Page 64 of Landing Love

He closed his eyes and sighed. What could he do? Pritchard could be anywhere. There was nothing for it but to wait and keep trying.

Ann came up to him with furrowed brow and put her hand on his sweaty forehead. “It’s hard to tell with the heat, but I think you’re running a fever. I’ll run you a cool bath. Keep an eye on Junior.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and running water tinkled from behind the door. Junior seemed perfectly content to gnaw on his favorite cloth bunny. If only it was that easy to cheer up Ann.

He had to fix things between them. Was there anything he could do or say that wouldn’t require Pritchard? It was bad enough being sick, but having her mad at him was far worse. He’d give anything to be back in her good graces.

When she came back out, she wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Ann, how can I make this better? There has to be something I can do to fix this. I know you’ll get the truth from Pritchard eventually, but I want to make it up to you now.”

“There’s nothing you can do except not let it happen again. It’s going to take time for me to regain my trust in you.”

Another fit of coughing overtook him. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but I love you and would never intentionally do something so hurtful. I⁠—”

“Please don’t, Bill. It only serves to remind me how much I’ve lost.”

How much she lost… A faithful husband. A love that was true. And right now, in her mind, Bill was the opposite of Roger. He never meant to stoke her grief, but that was exactly what he had done. What a bitter pill this was to swallow. He’d inflicted pain on her with his carelessness at the very moment he’d hoped to convince her of his love. This was the worst thing he could have done.

“I’ll go take that bath. I don’t think I can eat any more.” He got up from the table having only eaten a few bites and dragged himself into the bathroom where he stripped off his union suit and sank into the bath. It brought instant relief, and he leaned back, reveling in the cool water on his burning flesh.

He closed his eyes and imagined the life he wanted with Ann. They lived in the Millington house, down the street from his parents. Junior toddled around on the front porch while he and Ann sat sipping lemonade on a porch swing on a balmy summer evening. Her belly was large and round with child. Their child. Perhaps later, they would go inside and sing together at the piano. She rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, “I love you.”

Then the scene in his head shifted. They were still in the Millington house, but she sat in the parlor alone with her knitting. When he walked in, her eyes were cold and forbidding. There was no child on the way. She kept a separate bedroom. She kept Junior away from him too, not trusting his influence. The piano was covered with a thick layer of dust, untouched since he bought it for her. She turned her gaze from him to the picture he’d given her with Roger and her mother, those paragons of virtue who had never betrayed her. He bowed his head and backed away.

Pritchard had to come to the rescue. He couldn’t take much more of this. He loved her too much.

He sat up and soaped himself off, even though it made his skin crawl. Then he washed his hair, his arms heavy as lead. With great effort, he pushed himself up from the bath and wrapped a towel around his waist.

When he left the bathroom, he could feel Ann’s eyes on him. He turned to meet her gaze, and she blushed and looked away. If he could make her blush, then perhaps there was still some hope.

He put on a fresh union suit. After hanging up his towel and combing his hair, he made his way to the telephone and dialed Pritchard. Still no answer. Where could that troublesome bastard have gotten to?

“You should go back to bed,” Ann said, no warmth in her voice. “You look like you’re barely awake.”

He wandered back to the bed and lay down. “Ann, please forgive me.” It was hopeless, he knew, but he couldn’t stop asking.

“We’ll discuss it later when you’re feeling better and I’ve had a chance to speak to your friend. You need to rest.”

“I can’t rest knowing you’re angry with me.”

She looked at him long and hard. At last, her expression softened, and her shoulders sagged. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt until I get hold of your friend. Now rest. Please.” She came over and kissed his forehead. He sighed and drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up again, it was evening. Ann urged him to get up and have some of the chicken soup she made. It was delicious, even if it was too hot for the weather. He wished he could suck on ice. He was radiating heat as he swallowed each spoonful of the delicious, salty broth. At least Junior was happy as he mashed a banana into his wispy hair.

“Are you feeling any better?” Ann’s brow furrowed. That haggard look from when they first met had returned, and damn it all, he’d put it there.

“No,” he said in a rough, broken voice.

“Perhaps we should call for the doctor.” She reached out and touched her hand to his forehead. “You feel very feverish.”

“I’ll be fine,” he lied, knowing very well he was in a bad way. “I just need to sleep it off.” He took another few bites of soup. “Any luck with Pritchard?”

She shook her head. “Still no answer.”

“Will you believe Pritchard when you talk to him?” he asked quietly, voicing a fear he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’ll try. I won’t pretend I haven’t wondered if he might lie to cover for you.”