One Last Weekend Read Free Page A

midway between his mouth and the plate.
    â€œDo you think she’s happy in California?” Joanna mused. “Happy with Peter?”
    â€œThey’re newlyweds,” Teague said. “She has a glamorous job, just like she always wanted. Of course she’s happy.”
    â€œSo were we, once.” Joanna reddened when she realized she’d spoken the words aloud. She’d only meant to think them, not say them.
    â€œWhat happened, Joanna?” Teague asked.
    The lights went out again, and the fan in the furnace died with a creaky whir.
    Teague left the table, went to the drawer, and rummaged until he found a candle. Plunking the taper into a ceramic holder Caitlin had made at day camp the summer she was eleven, he struck a match to the wick.
    Joanna figured he’d forgotten the question, but it turned out he hadn’t.
    â€œWhat happened?” he repeated.
    She sighed, turning the stem of her wineglass slowly between two fingers. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I guess we just grew apart, once Caitlin left for college.”
    â€œI guess so,” Teague said. “Is there somebody else, Joanna?”
    She bristled. “Of course not,” she said. “How could you possibly think—?”
    In the light of the candle, Teague’s features looked especially rugged. Again, Joanna had that strange feeling of time slipping backward, without her noticing until just this moment.
    He didn’t answer.
    She took a gulp of wine this time, instead of a sip as before. “What about you? Have you—well—is there—?”
    â€œNo,” Teague said in an angry undertone. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
    â€œThe same kind of question you asked me, ” Joanna fired back, though she was careful to keep her tone even, for Sammy’s sake. “We haven’t had sex for weeks. You bought a sports car. Next thing I know, you’ll be squiring around some girl barely older than Caitlin—”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding,” Teague interrupted. “Maybe we’re on the skids, but we’re still married—and I bought a sports car because I wanted a sports car.”
    â€œYou’re forty-one. You’ve just sold a company you worked half your life to build. You bought a sports car. Enter wife number two, who has probably already targeted you as fair game.”
    â€œGood God, Joanna. You should write a novel, because you have one hell of an imagination!”
    â€œI don’t need an imagination. Half the guys you play golf with have trophy wives, while the women who bore their children and helped them build their companies and their bloody portfolios are still wondering what hit them!”
    Sammy crossed the kitchen, toenails clicking on the tile floor, and laid his muzzle on Joanna’s lap.
    She stroked his head. “It’s all right,” she told him. “We’re not going to fight.”
    Teague shoved back his chair and stood. “It’s not all right,” he growled. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
    The furnace tried mightily to come back on, but there wasn’t enough juice.
    â€œI don’t know anymore,” Joanna admitted quietly. “Do you think the electricity is going to come back on soon? It’s getting cold in here.”
    â€œI have no idea,” Teague said. “If you’re cold, go sit by the fire.”
    â€œI will,” Joanna said loftily, refilling her wineglass before she left the table.
    Sammy trotted after her, his tags jingling hopefully on his collar. The cottage had always been a happy place, with the exception of last summer, when Joanna had cried a time or two. No doubt, the dog expected things to morph back to normal at any moment.
    It would be nice, Joanna reflected, to be a dog.
    Teague followed and threw another chunk of wood onto the fire, causing sparks to rise, swirling, up the