The Lewis Legacy Series Box Set: 4-in-1 Special Edition Page 42

  Those rings cost him a pretty penny, but he’d never regret it. Anger aside, he prayed she’d keep them on her finger and make sure all the circling male vultures got the message, loud and clear. “Well,” he said, “you could have fooled me.” He purposely raised his voice again, in case one of those two guys eager to help his wife lurked within hearing range. “Just make sure Roger and that other guy helping you know you’re still married.”

  Natalie made a disgusted sound and stomped toward the side door. “I’ll come get the rest of my stuff another time. When you’re at your home-away-from-home downtown.” She whirled around and put a hand on her slender hip. And there it was, that pouty lower lip. Delectable. The one he loved to nibble and kiss until she finally gave in. If he wasn’t so mad, he’d find her irresistible. Not that she’d welcome his advances now. The saddest part was, it only made him ache for her even more. Especially on a Saturday morning.

  “Natalie, truce. Come here.” Taking a step closer, Marc reached out his hand, beckoning.

  She didn’t budge. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a time when you’re down at the Prudential Center, slaving away for Thompson Sports Advertising’s newest multi-million dollar ad campaign for some exorbitantly overpaid client.”

  Okay, that was a mood killer. Marc lowered his hand as his jaw simultaneously dropped. How dare she throw his strong work ethic in his face? That was low, especially for her. Did amnesia bring on this round of spiteful behavior? His mind searched for an appropriate reply that wouldn’t come out profane. He had nothing. Natalie stalked out the door and slammed it so hard the windows rattled.

  He stood rooted to the floor and took a quick survey of the kitchen. Something on the wall above the phone was missing. He racked his mind. Oh yes, a plaque Mrs. Rousseau from church gave them for a shower gift. Their framed wedding invitation. Maybe it was better it was gone. He sure didn’t need any more reminders right now. Why she wanted it, he couldn’t fathom.

  Marc dragged himself back up the stairs. The meds and breakfast could wait. It was going to be one of those rare days where he spent a lot of time in bed. Prayer would be good. He pulled out his Bible from the nightstand and sat on the bed. Opening it to a random passage, he started to read, but the words blurred. Before he could concentrate on God’s Word, he needed to physically work the anger out of his system. Tugging on a pair of lightweight sweats and a Yale T-shirt, Marc ran for ten miles before he even slowed. He pushed himself to the limit, a cathartic release of all his pent-up energy and frustration. Sweat stung his eyes—or was it salt from the occasional tear he shed?

  He’d never had reason to be jealous before where Natalie was concerned, but now he was so jealous he couldn’t see straight. He didn’t like it, but it was fact. Maybe he should buy a punching bag. Call it Clemson. Splendid idea. Gasping, in need of hydration, he finally headed home.

  After his shower, he dried his hair and sat on the bed again, eyeing his Bible. “Lord, I need you. Give me something to cling to, some promise, some hope for a future with Natalie.” He had his pick—despair, loneliness, frustration, helplessness, and at the moment, forgiveness . . . they all had their place.

  His fingers found the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. The so-called famous love chapter. Natalie’s TeamWork friends, Winnie and Rebekah, read it at their wedding. He hesitated when he reached the fourth verse. This is where it got really good. Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant.

  Marc hung his head, his heart heavy with unbearable sadness. “I’ve already broken every one of these rules this morning.” Impatient? Definitely. Unkind? Yep. Got that one covered. Jealous? Check. Braggart? Yeah, you could say that. Arrogant? Sure. A groan escaped and he fell on the bed, flat on his back. It couldn’t be much worse, couldn’t convict him any more if God Himself stood in the bedroom and lashed out at him. These words were meant for him. Now.

  Natalie always said that was one of the greatest things about God’s Word. “Trust in Him, and He’ll give you what you need, when you need it. Not always what we think we need, but what we need to bring us back to Him, to the truth He wants us to learn.”

