Indelible Read Free

spoke. “I’ve got to have it all done before we go to trial next month.”
    â€œThat’s not what I was talking about and you know it.”
    â€œI don’t think you have a right to use that tone with me.” He sat back in the chair. She could see that he was tired, and his usual easy smile was nowhere to be seen.
    She asked, “Are you sleeping okay?”
    â€œBig case,” he said, and she wondered if that was really what was keeping him up at night. “What do you want?”
    â€œCan’t we just talk?”
    â€œAbout what?” He rocked his chair back. When she did not answer, he prompted, “Well?”
    â€œI just want to—”
    â€œWhat?” he interrupted, his jaw set. “We’ve talked this through a hundred times. There’s not a whole lot more to say.”
    â€œI want to see you.”
    â€œI told you I’m buried in this case.”
    â€œSo, when it’s over . . . ?”
    â€œSara.”
    â€œJeffrey,” she countered. “If you don’t want to see me, just say it. Don’t use a case as an excuse. We’ve both been buried deeper than this before and still managed to spend time with each other. As I recall, it’s what makes this crap”—she indicated the mounds of paperwork—“bearable.”
    He dropped his chair with a thud. “I don’t see the point.”
    She gave humor another stab. “Well, the sex, for one.”
    â€œI can get that anywhere.”
    Sara raised an eyebrow, but suppressed the obvious comment. The fact that Jeffrey could and sometimes did get sex anywhere was the reason she had divorced him in the first place.
    He picked up his pen to resume writing, but Sara snatched it from his hand. She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice as she asked, “Why do we have to get married again for this to work?”
    He looked off to the side, clearly annoyed.
    She reminded him, “We were married before and it practically ruined us.”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “I remember.”
    She played her trump card. “You could rent out your house to someone from the college.”
    He paused a second before asking, “Why would I do that?”
    â€œSo you could move in with me.”
    â€œAnd live in sin?”
    She laughed. “Since when did you become religious?”
    â€œSince your father put the fear of God into me,” he shot back, his tone completely devoid of humor. “I want a wife, Sara, not a fuckbuddy.”
    She felt the cut of his words. “Is that what you think I am?”
    â€œI don’t know,” he told her, his tone something of an apology. “I’m tired of being tied to that string you just yank when you feel lonely.”
    She opened her mouth but could not speak.
    He shook his head, apologizing. “I didn’t mean that.”
    â€œYou think I’m here making a fool of myself because I’m lonely?”
    â€œI don’t know anything right now, except that I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He held out his hand. “Can I have my pen back?”
    She gripped it tightly. “I want to be with you.”
    â€œYou’re with me now,” he said, reaching over to retrieve his pen.
    She put her other hand around his, holding him there. “I miss you,” she said. “I miss being with you.”
    He gave a halfhearted shrug, but did not pull away.
    She pressed her lips to his fingers, smelling ink and the oatmeal lotion he used when he thought no one was looking. “I miss your hands.”
    He kept staring.
    She brushed his thumb with her lips. “Don’t you miss me?”
    He tilted his head to the side, giving another indefinite shrug.
    â€œI want to be with you. I want to . . .” She looked over her shoulder again, making certain no one was there. She lowered her voice to barely more than awhisper and offered to do something with him that any