he could find joy in his life after her death. He loved the wonderful, empathetic woman he’d married, or he could fall in love with the wonderful, indomitable woman in the classroom next door.
But his heart contained multitudes. It did.
Or was a false dichotomy, as he’d once tried to tell Candy.
He’d chosen the wrong conjunction.
His heart, his life, his future—they were and. Not or.
He grieved Marianne, and he desired Candy. Marianne was his beloved wife, and he could find joy in his life after her death. He loved Marianne, always would—and he was falling in love with Candy.
Candy. Loud, opinionated, sexy, whip-smart, devoted, hilarious Candy. Sweet as her name, although not everyone saw that.
Then again, not everyone could recognize or decipher subtext.
He could. Thank heavens, he could.
But he wasn’t going to make her do the same. Not any longer.
Before dawn, Griff had formulated his plan.
No more dithering or delays. He was ready to act, before Candy slipped away from him in the darkness.
As soon as he arrived at school, he tracked down Rose and Martin, who were waiting for their turn in the second-floor copy room. As he’d hoped, they were happy to help with the setup for the poetry slam that evening. Or so Martin claimed, although Rose did not second the statement.
“If Candy needs me, I’ll be there,” she said instead. “Just send instructions.”
He wondered if Candy knew she’d earned that brand of fierce loyalty from her history department colleague. Somehow, he doubted it.
During lunch, he called to make an appointment of his own. The receptionist squawked at the short notice, but he promised to bring decorated cookies from his favorite local bakery, Sweet Elizabeth, and his blatant bribery worked.
Immediately after school, he drove home. Dropped his briefcase just inside the door. Stripped off his jacket and button-down and tossed them onto his bed. Strode into the master bathroom.
He had just enough time to do this before his appointment.
Bracing his fists on the edge of the vanity, he leaned forward and stared at himself in the mirror, all itchy, shaggy beard and overlong hair.
If Marianne walked through the door right now, she’d barely recognize him. Hell, he barely recognized himself some days.
That hadn’t mattered to him, though. Not really, not for the longest time. Even if the man in the mirror hadn’t matched his past self, the reflection had matched how he felt inside. Who he was, down to his soul.
An abandoned husk, empty and useless.
It’d seemed like symmetry, somehow. Like justice. Like an act of love, even though seeing him this way would have gutted Marianne.
One final, hard look. He had to know for sure.
Then he did. At long last, he did.
That man was a stranger, and not just on the outside. Not anymore.
He reached into his under-sink cabinet, hand steady as a surgeon’s.
And without another second of hesitation or doubt, he unearthed his clippers and got to work.
Seven
Despite his best efforts, Griff ran late.
Because they were fitting his appointment in between those already scheduled, it took longer than he’d hoped. The department store’s checkout line was slow too. And although he’d well remembered the name of Candy’s doctor—Dr. Payne? he’d said wonderingly in the emergency room after the nurse asked where Candy’s records should be sent, and despite her injury, Candy had laughed and agreed on the name’s insalubrity—actually locating the correct office also required some time.
When he finally entered the practice’s waiting room, she’d already been called back. Unable to do anything else, he tunneled his fingers through his hair and took a seat against the wall. Crossed his ankle over his knee and jiggled his leg, a nervous habit that had occasionally irritated Marianne. Plucked at the side seams of his new jeans, the placket of his new shirt.
They were the first items of clothing he’d bought since moving to Marysburg.
Previously, he’d always chosen muted shades for his attire. His new shirt was a rich blue. A jewel tone because Candy loved vibrant colors. Blue because, in a fit of dressing-room vanity and optimism, he’d decided it flattered the green of his eyes.
Candy liked his eyes. He thought. He hoped.
Hopefully she’d like his haircut too. After some consideration and a consultation with the stylist, he’d left it longish, but neatly trimmed. The women working and waiting at the salon had extended their wolf-whistled approval at his transformation, but Candy was an entity unto herself. The opinion of others wouldn’t drive her reaction.
Another reason to adore her. Another reason for nervousness.
Casting yet another glance at