  Struggling to sit up, he leaned against the headboard and propped the Bible on his knees as he continued reading. Does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things . . .

  Marc read aloud in the quiet of the bedroom, “Hopes all things, endures all things.” He read to the end of the chapter. “But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love.” Raising his face to the ceiling, he closed his eyes. “Lord, how I’ve failed. I love my wife. I know I acted like a jealous idiot. Love can conquer all—the hurt in our hearts, the loneliness, the confusion and the anger. If it’s space away from me Natalie needs, help me to be patient and understanding. Whatever she needs to bring her back home.”

  His shoulders slumped, and he prayed some more. Natalie was right. The Lord had given him exactly what he needed for his bleak, hurting heart. “Lord, hear my prayer. Please.” Mentally, physically and emotionally drained, he rolled over and went back to sleep. In the middle of the morning.

  Chapter 8

  The next two weeks went by in a blur. He called Natalie every day, sent her a few e-mails and had an overpriced floral arrangement of Sorry Flowers delivered. It was worth it. Thank goodness she accepted his apology readily enough for acting like a fool around Roger. Jealousy was hard as anything to shake. It would take time.

  He was surprised but thrilled when Natalie asked him to accompany her to a meeting at the school with the principal and teachers. Whether for moral support or whatever, he was thankful. Although they tried to hide it, Marc glimpsed pity in their eyes, and his heart hurt for his wife. Curiosity and questions she could handle, but pity was tough to manage. He could identify. Back in the car after the meeting, as he drove away from the school, Natalie broke down and whimpered like a baby. Ashamed, she tried to stop, but couldn’t.

  “I can’t remember most of them,” she said, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is so . . . so . . .” She wrung her hands and burst into hard tears.

  Quickly steering the Lexus to the side of the road, Marc cut the engine and drew her into his arms, murmuring that everything would be all right. It felt so good to be able to comfort her, to be needed again. Since she’d moved out of the house, he’d felt dispensable—it was a foreign feeling, definitely not a good thing.

  Meeting a few days later for lunch, on a whim, he brought along their wedding album. Natalie flipped through the pages, listening as he pointed out relatives, co-workers, church friends—some familiar, some not, although there seemed no pattern of recollection. She stared at one particular photo of a pretty, dark-haired bridesmaid named Amy, nodding as he told her Amy and two other bridesmaids were from TeamWork, a missions group she’d worked with several summers. When she asked if willowy, statuesque Rebekah Grant was a model, Natalie seemed surprised when he told her she was an elementary schoolteacher in Louisiana. Drawing the photo album closer, she scrutinized a photo of another lovely blonde with big blue eyes. Pointing to her, she murmured, “Winnie.”

  Overcome with excitement, Marc swept her in a huge hug.

  “You know,” she said, lowering the album back to the table, her eyes far away, “I can’t explain it except that I have this warm feeling when I look at them, the girls from TeamWork. It’s like God’s telling me they’re important in my life.” She shrugged and gave him an adorable grin. “It’s true. God’s ways are mysterious.”

  He couldn’t agree more, but a sharp pang of conscience nipped at him. He hadn’t bothered to call any of her TeamWork friends since the accident. Maybe it was time. Neither had they called her, but they probably assumed she was settling into newlywed bliss. He’d need to remedy that, make some calls. It
would be hard, but it was important.

  Although he offered to take her to dinner at least once every other day, she always had an excuse, usually some school-related or church function. He dragged himself to church the second Sunday morning after the kitchen blow-up, the need to see her overpowering. He figured she’d be there since she hardly ever missed, even since her fall. It might be easier to start fresh, go to a new church where no one knew them. But what would be the point? At least these people loved them, prayed for them. You can’t buy love like that, and their church had some zealous prayer warriors. He needed all the help he could get.

