Her Dear and Loving Husband Read Online Free PDF Page B

but from the feeling that she recognized him. But how could she know someone she hadn’t seen before? What was she supposed to say to him—“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” It was such a bad pick-up line. She couldn’t explain why she thought the man or his house looked familiar, so she decided it would be best if she went home.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “I can see I’ve disturbed you. I’ll leave.”
    As she turned toward the road she felt his hand on her arm. She didn’t expect him to get to her so quickly from where he stood, and she didn’t understand why he had to grip her so tightly. Finally, she could see him in the slim strings of moonlight, his blond hair, his handsome face. He was intense, needing something, wanting something, but she was afraid to guess what that might be.
    He touched his hand to her cheek. “Lizzie. My Lizzie,” he said. “You’ve come home to me.” When Sarah stepped back he moved toward her, closing the space between them. “It’s all right, Elizabeth. Everything is all right now. You’re home.”
    “My name is Sarah.”
    He didn’t seem to hear her. He kept his hand to her cheek, his skin cool, she thought, like the water at night when she walked near the shore, not cold as much as unheated. He was so taken by staring at her that she thought he must recognize his mistake, but he stayed calm, like mistaking one person for another was something he did every night. As she stared at him she noticed his eyes. In the silver moonlight he looked too pale, but his eyes were darker than a tornado in the night ocean sky. He continued staring at her, intent, desperate, as if he were hoping to see something in her that could not be there. She wanted to run away and not look back, but something kept her there, watching him, curious about him. Drawn to him.
    “Are you James Wentworth?” she asked, trying to spark some recognition in him. “Jennifer Mandel said she knows you from the college. We drove past your house and I thought it was interesting so I came back to look. Please, just let me go and I’ll leave.” 
    There was a flash of light in his stormy night eyes. He let go of her arm and stepped away. “Oh my God,” he said. “Yes, I am James Wentworth. I am so sorry.” He dropped his face into his hands. “Oh my God,” he said again. When he lifted his head he seemed as if nothing strange had passed between them, like a completely different man—rational, composed, thoughtful.   
    “I can see I’ve frightened you,” James said. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.” He walked closer to her, tentatively, as if he were afraid of scaring her again. He was inspecting her, searching her face, her hair, her hands. He leaned his face over her head, close to her hair, as if he smelled her. And then it started to rain.
    “Will you come back?” he asked.
    “Maybe.”
    That seemed to be the safest answer. Sarah turned toward the road, and when she looked back he was already by his door, watching her. Some part of her wanted to go back to him, brush his hair from his eyes, ask if he was all right, he seemed so very spent and broken. Then she felt the pull of him, as if he reached inside her and found her innermost secrets, the best and the worst of her, and yet he was still there. There was something in him, some longing, and she scolded herself for wanting to stay and discover its meaning. She needed to be far away from him so she walked, faster and faster, trying not to slip and slide in the slick, wet street, away from the old house from her dreams.

CHAPTER 5
     
    Sarah avoided thinking about the beautiful strange man by the beautiful old house for most of the rest of the weekend. Monday night she was busy in the high-tech room in the library preparing for a seminar about how to access resources from off campus. Jennifer found her while she was setting up the Elmo machine.
    “Need help?” Jennifer asked.
    “No thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ve