Nowhere to Run by Mary Jane Clark Page A

exposed in a garbage can on some dark city street.
    Well, she wouldn’t have to explain the theft to him now.
    There was a soft tapping at the bathroom door.
    “Come in,” she called, fully expecting to see Thomas or Tara up for a glass of water or to tell her that a bad dream had woken them. Instead, the door opened and Mike stood before her. She looked at him inquisitively.
    “Just checking to see if you’re all right.”
    “A little sore, but otherwise I’m fine.”
    He lowered his tall frame to sit on the edge of the tub.
    “I don’t know what we’d do, what I’d do, if anything happened to you, Annabelle.” His eyes welled up as he reached down and brushed her face with the back of his hand.
    This was the first sign of affection he had shown her in such a long time. He’d been so enmeshed in his dark thoughts, incapable of focusing on what was going on outside his tortured inner world. What she and the children needed was beyond his concentration. They had been living in parallel worlds: Annabelle’s rooted in the reality of young children’s schedules, keeping a house, going to work, paying the bills; Mike’s twisted with the memories of carnage and death and helplessness.
    “Nothing is going to happen to me, sweetheart. I’m right here, and you can’t get rid of me.” She brought his hand to her lips.
    Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe he was starting to come around. Maybe, please God, the old Mike was coming back to her. She missed him so.
    “Some guys from the firehouse came over today,” he offered.
    Annabelle’s face brightened. “Really? Great.”
    Mike frowned. “No, it’s not so great. There’s talk that the mayor wants to close our firehouse to balance the budget. They want me to help them fight it.”
    “What did you say?” Annabelle held her breath, waiting for his answer.
    “I told them I’d think about it.”
    At least he didn’t outright refuse. Another good sign. Maybe that medicine was beginning to work.

Chapter 52
    It was after midnight as Linus poured himself another glass of vodka. He wasn’t the least bit tired. There was no use going to bed, where he would only toss and turn.
    Walking into the library, he played with the idea of giving Lauren a call but thought better of it. Her boyfriend was coming in from Chicago this weekend. Lauren and Linus had an unspoken rule. During the week they could flirt their little brains out, but when the investment banker beau came to town, Linus was not to interrupt. Besides, he would look lonely and pathetic if he called this late.
    Lauren was a shrewd one. She had sized up the situation with Linus from the start. He was married to his work, and everything else was merely a distraction. His widower’s status made him the treasured extra man at dinner parties, but matchmakers had tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to make him part of a long-lasting couple. He enjoyed the cat-and-mouse games of flirting and dating, but another marriage was the last thing on his mind.
    Why would he ever want to marry again, he wondered, as he popped a cassette into the video deck and settled back on the bloodred leather sofa. He had gotten everything he wanted the first time around. Suzanne had been attractive, energetic, and smart, although too sensitive. Her family had vaults of money; her father was heavily invested in Manhattan real estate. Here he still sat in the gift Suzanne’s dad had given them, to get them out of the suburbs afterward, to make them forget. A three-floor apartment in the Majestic, facing out over Central Park. The old man had been generous when he died as well, leaving them enough money to take care of his beloved grandson for the rest of his life, at home, not in some impersonal, uncontrollable institution.
    The beginning years had been good ones. The twins were born just a year after they were married. Suzanne was content with double motherhood and playing Susie Homemaker in the suburbs while Linus worked on his