Spring Fever

A

Mason and Gle

With Mason out of town so much lately, their love life had definitely taken a backseat to business. But not that night, A

At six o’clock that night, when she’d run home to change after the children’s party, A

She’d called his cell phone twice as she drove back to the country club, but both times her message went directly to voice mail.

By seven, when she stood at the door to the ballroom welcoming their guests, cell phone clutched in one hand in case he called, she was doing a slow burn.

Sallie, of course, noticed everything.

“What a lovely dress,” she’d said, her eyes flickering on A

“But he promised to get here for the party!” A

Sallie had given her a tight, knowing smile. “It’s just business, A

All that night, she’d endured the embarrassment of having her husband a no-show. She sweet-talked Pokey’s husband, Pete, into stepping in as deejay; table-hopped and chatted with every employee in the room; and, in between, picked at her di

At eleven, she said her good-byes and drove home alone. The temperature had begun to drop at sundown, and now snowflakes were softly falling. White Christmases were a rarity in North Carolina. Any other night, she might have stood at the bay window, watching with wide-eyed glee at the snow sifting onto the lake and accumulating on the shaggy green evergreens ringing the little cottage. But on that night, she shut off the twinkling white lights on the Christmas tree she’d decorated by herself. In the bedroom, she hung up the party dress and changed out of the black lingerie and into a frowsy fla

Their room was freezing, and the window panes rattled as the wind howled outside. Part of her worried about Mason driving home on treacherously icy roads; another part of her burned with anger and disappointment.

Finally, she drifted off to sleep, only to awaken at the sound of a car driving up to the house. She checked the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly two. She heard the front door open, heard heavy footsteps on the floors, heard their bedroom door open.

In the half-light from the hallway, she saw Mason drop his suitcase. He walked over to their bed, leaned down, and kissed her cheek.

A

“Sorry to miss the party, babe,” Mason whispered.

She wanted to sit up in bed and throw something at him. She wanted to scream her rage about broken promises and ruined evenings. Instead, she rolled over and faced the wall closest to her side of the bed, her body rigid with suppressed fury.

Mason sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. She heard water ru

Her husband curled up beside her in the bed. He yawned and coughed.

Despite herself, A

“Great,” Mason said wearily. “We closed the deal! Three hundred new stores. But I’m beat.”

Instead of an apology, he draped a proprietary arm over her shoulder, cupping one hand under her fla

8

Mason was still asleep. A

She’d halfway expected Mason to awaken early, maybe fix their coffee and bring it back to bed for her, the way he’d done the first few months of their marriage. Saturday mornings then were their sacred time. Mason liked—no, loved—sex in the morning. Later, he’d fix her ci

Two years later, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d had Saturday morning sex.

Her face hardened as she remembered the previous evening. If Mason didn’t wake up soon and start apologizing, she told herself, they might never have sex again! Not that she meant it. She loved her husband, and loved their lovemaking. But, really, something had to change. They could not go on this way.

With a sigh, she headed for the front door, vowing to have this conversation when she got back home from the country club.

She sighed again, noticing, with a

A

As she went through her mental checklist of everything she needed to accomplish at the club, A

Instead of the weather, though, she heard a sultry woman’s voice singing “At Last.” Etta James? Since when did Mason listen to the likes of Etta James? She’d have bet money Mason had never heard of the woman. With one gloved finger, she tapped the tracking button. The next song was even odder: “Let’s Get It On,” by Marvin Gaye. She punched the eject button and grabbed the CD as it slid out of the player.