out Chinese. “What’s that?”

“My blog. I haven’t written a word in nearly two weeks. I’m afraid my readers will think I’m dead.”

He tried to read over her shoulder, but she shielded the screen with both hands. “It’s not ready for public consumption yet. My writing has gotten sort of … rusty. I’ll let you read it after I’ve cleaned it up and edited a little.”

“Okay.” He opened one of the white paper sacks. “Which do you want for dinner? Kung pao or sizzling shrimp?”

“Neither, thanks,” Grace told him. “I’ve been stuck here for what feels like forever. Let’s go out. I don’t care where, just as long as I’m not staring at these four walls and eating Tylenol.”

Wyatt nodded at the view out the French doors. “You’re bored looking at the Gulf of Mexico?”

“I don’t want to look at it anymore,” Grace said. “I want to walk in it, splash in it, get wet, sweaty, sandy—anything but safe and sleepy, which is what I’ve been all week long.”

“You’re sure you feel like that?” Wyatt looked at her anxiously. “No headaches? Funny smells?”

“I am absolutely symptom-free and bored to tears. And I am truly grateful for all the loving care you and my mom have given me this week. I know you must have