  He reached for Natalie’s hand during the time of prayer, and smiled when she reciprocated. Afterwards, when she invited him to lunch, Marc could barely stomach his food, and was as meek and docile as a lamb. Until Natalie asked what was wrong with him since he was so quiet. They shared a good laugh and enjoyed the rest of their lunch together in relative normalcy, although that concept was debatable.

  ~~**~~

  But now Marc was alone again, late on a Thursday night after a long day at work. It was the same routine he’d adopted night after night. He slit the top of the plastic bag open with a kitchen knife and dumped the steaming contents of the bag onto a dinner plate. Grabbing a napkin and a fork, he headed into the living room. Natalie would kill him if she saw his feet on their brand new coffee table, but he left them there as he reached for the remote control.

  Consciously pushing thoughts of his wife from his mind, he mumbled a quick prayer. It didn’t matter if the food was appetizing. It was something to fill his stomach and his time. He missed her company, her companionship, her food. After she first moved out, she stocked the freezer with casseroles, leaving them when he was at work. But she hadn’t made as many casseroles for him lately, and he was afraid to ask why. She’d spoiled him, but he had no desire to learn how to cook when frozen or takeout sufficed just fine.

  Punching random channels on the remote control, his finger paused as a scene from a show on an adult channel flashed on the big screen television. Natalie would also kill him if she knew he’d gotten a new cable package. As a vision of a barely-clothed woman appeared, larger than life, Marc’s eyes widened as something quickened inside—a primitive, masculine response. “No!” he snarled, switching off the television. “I will not be sucked into a quagmire of sin because I can’t make love to my own wife!” Realizing he’d said the words aloud to an empty house, and realizing what he’d actually said, a bitter laugh slipped out.

  Looking at the remote control, his hand inched across the sofa. It was wrong, disgusting, and he knew better. Still, he pushed the On button and stared as the woman seductively peeled away what little remained of her clothing, accompanied by cheesy music. Under a waterfall. The only good thing to come out of it was the woman couldn’t compare to Natalie’s natural, wholesome beauty.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, God! That’s it!” Immediate self-loathing and remorse invaded, prompting him to slam the remote down to the floor with such force the back sprang open, dislodging the batteries. Putting his plate aside, Marc stalked around the corner to the phone on the kitchen wall. With a quick glance, he noted ever-efficient Natalie had saved the number of the cable company on speed dial. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, punching in the number. He didn’t want to take his Louisville Slugger to his new, state-of-the-art television, but he’d do it before he was tempted to watch that rot again. Never mind it wasn’t the television’s fault for his own sinful actions.

  As soon as he was patched through to a human being, he growled, “I want to cancel my cable service.” Given the condition of his shaky marriage, he couldn’t fall prey to temptation if he wanted to stay sane and retain his Christian testimony. It wavered enough these last few weeks, and removing any source of temptation was best. The cable company representative convinced him to keep the package with his sports channels but put a block on the smut networks. He agreed, but vowed to himself—and the Lord—he’d cut them off in a split-second if he was tempted again.

  Hanging up the phone, Marc fell to his knees in front of the sofa and raised a prayer, at least his third that hour. “Lord, keep my thoughts pure. Help me not to be so selfish. Show me the way back to my wife, and show her the way back to me. We need each other. But I need Natalie more than I think she needs me, and I know how selfish that sounds. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” The tears flowed freely down his cheeks. “But,” he sobbed, “I don’t think she wants me.” The admission ripped his heart in two.

  He gulped and took a deep, steadying breath. “Help keep me strong until I can have a restored relationship with Natalie. I know I’m not supposed to demand, not supposed to call the shots. But I’m begging you, Father. I need your help. Please, God.” His body wracking with his sobs, Marc clutched the arm of the sofa. Curling up in the corner, he wept like a baby.

  Chapter 9

  “How does that make you feel, Marc?” Like the nurse in the hospital two months ago, the clinical psychologist’s expression was devoid of emotion. It was as though he willed a blank look on his face so he wouldn’t sway his patient’s words, thoughts or opinions. He encouraged him to think for himself instead of trying to evoke a prompted response.

