Journey Of The Heart. Elissa Ambrose
by. He’d always been drawn to this style of architecture, with its direct outlines and sturdy proportions. Especially pleasing to his eye was the way the chimney jutted out from the center of the roof into the sky, majestically uniting hearth and heaven. He’d always believed there was beauty in this kind of design, and that in this kind of beauty lay truth.
Unfortunately, years of neglect had caused both aesthetic and structural damage. Alongside the house, pieces of clapboard had broken off, exposing wood studs. He looked at the broken fence and frowned. Laura hadn’t lived here in a long time, but the house still belonged to her, and she should have seen to its upkeep.
He walked down the pathway and rested his gaze on the window of Laura’s old bedroom. Was that where she was sleeping these nights? Or had she moved into one of the larger rooms? He couldn’t imagine her spending one hour, let alone one night, in her aunt’s room, even though it had once belonged to her parents.
He made his way around to the back of the house. The steeply pitched roof, which covered a lean-to and sloped down almost to the ground, was in need of repair. Several of the shingles had flipped over, and many were missing altogether. The yard here was as unkempt as it was out front. Weeds had overgrown any signs of healthy plant life, and the once trimmed bushes now resembled a forest. He vaguely remembered a garden, and for a moment he could have sworn he smelled roses. But the memory slipped away like a dream, and the scent was gone.
After completing a circle of the entire property, he found himself back at the front door. Where could she be at eight in the morning? Wanting to apologize for his outburst at the chapel, he’d come by early to make sure he’d catch her at home.
A movement at the living room window caught his eye. Suspended from a swag of faded green velvet, white lace curtains flapped in the breeze like laundry on a line. He cut across the lawn, crashing his way through the overgrown grass and weeds.
What was wrong with that woman? Maybe this wasn’t New York, but she just couldn’t go around leaving her windows open! He pushed aside the fabric and peeked inside. Why was there a light on? He knew she liked it bright, but drawing the curtains would have supplied all the light she needed. She must have left it on all night. His concern mushroomed, and he sprinted back to the front door to try the bell again.
This time if she doesn’t answer, he told himself, I’m going to climb in through the open window.
He knew he was being irrational—she could be asleep, or in the shower—but still, he had the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. It was that radar again, the radar she’d always said was between them. Normally he didn’t go in for all that psycho mumbo jumbo, but it was weird how she used to finish his sentences or tell him what was bothering him when he tried to keep it all inside. Maybe now the radar was working the other way. How else could he explain the nagging in his gut?
Maybe I can pick the lock, he thought, not thrilled with the prospect of climbing onto the splintered wood ledge of the living room window. He pulled out the Swiss Army knife from his back pocket. Rattling the knob to test its give, he was surprised when it turned in his hand. It didn’t make any sense. Laura had always been too trusting and a little naive, but she would never have left the door unlocked all night.
He entered the hallway and scrambled up the steep staircase, his footsteps thumping loudly on the threadbare carpet. “Laura!” he called, convinced she was lying unconscious somewhere in the house. “Laura!”
Once inside her childhood bedroom, he allowed himself a moment to think. On the nightstand was a photograph in an expensive-looking frame. His eyes lingered on the couple in the picture. Laura looked exquisite, in a long black-pearl satin gown that slid off her right shoulder, her hair swept back into an elegant knot. The man standing next to her was dressed in full tux, his arm resting familiarly on her exposed shoulder. On the window behind them, a heavy brocaded green curtain served as a backdrop.
In a flash Jake recalled the green velvet swag in the living room. What if she hadn’t left the window open? What if someone had broken in? What if…?
He ran out of the room and down the stairs, taking them three at a time. But she wasn’t in the living room, or anywhere else, as far as he could see. And then, standing in the hallway, just outside the kitchen, he heard a faint, low moan coming from the pantry, no louder than the mew of a kitten.
He rushed into the small room and for a moment his heart stopped beating. She was lying on the floor, motionless. He bent low and nudged her gently.
She blinked her eyes open and stared at him blankly. “What are you doing here?” she sputtered, her blue-green eyes coming to life. “How did you get in?”
“The question is,” he began, “what are you doing here?” A small naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a haze of sunlight from the kitchen window provided the only light. Looking at the boxes, he tried to assess the situation. Dozens of photographs were piled in a heap, and in a far corner, a stool lay overturned. “Are you all right? When I saw you lying there, I was afraid…I thought…”
“Of course I’m all right!” She pulled herself to a sitting position. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t I look all right?”
“Don’t move. You may have a concussion, or a broken bone—”
“As I recall, we’re no longer married. I stopped taking orders from you years ago.”
“As I recall, you never took orders from anyone, least of all me.” He had intended his remark to be as caustic as hers, but the relief flooding through him had washed away the sting. She wasn’t hurt. A little irritable and a whole lot rumpled, but she was okay. He eyed her critically. She was still wearing the black linen suit she’d worn at the service, only now it was dusty and wrinkled. Her hair was a mass of stringy tangles, her complexion pale and pasty. Under reddened eyes were large puffy bags, a sure sign that she had been crying. “Actually, you don’t look so hot,” he said matter-of-factly. “What did you do, spend the night here?” When she didn’t answer, he reached out and touched her cheek. “My God, you’re like ice! You did sleep here. Here, let me help you up.” He kneeled behind her and placed his arms around her belly, just above her hips.
“Why are you doing the Heimlich maneuver?” she snapped. “I’m not choking.” She tried to stand, but her legs gave way, and she fell back against him.
In one fluid motion, he was standing again, sweeping her into his arms.
“Who do you think you are, coming in here and manhandling me like this! Put me down!”
“I see you’re feeling better. Back to your old self again.” He rotated the front of her body into his chest, pinning her arms between them. “Still the same hell-bent ball of fire, all right. It’s good to know that some things in life don’t change.”
“You have some nerve,” she hissed, squirming in his arms. “Where are you taking me?”
“No need to thank me,” he said, releasing his grip and dumping her onto the living room couch. “I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself.” He felt her eyes burning on his back as he walked over to the window and banged it shut.
“Now what are you doing?” she called as he retreated into the hallway.
He returned with a bright red afghan. “To answer your question, I’m taking care of you. Apparently, you have forgotten how. Now, are you going to cover yourself or do I have that honor?”
“My fingers…” A look of pain flashed across her face, stripping away the veil of her defiance. “These pins and needles feel more like knives.”
He pulled the blanket over her legs and sat down at the foot of the couch. “Serves you right for leaving the door unlocked.” He reached over and began kneading the life back into her fingers. “It’s payback time. Instant karma.”
“Ouch! That hurts! I suppose you’re enjoying this.”
“Keep still.”
“I thought you didn’t go in for all