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  “I’m so sorry about Dad,” he said through her silence. “And you know if there is anything I can do, I will. I love your parents, Sheridan.”

  But you don’t love me, she wanted to cry. At least the words he’d spoken about her parents were the first words in the last twenty-four hours that she trusted. Quentin’s mother had passed away and he had no relationship with his father. Beatrice and Cameron Collins had been his parents since he met them when he was only twenty-three years old.

  “Now, I hope you understand why I can’t deal with this. Why I can’t handle making arrangements for you to talk to Chris and Tori.”

  “I understand how you feel, but this has to be done. I’ll come over tomorrow night.”

  She sighed.

  “I can come over after dinner.”

  Will you stay?

  “Please, Sheridan.”

  Exhaustion encouraged her to agree. “Whatever.” She spoke as if the word took effort. Then she added in a much stronger tone, “But I don’t want you saying anything to Chris and Tori about what’s going on.”

  “They’re going to ask questions. Especially Chris.”

  Another truth. “Tell them we’re separating, but don’t tell them you’re a…” She stopped, daring him to finish her thought. When he said nothing, she said, “That’s all we’ll tell them, until I figure out what’s best for them.”

  “I want what’s best for them too.”

  Sheridan decided not to waste the words asking him how he could say that and then turn around and do what he’d done.

  “Good night, Quentin.” She hung up before she could hear his good-bye, before she would lose her pride and beg him to come home. She clicked the caller ID button to see where the call had come from. It was his cell phone.

  Sheridan wondered where he was. Where he’d spent all of his hours away from his family. She hadn’t allowed herself to speculate. But now the dam broke, and the questions flooded her. Was Quentin with Jett? Were they sharing a bed? Were they touching, caressing, kissing?

  She tried again to remember the last time Quentin had made love to her. Still she couldn’t.

  The sting of the tears was immediate. Quentin and Jett are together, her mind whispered as if it were telling her a secret. She squeezed her eyes, wanting to release the images that came with her thoughts. Quentin and Jett. Having sex. Making love.

  Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her BlackBerry, scrolled through the address book, and clicked on Dr. Hong’s number, then paused. Dr. Hong was her doctor—should she go to her with this news? But then she wondered what other doctor she could go to. A clinic was out of the question and she wasn’t going to choose a physician from the Yellow Pages. Not even a recommendation from a friend was safe. Her own doctor was best.

  She dialed the number.

  “Dr. Hong’s exchange.”

  “Yes,” Sheridan said through deep breaths designed to keep her tears at bay. “I’d like to leave a message for Dr. Hong.”

  “Go ahead, please.”

  “This is Sheridan Hart. I’d like to come in at her earliest appointment for a blood test.” She paused, inhaled courage, and then said, “I need to have an AIDS test.”

  Chapter Five

  Sheridan’s fork slipped from her hand.

  She glanced at Christopher and Tori, who continued to swirl the pasta onto their forks in silence, not seeming to notice what had just happened. Sheridan held her breath—one, two, three, four, five. And then the sound of the key jiggling in the front door lock.

  “Daddy’s home,” Tori squealed. She jumped from the kitchen table and ran toward the door.

  Sheridan squeezed her eyes shut. Even as she had tossed through the long hours of last night, then turned papers for a few hours in her office before she spent the rest of the day in bed, she hadn’t been able to prepare her heart for seeing the man who was the source of her pain.

  Tori’s squeals of delight brought Sheridan back to the kitchen table. Although Tori ran to greet her father, Christopher stayed in place, and his stares made Sheridan twist in her seat.

  “Chris, your father is…home.”

  He shrugged. His face remained stiff, without emotion.

  “How’s my best girl doing?” Quentin’s voice floated into the kitchen from the foyer.

  Although she couldn’t see Quentin and Tori, Sheridan played the scene in her mind—Quentin lifting Tori waist high and swinging her around in a circle. A grin surely filled Tori’s face; a smile certainly spread Quentin’s lips.

  Sheridan wanted to lay her head down and cry. In minutes, Tori’s cheer would be gone. She looked at Christopher again. His face was taut, his cheeks were sucked in.

  “Hey.”

  Sheridan looked toward the voice. Quentin stood in the arch-way to the kitchen, grasping Tori’s hand.

  “How are you?”

  There was so much in his tone. It was their history she heard the most. Sheridan tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t move from the way they were pursed, protecting her—keeping all of her emotions of the past days inside. She pushed her chair back and cringed as the legs creaked against the tile. She lifted her plate from the table.

  “Tori, finish your dinner,” she said, keeping her eyes away from Quentin.

  “I’m finished, Mom,” Tori whined. “I just want to talk to Daddy.”

  The normal words she would have said, insisting her daughter return to her dinner, didn’t come. There was nothing normal left within her.

  As she piled Tori’s plate on top of hers, Quentin said, “So, how are you, Chris?”

  When there was no response, Sheridan looked at her son. His eyes were still on her, watching, waiting.

  “Chris,” Quentin called for his son’s attention.

  Finally he turned to his father. “Mom said you were away.”

  Even before she turned, Sheridan could feel Quentin’s eyes on her.

