Within Reach by Barbara Delinsky

this or “you know” that—and it annoyed her. It was a way of shifting blame, of evoking guilt, of putting her down. Too often that you-should-know-better tone of his made her feel like a child being chastised, and she resented it.
    “You know, Blake,” she began, purposely copying his tone, “if you really wanted to, you could. Many a man does, particularly one in as secure a position as you.”
    “This summer’s different.”
    “Is it?” She listened to herself and realized that it wasn’t often she spoke up to him. Once started, she couldn’t help herself, though she kept her voice low. “You don’t like it up there, do you?”
    “Of course I do. It’s a lovely place.”
    She knew he was patronizing her. “You were bored the whole time we were there. You were happiest when you were in the den going through papers or talking on the phone.”
    He didn’t deny it and she wondered, as she had so often since their return, what he had thought of their lovemaking that night. He hadn’t touched her since, which wasn’t unusual for him. Nor had he said anything immediately after. He had rolled onto his side of the bed and gone to sleep.
    “I love my work. You should be grateful. If I was bored and frustrated, I’d be impossible to live with.”
    “I sometimes wish that would happen. Maybe then we’d fight at least. It’s so hard to get a rise from you, Blake. Does anything upset you?”
    He gave a dry laugh. “If I let every little thing upset me, I’d never have gotten to where I am today.”
    “Not every little thing. How about one big thing?”
    He seemed to hesitate longer than usual. “Yes, there have been big things that have upset me, but not for long. Nothing’s accomplished by getting upset. You have to think clearly. You have to analyze the facts and your options. You have to make decisions and see them through.”
    “Spoken like the successful businessman you are,” she murmured. In truth, she had been thinking about their relationship when she had asked if anything ever upset him. He had chosen to respond in terms of work. It was typical.
    “Danica,” he sighed, “is something bothering you?”
    “Why would you think that?” Her sarcasm sailed over his head.
    “You sound as though you resent my work.” Still he didn’t raise his voice. She wished she could have attributed that fact to Marcus’s silent presence in the front seat, but she knew better. Marcus was the perfect chauffeur, trained to be blind and deaf as the situation demanded. Besides, it was raining, and the steady patter on the roof served as static to diffuse their low-spoken words. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. You, of all people, should understand that.”
    There it was again. She gritted her teeth. “Why me, of all people?”
    “You come from a family where achievement is highly prized. Your father has worked hard for years to cement his position.”
    “That’s right. And in doing so, he sacrificed a good many of the finer things in life.”
    “I don’t know about that. It seems to me he has pretty much everything he wants.”
    That, in a nutshell, was what was wrong, Danica realized. It had less to do with William Marshall being satisfied than with Blake Lindsay identifying with the components of that satisfaction. She seemed to be the one marching out of step in the parade.
    “Power,” she sighed in defeat. “He has power.”
    “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”
    Staring at her husband’s smug profile in the darkness, she knew there was no point in continuing the discussion. He didn’t see the way she did; it was as simple as that. Perhaps it was her own fault, she mused. She had married a man so like her father that she was bound to suffer the same frustrations she had known growing up. A psychiatrist would have a field day. On the other hand, it didn’t take a psychiatrist to explain why she’d done it. All her life she had wanted her father’s approval. Marrying Blake and being