hard for you to do that,” she smiled at him ruefully. She wanted to be furious, but he was so outrageous and so desperately in need, somehow she couldn't, “but just try, will you please?” He nodded, looking sheepish, and he grinned at her, as Annabelle came out with her tiny suitcase and the bag of presents Sam had given her for Christmas. They exchanged a look over her head, and Alex wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn't.
He took them both downstairs, and stood and waved as they walked away. Annabelle turned half a dozen times to wave at him and tell him she loved him, and Alex made a point of not looking back at him. She was too afraid of what she'd see if she did. And she didn't want to see it. Vulnerable or not, he had touched a part of her she had thought was no longer there, but she knew it was now. She had thought that part of her had died, and it terrified her now to realize it hadn't. She couldn't let herself give in to it. She couldn't love both of them. She couldn't afford the luxury of Sam now. She and Brock had a future. And the one thing she knew as she walked home was that she had to let go of Sam forever.
And when she got home, Brock was there to meet her. She threw her arms around his neck, and held him close while he kissed her.
“What's that all about?” he asked, looking pleased by the fervor of her kisses. Vermont had been good for them. It was just what they needed.
She and Brock cooked dinner together that night, and afterwards she helped Annabelle unpack her things, while he put some music on the stereo and cleaned up the kitchen. It seemed hours later when Annabelle was in bed, and Brock was in the shower, when Sam called.
She was sitting in their study, thinking about him, and hearing his voice made her jump. It was as though he had heard her thinking.
“I just want you to know I'm not sorry I kissed you,” he said, and she wanted to hang up on him. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But she had loved him too. That was the trouble. “But I want to know one thing.”
“What?” she said, feeling guilty for talking to him at all. It was hard to believe he'd been her husband. He seemed more like an illicit lover.
“I want to know if you're sorry, Alex. If you are, if you don't love me anymore, I'll leave you alone, no matter what I feel for you.” He suddenly sounded confident and stronger, as though an important part of him had been restored when he kissed her.
“I don't love you,” she said unconvincingly, and he laughed, sounding like the young man of years before, and she felt a familiar flutter.
“You're a liar.” Sam seemed to grin as he said it.
“I meant it,” she said, feeling guiltier than ever toward Brock, but Sam was undaunted.
“You're not sorry for a minute. You kissed me back.” Sam sounded like a kid again and he was laughing, and she couldn't help smiling when she answered.
“You're a shit,” and then her voice sobered again. “I don't need these complications in my life, Sam. I want to keep things simple.”
“Things are going to be very simple for you in a few weeks, when I'm in prison,” he said, pressing her. And then, “I want to see you.”
“You just did,” she said firmly. More firmly than she felt. There was something about hearing from him again that softened a place in her heart that still loved him, but she was too afraid to ever let it happen.
“You know what I mean,” he persisted. “Let's have dinner.”
“I don't want to.”
“Please …” He sounded so appealing, she wanted to scream.
“Stop it!”
“Alex, please.” He was pleading with her and driving her crazy, and she steadfastly refused to see him, and a few minutes later she hung up on him, and Brock got out of the shower. He had no idea that anyone had called her.
She still felt awkward about it the next day when Sam called her again at the office. She didn't want to speak to him, but after eighteen years, she felt she owed him something. “What do you want from me?” she said finally in exasperation.
“One evening, that's all, and after that, I won't bother you again,” he