The Monarch Read Free

realized he was just a bit player in this melodrama. If this were a Star Trek episode, he’d be wearing a red shirt. Jonathan looked down and realized he was wearing a red shirt. He smiled wider at the irony, which Trudy took to be delight in her tale spinning. Oh no .
    â€œâ€”­pork meatballs! As if pork meatballs would be on any kind of macrobiotic diet—­excuse me—­lifestyle plan. I mean—­”
    Pork meatballs? What the hell was she talking about now? Did she even finish the last story before starting this one? Had he blacked out? Jonathan turned and looked at his house again. It was only thirty feet away, its unkempt front garden and sun-­faded siding filling him with hope instead of the usual depressing reminder of his lack of funds. Sanctuary. But more importantly, the person responsible for doing this to him was in there. Natalie would pay for this.
    I don ’t know how it happened, honey. The Guitar Hero controller must have fallen off the shelf all by itself. Hard. Twice. He smiled at the idea, though he knew he would never do such a thing. His daughter’s misery wasn’t the only reason; those things cost a fortune.
    When Trudy started in on her scrapbooking hobby and her latest drama at the art supply store, Jonathan knew he had to end this.
    He abruptly leaned over and kissed Trudy, surprising even himself with the ploy. It took her a second to wind down, but eventually there was peace. Ever-­loving peace. Suddenly, Jonathan realized this was the first woman he’d kissed since Samantha. Reflexively, he shifted toward her and slipped his hand around her back. Then the past two hours came crashing through his libido and he forced himself to pull away.
    He half expected Trudy to pick up her story where she’d left off, but that didn’t happen. Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting slightly.
    â€œSo, this was fun,” Jonathan said, unable to look her in the eye.
    â€œUh-­huh” was all Trudy said. He pulled on the door’s handle and made his exit while the getting was good. When he turned to wave to her from his porch, he saw that she was still watching him and making no move to drive away. Maybe Natalie was going to pay for this, but so was he.
    He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. After a moment of leaning on the door in relief, he peeked around the curtain in the front window. She was still there and hadn’t moved.
    â€œOh boy.”
    Jonathan paid the sitter and sent her out the side door. If Trudy was still out there, he didn’t want to know about it.
    â€œI knew you’d like her,” a voice behind him said.
    Jonathan turned to see Natalie on the stairs in her pajamas, a half-­melted ice cream bar in her hand. She was at that pivotal age when everything was still simple: Candy was good, school was bad, and boys were yucky.
    When her mother had passed away it had been hard on her, but she’d rebounded wonderfully this year. She was pretty much her old self again: funny, mischievous, and bossy. And Jonathan wouldn’t have it any other way.
    But this recent need to become his personal love doctor concerned him. Something had changed a few months ago to make her suddenly worried about the idea of her dad being alone. He had still been trying to figure out what had changed when a counselor at Natalie’s school flagged him down earlier this week.
    Natalie had been getting into fights. After bloodying the nose of a boy in her class this week, she’d finally opened up to the counselor. She’d apparently been having bad dreams—­dreams about Jonathan dying.
    â€œIt’s completely normal in kids her age, especially after losing a parent,” the counselor had said.
    There were two recurring dreams: In the first, she saw Jonathan dying alone; in the second, she saw him with a mysterious woman, safe and alive.
    â€œNatalie sees what happened to her mother as a normal