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “Where’re your bags?”

  The dishes clanked against the porcelain sink as Sheridan almost dropped the plates.

  “Sheridan, are you all right?” Quentin asked. She heard the concern in his voice.

  She didn’t want to respond. Didn’t want to say a word to the man who was twisting her heart. The man she was still willing to beg to come home. She said, “I’m okay,” because she knew her children were watching.

  “Mom.” In Christopher’s tone, she heard his questions.

  She faced her family.

  “Chris, Tori. Your father wants to talk to you,” she said, for the first time looking directly at Quentin.

  Quentin’s eyes locked with hers, and Sheridan could almost hear his silent plea. Help, she was sure he was screaming inside.

  But she said nothing more and crossed her arms to keep her pounding heart inside her chest.

  Quentin cleared his throat. “Ah, guys, let’s go into the living room.”

  “Is something wrong, Daddy?” Tori asked. Her child’s intuition didn’t allow her to let go of her father’s hand. She’d held him from the moment he’d walked through the door.

  Quentin and Tori walked toward the other room, but Christopher stayed at the table.

  Sheridan said, “Chris, didn’t you hear your father?”

  “What does he want to talk about?”

  Sheridan stiffened. Something was in his eyes, in his voice. “Your dad’s going to tell you.”

  He stood and moved closer to her. “I want you to tell me.”

  Tears burned behind her eyes. She turned away and began rinsing the dishes. “Go into the living room, Chris. I’ll be right there.”

  Seconds passed before she heard his steps. She placed the plates inside the dishwasher, wiped off the counter and the table, dusted invisible crumbs from the chairs, and then looked around for anything else to keep her away. But there was nothing left to do. She took a breath and joined her family, as it used to be.

  Quentin sat on the couch, with Tori by his
side. Sheridan walked to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel’s edge. Christopher moved to stand next to her.

  “Son, why don’t you sit down?” Quentin motioned toward the love seat.

  Christopher shoved his hand inside his jeans and shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  Quentin looked at Sheridan. But she stayed still.

  “Tori, Chris, there is something I want to tell you.” He cleared his throat. “First, I want you to know I love you.”

  “I know that, Daddy.”

  Quentin squeezed Tori’s hand. “But your mother and I have decided…we need a little time apart. We need…” He glanced at Sheridan.

  Sheridan pressed her lips together.

  He lowered his head. “I’m going to be staying somewhere else…for a little while.”

  Tori’s eyes widened, already filling with water. “Daddy, you’re not going to be staying at home with us?”

  “No, sweetheart.”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  “I’m not sure…right now.”

  Sheridan swallowed the lump of fear those words put inside her.

  “Are you and Mom getting a divorce?” Tori asked.

  “Your mother and I haven’t decided anything yet,” Quentin said.

  “Your mother and I”? Sheridan wanted to scream to her children that she had nothing to do with this. They should know she was the good parent, the one who had expected to keep their family together until the end of time.

  “Sheridan,” Quentin said. “Do you have anything to add?”

  She shook her head.

  Quentin sighed and turned toward his daughter. He lifted Tori’s face with his fingers. “Nothing’s going to change…not really.” He wiped away Tori’s tears with his thumb. “I’ll see you all the time, and we’ll still do things together and—”

  “Why are you leaving us?” Christopher finally spoke.

  Sheridan wanted to step to the center of the room, and shout, “Bravo.” She held her smirk as she looked at her husband.

  “I can’t give you a simple answer, Chris.”

  Christopher shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be simple.”

  Quentin said, “There are just some things your mom and I have to work out.”

  “Daddy, I don’t want you to go,” Tori cried as she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck.

  “Tori.” Sheridan reached toward her daughter, and she ran from her father into her mother’s arms. “Go upstairs, and I’ll be up in a little while.”

  “Mommy, why is Daddy leaving?” Her grasp was tight around her mother’s waist.

  Sheridan kissed the top of Tori’s head. She wanted to console her, assure her the world would be just as her father promised—nothing would change. But she knew words wouldn’t soothe her daughter because she hadn’t found any in the English language to bring comfort to herself. “Honey, go up to your room, and I’ll be there in a while, okay?”

  Sheridan could feel the nod of Tori’s head before she ran upstairs, her sobs louder than her footsteps. Quentin stood, as if he wanted to follow his daughter, but he didn’t move.

  “I think Tori asked a good question,” Christopher began as he closed the space between him and his father. They stood face-to-face, toe-to-toe, father and son. Sheridan watched and wondered when Christopher had grown taller. He was standing almost an inch above his six-foot father. “Why are you leaving us?”

  “Chris,” Quentin said and reached for his son.

  “No love, Dad.” He backed away, dodging his father’s touch. “Just the truth. What’s the real reason you’re moving out?”

  Quentin glanced at Sheridan, and she shook her head.

  “Why are you trying to protect me?” Christopher said, raising his voice. “I want to know.”

  It’s time to stop this, Sheridan thought. Before Quentin blurted out more than she wanted told. “Chris, your dad said all he’s going to say.”

