The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

old—home. She could afford not to work right now. Old-fashioned in his view of marital roles, Daniel had refused to allow Sydney to pay any of their house bills. Hell, if it’d been up to him, she wouldn’t have worked at all. But she’d put her foot down hard on that position. So, all of her earnings had gone into savings. If she chose not to work for the next year, she could. But being stagnant that long would drive Sydney crazy.

You could always work on that urban fantasy book you’ve been too chicken to finish.

Sydney flipped two middle fingers at the irritating sneer in her head. Leave it to her to not only talk to herself, but to have that voice be a know-it-all bitch, too. Since she was a teen, she’d harbored the dream of writing and publishing a book set in a seemingly not-too-distant, apocalyptic world. But it was just that—a dream.

She’d shared the desire with Daniel once, shortly after they’d married. And once was all she’d needed to decide never to make that mistake again. He’d been so patronizing, so damn logical, that she’d ended up agreeing with him. The time for childish things had passed, and grant writing, which actually earned her money, should be her focus. And in the end, he’d been right. It would be her job that provided a stable, secure home for her and her baby.

She glanced down at the cell phone screen.

Speak of the devil.

Grimacing, and then immediately feeling guilty about it, she swiped her thumb across the answer bar. “Hey, Daniel.”

“Hello, Sydney.” Her ex-husband greeted her in his cultured, deep baritone.

In spite of the strained terms they’d parted on, a rush of affection and maybe a little nostalgia trickled through her. Yes, they’d divorced, and he hadn’t agreed with her moving hundreds of miles away, but she’d been with him since she’d been twenty years old, married to him at twenty-one.

An image of her ex-husband solidified in her mind’s eye. Tall and lean, skin a beautiful mahogany, his strong, fit body clothed in one of his customary tailored suits with a tie. A handsome, distinguished, successful man who made the perfect dean of students at a prestigious private high school.

Nine years older than her, he’d been her rock, her support system, her friend for over five years. It wasn’t his fault she’d grown and decided she needed—something different. Something more. She’d hurt him with her decision to separate and then divorce. And for that, she would always bear regret.

“It’s good to hear from you. Did you get my text about getting here safely?” She’d taken the coward’s way out and dashed the text off the night she’d arrived, a week ago.

“I did. Thanks for letting me know.” An awkward pause that was becoming their norm. “How’re you feeling? And the baby?”

“Good. Both of us. As a matter of fact, I just left my dad’s clinic after meeting with my new doctor. My first checkup will be in two weeks. I’ll find out if we’re having a girl or boy,” she said, injecting a cheer into her voice to counterbalance the guilt. Selfish. There was that word again. Was she selfish for stealing these sorts of milestones from him? As the father, he had the right to share them. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she squeezed her eyes closed and fought against the urge to apologize. Again. “If you’d like, I can record the appointment for you. So, you can still...be there.”

“Sure, sure. I’d like that,” Daniel said. But his pause vibrated through the open line with tension, with frustration and anger. All directed at her. Not that she could blame him. Because she didn’t. “God, Sydney,” he exploded, but just as quickly, cut himself off. She could easily picture him straightening, composing himself, submerging his emotion behind that polite mask. To Daniel, emotion was messy, a sign of being out of control. And Dean Pierson was never out of control. “I respect your father, but a clinic? You should be going to a hospital with all the best and most advanced technologies. Your OB-GYN here was one of the best in the state. But instead you’re at a clinic being cared for by a doctor you don’t know. A doctor who—”

“Who graduated from Harvard Medical School, completed her residency at Johns Hopkins and was one of the top physicians at MUSC Health-University Medical Center before deciding to move here,” she said, quietly reciting Dr. Prioleau’s credentials. “My father wouldn’t have taken on a partner in his practice unless she was the very best. I did my homework, Daniel. Our baby’s health is just as important to me as it is to you.”

His sigh echoed in her ear. “I know that, Sydney. I didn’t mean to imply...” He trailed off. “You shouldn’t have left. We could’ve made it work.”

“Daniel,” she interrupted, tired. So damn tired of this conversation. Of how she just couldn’t make him understand how she’d been disappearing in her marriage. He didn’t get it. Would never get it because his big, forceful personality wouldn’t allow him to grasp how she couldn’t have been happy being by his side as his wife, all her needs taken care of, wanting for nothing.

Wanting for nothing except her identity.

Happiness.

Love.

To Daniel, they’d been happy, enjoyed a good, solid marriage. For her? She’d been slowly suffocating.

The breaking point hadn’t been an argument. She hadn’t caught him cheating. It hadn’t been his antiquated ideas of gender role assignments—though heaven forbid he wash a dish, or she take out the trash.

No, it’d been none of those.

The catalyst had been when she’d attended one of many school fundraising functions with him and one of the board members had introduced Daniel and her to a potential benefactor as Dr. Daniel Pierson and his wife.

Just his wife.

As if she had no identity, no, no...purpose other than being an extension of her husband.

In that moment, the restlessness that had been hounding her for months crystallized inside her chest