him, Miles knew that neither Missy’s brother nor his wife would care in the slightest whether there were a few too many weeds growing in the garden.
Besides, he’d told himself, he would take care of everything when he got back, and he meant it. He hadn’t intended to be gone all day, but as with many of his fishing trips, one thing had led to the next and he’d lost track of time. Still, he had his speech worked out—Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, even if it takes the rest of the night and I need a flashlight. It might have worked, too, had he told her his plans before he’d slipped out of bed that morning. But he hadn’t, and by the time he got home she’d done most of the work. The yard was mowed, the walk was edged, she’d planted some pansies around the mailbox. It must have taken hours, and to say she was angry was an understatement. Even furious wasn’t sufficient. It was somewhere beyond that, the difference between a lit match and a blazing forest fire, and he knew it. He’d seen the look a few times in the years they’d been married, but only a few. He swallowed, thinking, Here we go.
“Hey, hon,” he said sheepishly, “sorry that I’m so late. We just lost track of time.” Just as he was getting ready to start his speech, Missy turned around and spoke over her shoulder.
“I’m going for a jog. You can take care of this, can’t you?” She’d been getting ready to blow the grass off the walkway and drive; the blower was sitting on the lawn.
Miles knew enough not to respond.
After she’d gone inside to change, Miles got the cooler from the back of the car and brought it to the kitchen. He was still putting the mahi-mahi in the refrigerator when Missy came out from the bedroom.
“I was just putting the fish away...,” he started, and Missy clenched her jaw.
“What about doing what I asked you?”
“I’m going to—just let me finish here so this won’t spoil.”
Missy rolled her eyes. “Just forget it. I’ll do it when I get back.”
The martyr tone. Miles couldn’t stand that.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Just like you’d finish the lawn before you went out fishing?”
He should have just bitten his lip and kept quiet. Yes, he’d spent the day fishing instead of working around the house; yes, he’d let her down. But in the whole scheme of things, it wasn’t that big a deal, was it? It was just her brother and sister-in-law, after all. It wasn’t as if the president were coming. There wasn’t any reason to be irrational about the whole thing.
Yep, he should have kept quiet. Judging from the way she looked at him after he’d said it, he would have been better off. When she slammed the door on her way out, Miles heard the windows rattle.
Once she’d been gone a little while, however, he knew he’d been wrong, and he regretted what he’d done. He’d been a jerk, and she was right to have called him on it.
He wouldn’t, however, get the chance to say he was sorry.
“Still smoking, huh?”
Charlie Curtis, the county sheriff, looked across the table at his friend just as Miles took his place at the table.
“I don’t smoke,” Miles answered quickly.
Charlie raised his hands. “I know, I know—you’ve already told me that. Hey, it’s fine with me if you want to delude yourself. But I’ll make sure to put the ashtrays out when you come by anyway.”
Miles laughed. Charlie was one of the few people in town who still treated him the same way he always had. They’d been friends for years; Charlie had been the one who suggested that Miles become a deputy sheriff, and he’d taken Miles under his wing as soon as Miles had finished his training. He was older—sixty-five, next March—and his hair was streaked with gray. He’d put on twenty pounds in the past few years, almost all of it around his middle. He wasn’t the type of sheriff who intimidated people on sight, but he was perceptive and diligent and had a way of getting the answers he needed. In the last three elections, no one had even bothered to run against him.
“I won’t be coming by,” Miles said, “unless you stop making these ridiculous accusations.”
They were sitting at a booth in the corner, and the waitress, harried by the lunchtime crowd, dropped off