Please God, do not let the moisture seeping into my sleeve be blood. Please, don’t let her be bleeding, Andrew prayed, still trying to rein in his own pain and keep Evelyn off the floor. “Mr. James?” “Tank!” Andrew exclaimed. “Thank God. I need your assistance. Will you help me get Evelyn off the floor, please?” A few seconds after, he felt the driver’s large arms slip gently between him and Evelyn, then her weight was lifted off. “What happened? Who was that woman? Mary!” Rolling to his knees, Andrew staggered to his feet, then glanced at his arm. Blood. He whirled, stumbling towards Evelyn where Tank had laid her on the sofa and crashing to his knees. A heavy stain, bright red against the shimmery white of her nightgown, stretched across her abdomen. “Tank, do you have a pocketknife?” “I have scissors.” Mary hurried forward, pulling a pair of scissors from the front pocket of her dress. Lifting the sticky fabric, Andrew snipped it open, then cut a wide hole in the abdomen of
“But—she was just—I don’t understand. How?” Stunned, Evelyn stumbled over her words, completely at a loss for what to say. Charlotte had been an unpleasant woman, but everything about her life seemed pitiful and tragic, even her sudden end. As if her words were the heaviest thing to bear, Andrew closed his eyes. “An automobile accident. Apparently, she had driven herself here. She lost control of the car on the Taconic. Collided with a truck head-on.” “The Taconic State Parkway? But I thought she was in St. Louis?” Confused, her brows drew together. There hadn’t been much time for her to catch up on what had happened during the week she’d spent in the hospital, but she was certain he had told her the private investigators had found Charlotte there and were able to serve the divorce petition. Opening his eyes, he nodded. “She was.” He rose, releasing her hand to come around to his side of the bed. Sitting on the side, he slipped off his shoes and stretched out
Evelyn watched from the bed as Andrew selected a neatly hung suit from the closet, matching it carefully to a crisply pressed shirt, then selected a suitable tie. As he emerged from the closet, he glanced up at her, freshly washed after showering with his help and propped against the pillows on their bed, combing out her wet hair. He stopped in place, surprised to find her watching him so intently. With an appreciative smile, she let her eyes flick down the naked length of him, then return slowly to his face. Her smile broadened as, detecting the movement of her eyes, he glanced down at his own nakedness. Looking up again, he arched a brow, then flashed her a lazy grin. “I see you must be feeling better.” Still smiling, she replied, “Quite tired still, but not so exhausted that I don’t recognize a pleasant sight when I see one.” Andrew couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so flirtatious, but he wouldn’t complain either. He grinned wickedly. Laying the suit, dress shirt and tie
“Mr. James!” “Andrew James!” A flurry of jackets and fluttering paper greeted him as he and Alexander descended the courthouse steps. Andrew flinched at a bright camera flash, frowning as white spots blinded parts of his vision. The press. Just what he needed. Alexander clapped an arm around his shoulders. “I warned you,” he said softly. “Just get me out of it.” “Mr. James, is it true your wife was killed after meeting with you?” a reporter demanded, shoving in close with a large cluster of others. “Were you arguing about the divorce?” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Alexander cut in, steering Andrew toward the street and a line of awaiting cabs, “these questions are of no consequence. Mrs. James died tragically yesterday afternoon. Mr. James has just dropped his divorce petition to take care of his wife’s remains and final estate matters.” “Your court documents state Mrs. James has been residing in St. Louis since sometime ove
Evelyn recognized the perfunctory knock as Andrew’s before the door opened and he slipped into their bedroom. He hadn’t made it home in time to have lunch with her as he’d hoped. Instead, after taking care of his other errands— which, for some bizarre reason she had yet to hear, included Justin—they’d barely had time to get to the children’s school at the dismissal hour to pick them up. Between Sarah’s mathematics homework—Andrew’s parenting responsibility—and Peter’s reading assignment—Evelyn’s childcare duty—and the myriad of hysterics and tantrums that seemed to go hand in hand with both children’s learning process, then whining over the dinner options, then arguments about baths, then bedtime rituals, there hadn’t been much time for her and Andrew to talk. Whispered in passing, he had mentioned he thought to talk to the children tonight about Charlotte’s death, but she began to wonder if he wasn’t having second thoughts after how exhausting the evening had been.
As it had the previous morning and early Monday afternoon when Andrew had brought her home, the shower Wednesday morning took longer than Evelyn ever recalled either of them spending in it previously. In fact, she felt confident in saying it took longer than it did when she ran a bath, then washed, then rinsed with clean water. She was pleased to have done without the chair entirely, happy to find herself able to stand for the duration despite the drawn out washing process. And the excessive drying process which inevitably took longer than it needed too. When at last Andrew hung their towels over the rack in the warm and humid bathroom, a lazy smile still curling his lips and his half-lidded mutable blue eyes glittering with green, he wiped the steamed-up crystal face of his wristwatch and commented, “See? We’re finished with time to spare before the children get up to get ready for school.” Evelyn took a step back, her index finger raised between them, as he
“Peter, please, sit down and eat your breakfast,” Evelyn said, catching the boy by the arm as he attempted to dart past her and away from the dining table. “You’re going to make everyone late, or you’ll be hungry at school.” “But I forgot to put Lofty on the plants! He’ll be hungry!” “Then you’d best sit down and eat quickly so you can remedy that.” Despite his prying fingers, she held him firmly. “It’ll only take a second to get him,” the boy argued. “Peter,” Andrew rose from his seat at the head of the table, giving the boy a stern look down his straight, narrow nose. “Sit down at once like your mother told you.” “But Father—.” Andrew shook his head. “Absolutely not. Sit and eat, or you’ll spend the weekend without Lofty. Do I make myself clear?” It was a harsher consequence than Evelyn preferred to inflict, particularly for such a minor infraction, but she had to admit, the threat got Peter to yield. After a fashion. Returning to his seat, he plunked into it heavily, crossi
“Oh my word!” Evelyn exclaimed, pivoting on the dressing table stool as the bedroom door opened, despite the command from the hairstylist that she remain still. “Is that my Sarah? Turn around! Let me see!” Beaming, the girl paused, gave a pert curtsey, then turned around in her ruffled white dress, modeling. “Isn’t it pretty?” “Well, yes, the dress is pretty, Sarah, but the person wearing it is much prettier. You look like a young Mary Pickford. My word, your curls just shine like satin.” “Wait until you see Aunt Lily!” Sarah bounded onto the bed, perching where Evelyn could see her in one of the tri-fold mirrors on the dressing table. “She looks like Jean Harlow!” “Does she?” Evelyn asked, straightening on the stool and sighing deeply as the stylist got back to work. “I always thought she looked more like Priscilla Lane, but bright as her hair is, you’re probably right. She’s been turning heads for years.” “I can hardly wait!" Sarah giggled. "Uncle Justin’s going to flip when he