  “How do you think it makes me feel?” He shook his head and leaned back into the chair, staring at the esteemed doctor across the desk. His fingers twisted his gold wedding band, but he refused to look at it. The newness silently mocked him, a glaring reminder of a promise broken by a rotting piece of wood.

  “I don’t ask questions, expecting a question in return. I want answers, feelings.” Pushing away from the desk, Dr. Fontaine walked around to the front, his dark eyes never leaving his. “The only way to work through this is to confront your emotions. You need to get everything out in the open and deal with this situation one step at a time.”

  Marc shook his head. “This situation? Is that what Natalie is now?”

  Leaning back against his desk, arms crossed, Dr. Fontaine stared him down. “Drop the sarcasm. I realize you’re going through a horrible time right now, probably the worst you’ve ever faced, but throwing questions back in my face isn’t going to get you anywhere. It most definitely isn’t going to help Natalie. If you learn nothing else from this session, please take my advice and stop being so selfish.”

  He stared, incredulous. “I suppose I’m paying you handsomely for a lecture?”

  Dr. Fontaine’s laughter surprised him. “That was another question.”

  “I hardly see how chastising me is going to help anything.” Marc shook his head, knowing he sounded precariously close to sulking.

  “On the contrary,” the psychologist said. “I hate to burst your bubble, but be thankful you still have your wife. She may not remember she’s your wife at the moment, and she may never remember, but at least she’s alive.” He leaned closer. “Natalie could have been rendered an invalid, and you’d be spoon-feeding her and praying she’d talk or walk again someday.”

  Marc sat up straighter in the chair. He didn’t like being scolded, even if it was warranted. “I am thankful. Look, I know I’ve been self-centered, obstinate and entirely obnoxious throughout this whole ordeal, and believe me, you’re not the first person to tell me as much.” The corners of his mouth upturned. “I’m actually a nice guy when you get to know me. Under normal circumstances.”

  The doctor’s expression softened. “I’m sure that’s true. Unfortunately, as you know all too well, these last few months have been anything but normal. Tell me something.” He sat in the maroon leather wing chair a foot away. Crossing his legs, he intertwined his fingers and studied them. “How does your wife’s pregnancy enter into this equation?”

  Marc bristled at the reference to equation, but that was just him being overly sensitive. “I’m not sure I understand. She’s pregnant, yes.” The last time he’d seen Natalie—longer ago than he cared to admit—it stabbed him in the gut he hadn’t been able to muster much enthu
siasm for something he always thought would give him incredible joy.

  “How do you feel that you’re going to be a father with a woman who doesn’t remember you as her husband? From what you’ve shared, a woman who hasn’t lived with you as your wife since the time of the accident.”

  If only he knew. How could he find much joy in having a baby with a woman who couldn’t remember what they’d meant to one another a few weeks before? It was enough to make the strongest man bow under the pressure. So, Marc did the only thing he could—he focused on watching over Natalie and keeping his agency afloat while trying to maintain his sanity. He couldn’t take the time to worry about a baby. Horrified by his thoughts, Marc lowered his head as tears stung his eyes. “If you must know, it’s the final nail in the cross.”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “What words?” He felt scattered, without purpose or meaning, going through the motions.

  “You said ‘nail in the cross’ as opposed to the more familiar ‘nail in the coffin.’ I take it you’re a man of faith?” Dr. Fontaine sat back in his chair, watching him closely.

  “I thought I was.” They’d never talked about religion or faith before, mainly because he thought it was a taboo topic for shrinks. “Yes, I’m a Christian.” The words sounded defiant, as though daring this man to dispute their veracity. Marc raked a hand through his hair and put a hand on his knee to still its constant thumping, which brought old Mr. Davis to mind. “I’m fairly new at it. I guess you could say I haven’t exactly been living up to my end of the bargain. And,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “with all that’s happened in the last few months, I feel like I should have been a better Christian.”