Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

by the lack of furnishings. All that was left was a wide-screen television and a sound system that looked as if it cost a small fortune. The walls were bare except for one lone picture of a landscape. Where the sofa had been, there were four imprints of furniture legs in the carpet pile…some candy wrappers and coins scattered about on the floor. „

The symbolism of an empty space was more than just what met the eyes. She felt the disconnection… she relived her own moment in time when this had happened to her.

"I'm sorry," she repeated as he went into the kitchen.

The sentiment seemed too trite for the occasion, but she uttered it a third time just the same.

His back was to her as he set the bottle of wine on the countertop. "What are you going to do?"

She took a second to process his comment and not take it literally. "I suppose you'll get on with your life."

"Yep."

Natalie watched as he rummaged through the cup-boards.

Tony looked at her across his shoulder. "She took the wineglasses. All I have are these."

He poured the wine into two drinking glasses and offered one to Natalie, then took a sip of his before setting it down. She noted that he already had an open beer. Moisture rolled down the amber bottle, his hand holding on to the neck as he brought it to his mouth for a drink.

As he swallowed the beer, his throat tightened. His neck muscles were taut, rigid. He was so tense, he could snap that bottle in two with little effort.

A gray T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest; his lean legs were encased by dark denim. He wore white socks that, for some reason, made her smile.

Captured by his compelling presence, she couldn't help staring, watching as he moved.

"I'd offer you a seat but I don't have any," he said, leaning his backside against the counter.

"That's okay. I can't stay long."

"She took the things we bought when we got married—couch, lamps, table and chairs. It's just stuff, I really don't give a shit. At least I have my TV." The latter was spoken with a quirk to the corner of his mouth, the first hint of amusement she'd seen on his face since he'd opened the door.

"It's a big television." She left the kitchen, glanced at the large, dark screen in the living room.

"I don't watch much television in the summer, but the wintertime is different."

"Football," she surmised.

His smile broadened a little. "That and HBO. The Sopranos."

"Hmm." She had cable, but never really watched much of anything. Working six days a week she was al-ways too tired at the end of the day to do anything more than have some dinner and go to bed.

Tony took a seat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall and brought one knee up. The black remote control for the TV unit was at his hip. "Sit down?"

Reclined against the wall, the window above him, she studied him in the winter's light. Awash in muted grays and vague shadows, he still had a monopoly on virility.

He hadn't shaved today. A dark bristle dusted his jaw and chin, his upper lip. Once more, she noticed a thin scar line on his temple, and wondered about it. His brown eyes were now leveled on her. He was looking, and not casually, either…but sort of intently regarding Natalie as if he were wondering or thinking…

Natalie squirmed inside.

She managed to sit next to him, an arm's length away. She left her legs out in front of her, one hand in her lap and the other holding on to the glass, the wine warming beneath her fingers.

They sat in solitude—quiet for a long moment. The scent of his warm skin came to her, a muskiness that filled her head and mind with his presence. Even three feet away from him, she felt too close. Too intimate. She shouldn't have come, but now she was powerless to leave. Not yet.

When he finally spoke, she almost started. "She was having an affair."

At the same time, shock, surprise and sympathy were all etched on her face. "How awful for you."

"I suspected it for a while."

"That still wouldn't take away the disappointment."

She gazed at his profile, the strength of his jaw and cut of his nose.

Tony sighed. "I'm not all that disappointed. I'm relieved."

"I think I know what you mean. I felt the same thing."

He drank a slow swallow of beer, then licked his upper lip. "How long have you been divorced?"

"About two years." She organized her thoughts quickly, then spoke them before she had time to think otherwise. "I filed. It wasn't anything my ex-husband did. We just grew apart over the years. Sometimes that happens in a marriage. It's nobody's fault. I don't mean to sound callous, but there were moments when I wish he had had an affair, then there could have been blame, a definitive reason."

"I can see your thinking, but a reason still doesn't make it easier."

"Oh, I'm not saying it would. What you are going through must be horrible. I can't imagine. And the little girl…that has to be difficult."

"I have no rights to her. Just what I feel in my heart." On that, his voice weakened, barely discernible but she heard the change in his tone. It was enough for her to react without thinking—she reached out and touched his hand.

She settled her fingertips over his, a light pressure. A small measure of comfort. He was warm, his knuckles rough. She noticed he'd removed his gold wedding band.

Smiling reassuringly, she removed her hand, feeling self-conscious about the familiar gesture.

She drank her wine, welcoming the heat that fanned through her stomach and slowed the surge in her heartbeat.

Tony hunched his shoulders slightly as he reached for the TV remote and absently flipped it around through his fingertips. "She served me at the fire station yesterday."

"That was harsh," Natalie criticized, eyebrows raised in disapproval over a matter she wasn't personally involved with. Even so,