  “There has to be more to this than just you’re leaving. Tori and I deserve to know.” Christopher’s voice quivered as he looked between his parents.

  Sheridan said, “Like your father told you, we have to work some things out.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “Christopher, we are still your parents,” Quentin said. “You are not going to talk to us that way.”

  “Then I won’t talk to you at all.”

  Sheridan watched her son march up the stairs. When she heard his bedroom door slam, she whispered, “That went well.”

  Quentin shook his head at her sarcasm. “We should have told them the truth. Lying never works,” he said, as he turned back toward the couch.

  She almost laughed. “You’ve been lying for seventeen years. Now you’re a man with integrity? Please.”

  The soft lines of his jaw hardened, and he pressed his lips together as if he was trying to hold back words he might later regret. After a moment he said, “We’re going to have to tell them. I want them to understand and know they will always be a part of my life.”

  It was Sheridan’s turn to be silent.

  “And you too, Sheridan.” He paused. “I will always take care of you.”

  She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Quentin.” She spoke softly, then stopped, letting his name rest between them for a moment. “How can you talk about love, and caring, and all of those things, and then just walk out of here? Like your family never mattered.”

  “You and the children have always mattered to me. That’s why I waited so long and why it’s so hard now.”

  “But none of this makes sense. I thought you loved me.”

  “I do.” He shook his head. “I know it’s difficult to understand.”

  She looked down at the floor. “Was it me?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said quickly and took steps toward her, but stopped when she stiffened. “Please believe me. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “How can you say that? Obviously, something was wrong. Something was missing for you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see Jett in her mind.

  “This was happening long before I ever met you.”

  “That’s the part I don’t understand. You keep talking about all the years you’ve had these feelings. But then, what were the seventeen years with me about?”

  “They were about loving you.”

  There it was again. Moving words, loving words, words that let her know she was cherished. Only now she knew the truth.

  “Sheridan,” he continued, “believe me when I say if there was any other way—if there was anything else I could have done, I would have done it. But I was miserable.”

  His words made her want to cry. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, trying to close off everything that had once been open to him.

  Quentin stared at her for a moment. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

  It took a moment for Sheridan to understand. She turned her hand, staring at her bare left fingers. Then she frowned at him. “Why should I?”

  He spoke no words, just lowered his eyes.

  “I hope you didn’t imagine you were going to have me and…” She stopped and held up her hands as if she were surrendering. “Anyway, I’m sure Tori will want to speak to you. And probably Chris, too. Where can they reach you?”

  He walked to the mantel and stared at the photos of the four people who were the parts of the Hart family. It took a moment before Sheridan understood Quentin’s silence. “Have you already moved in with Jett?”

  His silence was louder this time.

  “Quentin?” She called his name with dread and disbelief. And then the hours rushed through her. The hours she’d been living this nightmare, wondering what was wrong with her. Wishing she could have her husband back. Hours she’d spent blaming herself, feeling inadequate, insignificant. “How could you do this?”

  “Sheridan, I’m sorry,” he said, still turned away from her.

  His words unwrapped the
anger she’d been holding within. “I cannot believe you.”

  He faced her. “Sheridan, sweet—” He stopped before he finished. “I have to give this a chance. If I don’t, I’ll never know.”

  “So you really didn’t want to stay here with me and the kids? All of that stuff you said on Monday was just show.”

  “No, I wanted to stay, but when you decided I should leave…”

  “You were looking for permission to leave me and the kids to go live this lifestyle you know is wrong.”

  “Permission?”

  “Well, if you’re looking for permission, Quentin, you’re not going to get it. You’re not going to get it from me or Tori or Chris or Pastor Ford or from anyone you know. If you’re going to do this, you’re on your own.”

  “I’m not looking for permission. I know what I have to do.”

  “And I know what I have to do. First, I’ll be taking an AIDS test tomorrow.”

  Quentin took a quick step toward her. “I never exposed you to anything, Sheridan. I would never do that. The things that happened between me and Jett before…” He stopped when her face contorted with revulsion. “I was never intimate with a man,” he whispered. “Not while we were together.”

  She almost screamed, then remembered their children. “I didn’t know we weren’t together, Quentin. You left home,” she paused and looked at her watch, “barely sixty hours ago.”

  He looked away from her. “I promise you, I never exposed you to anything.”

  She chuckled, although there was no humor in her sound. “And tell me why I’m supposed to believe you.”

  “I never lied to you.”

  Sheridan shook her head. “What’s so sad is that you don’t get it. You’re a liar, Quentin. Your entire life is a lie, and you’re acting like you don’t realize that.” She moved toward the stairs. But then she turned back to him. “I’ll be speaking to an attorney. I want a divorce as quickly as possible.”

  His eyes widened as if he was surprised by her announcement. “Don’t you think you’re moving too fast? We need to wait—”

  “Wait for what, Quentin?” Sheridan took slow steps toward him. When she stopped, she was standing so close, she could almost feel his heartbeat. Her breathing quickened as she felt the warmth of his breath through his full lips. She took in the dark speckles that sometimes blackened his brown eyes. She stared at the gleam of his freshly shaven head and inhaled his scent, knowing her nostrils would never forget him.