Page 8 of One Last Kiss
Chapter 3
Annnndhe’d really put his foot in his mouth this time. Or, more accurately, his heart on the floor between them.
Abby was tight-lipped again. She wasn’t speaking or even looking at him. He wasn’t sure what he’d thought she’d do when he confessed that he still loved her. Jump into his arms? No. Say it back and mean it? Maybe.
Instead, her arms were folded tightly over her chest, her body was rigid, and she was looking at the floor off to the left of her.
Without thinking, Sam cleared his throat. Her gaze snapped up, and he held up his hands. “Sorry. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”
She looked away again.
This was most certainly going to be a long night. He got up and moved toward the shelf. If they weren’t going to talk, he could at least eat. “It’s all cans,” he said after several minutes. “I don’t suppose you have a can opener down here too?”
She frowned at him.
“Didn’t think so. And what are you doing with so many cans anyway? You don’t use canned food in your restaurant.”
“It’s for my Meals on Wheels program.”
“Oh, right.” She’d started that since they’d been separated.
“They’ll miss their meals tonight,” she said.
“Well, I’m sure they’ll be fine. All the extra supplies you send will come in handy. Or,” he said, “maybe one will send a search party for you.”
“Doubtful.”
“Well, do you have anything we can eat down here?” he asked as he walked back toward her.
She looked at the shelves with a thoughtful expression. “I have jars of peanut butter and jelly. And plastic silverware.”
“Now you’re talking. Where?”
She pointed. “First shelf on the bottom. The plastic ware is in a large bin on the second set of shelves.”
A few minutes later, Sam returned to his seat across from her with a jar of PB in one hand and grape jelly in the other. “Want some?”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Back to avoiding words at all costs.
Sam was on his fourth or fifth spoonful of peanut butter when he heard Abby’s stomach growl. Her skin flushed when he looked up. “You sure you’re not hungry? It’s the last jar of peanut butter. I can share.”
“No. That’s okay.”
“Come on, Abs. Sharing a jar with me doesn’t mean you hate me any less. I promise. I’ll even get you your own spoon.” He got up and went to retrieve another plastic utensil. Then he scooted his seat next to hers and handed the items over.
She dipped her spoon inside the peanut butter jar. “I don’t hate you, you know,” she finally said.
His lungs constricted. “No, I didn’t know.”
She pulled the spoon to her mouth and handed the jar back, not speaking again until she’d swallowed. “It’s complicated, Sam, but after all we’ve shared, I could never hate you.”
He dipped his own spoon in the jar and held it back out to her. This was good. He needed to keep her talking. Dr. Dumont said talking was key. And listening. Sam hadn’t listened enough in their marriage. He knew that now, but he hadn’t learned that lesson until Abby had stopped talking to him all together. “I know I wasn’t the best husband, Abs.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “No one’s perfect.”
He swallowed a spoonful of peanut butter and passed the jar. “I’m sure I deserve whatever feelings you do have for me. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I failed big time, and it cost me everything. It cost me you.”
She passed the peanut butter back and was quiet for a long moment. He was starting to think the conversation was over, and then she looked up. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we shouldn’t have tried so hard to have a baby.”
