Page 23 of Happy Is On Hiatus
“Listen,” he said, his voice notably lower than either of theirs had been thus far during this conversation. “I really do want to talk about this. I want to sit down and have a heart-to-heart, the way we used to.” He reached for her hand then, but Rita pulled back.
“We’re not who we used to be.” And that was the truth.
Sharon had told her to let her handle the money situation with Nate, and Rita had agreed to do that. But over the weekend, she’d had more time to think and more time to destroy another couple of boxes of Nate’s stuff from the basement. He owed her so much and not just on a monetary level. He owed her for the time and care she’d taken with him and their family, for the visits to his mother in Boston and all the calls Rita took from that complaining woman in between. For the stretch marks now marching across her stomach and down her thighs, and for the missed opportunities to continue her education and receive her bachelor’s, possibly even her master’s degree, in business. Something she’d never pursued after he’d complained so extensively about her taking the evening courses for two years.
Managing another slow step back, Rita realized that each of those sacrifices were choices she made. She’d never given Nate any indication that she’d wanted to be anything other than his wife and the mother of his children. Mainly because she’d been so sure that those were the two most important titles in her life.
“Let’s go to dinner,” he said, and before she could stop him, he continued. “I’ll make reservations at Ruth’s Chris. I know you love how they cook your filet.”
Nate’s hands were on her shoulders then, holding her in a way that was both familiar and, to her complete dismay, desired.
This man had been everything to her for so very long. She’d shared all her hopes and dreams for a family and a beautiful home with him. He’d shared her love of Christ and had carried out the role as head of their household, just as he’d vowed to do. There’d never been a moment that she’d thought of being with another man; his touch had always soothed and aroused her. He was the love of her life.
“Sure,” she said and nodded. “Make the reservations and text me with the details.” She gave a weak smile and eased out of his grip.
He smiled. “Good. I’ll take care of that in a few minutes. But why don’t you go and visit your mother or go to that spa you love so much. I’m sure they can squeeze you in without an appointment.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I might just do that.”
When he touched a hand to her arm and started to lead her toward the door, Rita almost laughed. He was hurrying her out. She’d obviously made enough of a scene for him today. Well, this silly bastard had no idea what she was about to do to him.
Leaving the dealership without further incident, Rita slipped behind the wheel of her car. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the funeral home where she and Jemel were scheduled to meet with Sharae to help her take care of the final plans for her father. Her phone chirped just as she pulled up in front of the funeral home, and she waited until after she parked her car to look at the text.
Ruth’s Chris, Odenton 730 tonight
Nate was still as handsome and as charismatic as he’d always been. For just a sliver of a moment his touch on her shoulders had reminded her of all the things that had made her fall in love with him. The mesmerizing scent of his cologne, those warm and intriguing bedroom eyes, the way he always licked his lips and lowered his tone when hewas trying to be extra sexy. Yeah, he’d done all that in his office a little while ago, and as she’d watched him, she’d imagined all the times he’d probably done the same thing with other women.
She deleted his text.
“You’ll be having a well-done filet by yourself, you ignorant piece of crap,” she said before stepping out of the car.
Moments later she walked through the tinted glass doors of Medwin Harris Funeral Home, her heels moving quietly over the beige carpet in the reception area. Unfortunately, the place was familiar, with its mauve wallpaper and dark-brown crown molding. A large pink-and-brown floral arrangement set in a gold vase was on the mahogany console table directly across from the front doors, and to her right was the antique gold-leaf reception table. The woman sitting behind the table was Dinah Rodstram, who’d lived around the corner from the Aunts during their childhood years. She’d also been a member of NVB for as long as Rita could remember. Between Dinah and Medwin Harris, Sr., who’d been a long-serving and dedicated deacon at the church before his death twelve years ago, there was an inexplicable link between NVB, the funeral home, and the Johnson family.
“Margarita. It’s such a pleasure to see you.” Dinah came to her feet and walked around the desk.
Rita ignored the snooty way in which Dinah always insisted on using her full name. It was no secret that some of the members of NVB had wondered about the pastor naming his daughter after an alcoholic beverage. But none of them were so bold as to ask the first lady how that came to be. Not that Vi liked talking about still being so worn out after a thirty-seven-hour labor that she’d spelled her daughter’s name wrong on her birth certificate—so that it was Margarita instead of Marguerite. Rita had been thankful for the mix-up, as she preferred her nickname over what Vi had intended.
She closed the space between them and easily smiled. “Hi, Ms.Dinah. It’s nice to see you as well.”
How weird was it to be exchanging such niceties when the reason they were seeing each other this time was because someone had died?
“Missed you in church yesterday. Is everything all right?” Dinah asked, arching a very badly drawn-in eyebrow.
Of the hundreds of members at NVB, at least 20 percent of them were nosy women waiting with bated breath to sink their teeth into the next morsel of juicy gossip. As the divorce of the pastor’s daughter would no doubt qualify for that title, Rita had been in no hurry to announce her new situation to the congregation, nor had she felt like addressing any questions about where Nate was. Even though he was out of town often and she’d said that more times than she could recall to various members of the church, repeating that task for two and a half hours wasn’t something she’d wanted to do yesterday.
Today, however, she had no choice. Sharae had asked her and Jemel to meet her here this afternoon to finalize the arrangements for her father, and Rita wasn’t about to let her down.
“Well, no, everything’s not all right,” Rita replied. “Sharae’s father passed away.”
“Yes, I took her call this morning.” Folding one arm across her chest and letting the free hand move to her chin, Dinah shook her head. This was the infamous sorry-to-hear-that stance that she always took upon discussing someone’s death. “Margarita, I have to tell you that was such a shock. I mean, I didn’t even think any of you still kept in touch with Sanford.”
“We didn’t,” Rita told her. “He was in jail.”
There was no doubt that Dinah knew all these facts; this was just her way of keeping the conversation going in the hope of drawing some more scandalous gossip out of Rita.
Dinah nodded. “That’s right, he was.” She made a tsking sound. “A shame what happened between him and Justine. They were such a beautiful couple in the beginning.”
Were all couples beautiful in the beginning? Rita could envision her first date with Nate—dinner at the Rusty Scupper and then a romanticwalk around the Inner Harbor. He’d held her hand the entire time, and she’d had to practice steady breathing to keep from swooning at his dreamy eyes and every word he said to her. Wasn’t it ironic that all these years later, she was planning to stand him up for a dinner date and then go after every dime she could get from him in a divorce?
