Previous Chapter

As Shelagh prepared for bed, she tried to ignore the coil of tension she felt growing in her body. Patrick sat up in bed, reading, or at least, she thought, he wanted her to think he was reading. As much as Patrick wanted the discussion closed, she knew it couldn’t be. She wanted to please him, but she could not pretend the matter did not exist.

She pressed her lips together in frustration as she brushed out her hair. It would be much easier if the evening followed her plan. Timothy’s near miss with trouble had added a layer of complication she would have preferred to avoid.

Nervously, she stood to remove her robe and slid into their bed beside him. Almost immediately, Patrick closed his book and reached to turn off his lamp.

“Good night, love,” he said.

Shelagh was not deceived by his light tone. Her husband was starting to build up an invisible wall around himself, one she could almost physically feel. Her mind went back to the dark days of  last autumn, when it felt as if everything was going wrong. Once her own anger subsided, Patrick had slipped into a polite coolness and so much seemed to be lost.

She sighed quietly. She had felt so helpless during the dark weeks of their estrangement. Patrick retreated so far away from her that she worried they wouldn’t find their way back. Her efforts at reconciliation went unheeded, until one night he came home, ready to let her back into his heart. Somehow they had managed to reach across the barrier to find each other.

It had been brave of him, she knew. Now it was her turn to be brave.

Shelagh slid under his arm and pressed herself against him, her head on his chest. Trying to find a crack in his armor, she willed him to accept her gesture. After a momentary pause, Patrick responded and tightened his arm around her. Relief began to ease her stress.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I didn’t mean to upset you.” she told him. “I hate it when we argue.”

She heard him exhale, his tension unwinding a bit as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t even know what we were arguing about. I think the drama with Tim just wound us up, that’s all. A good night’s sleep and everything’ll be right as rain.”

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “I suppose so.” She rubbed her nose against his chest, breathing him in. Her fingers gently stroked his pyjama top, its soft cotton soothing her.

“That’s my girl,” Patrick murmured.

She’d always loved his pet name for her, how it made her feel cared for, adored. Those first weeks after leaving the convent, when she so felt so desperately adrift, it had given her a place in her new world. Patrick loved her; she was his girl. They belonged to each other.

She loved how he made her feel safe. His self confidence and his ability to take charge had always impressed her. Patrick was a man others turned to for guidance, and he was used to others following his advice.

Shelagh’s brow began to wrinkle. His soft words struck her differently tonight. He almost sounded paternal. Her heart skipped a moment. Is that how he thought of her, a beloved ingenue to be indulged? Did she make it easy for him to slip into this role with her? Is that what he wanted of her?  Is that what she wanted of him?

Shelagh breathed deeply, gathering her strength. “We have to be able to talk of difficult things, dearest. We promised each other we wouldn’t hide behind silence.” She could feel his body go rigid again, the wall getting thicker.

“Shelagh, we’re both tired. Save it for another time.” Patrick’s voice was chilly.

She wanted to heed his words. She wanted to hug him to her, forget her worries. They were so happy. Why let this come between them? He worked so hard, had so many worries. Perhaps she should let the matter rest.

“See, better already,” Patrick’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips.

Shelagh pushed up, resting her forearms on his chest. “Patrick, dearest,” she began nervously, “I’m sorry, but it’s not better. We’re simply brushing this aside.” She could feel her courage falter as she met his gaze.

His eyes clouded over, shielding his thoughts. “Shelagh-”

She could see him resisting her, unwilling to open up. He never got angry with her, indeed he rarely showed even mere annoyance. But was there a false safety in that?

The wall between them became unbearable and Shelagh let instinct take over. Above all things, the barrier must come down. She slid up higher on his chest and pulled his head to hers. Her lips pressed to his softly, caressing. She could feel his resistance and pushed beyond it. Between gentle tugs on his lips, she whispered, “I love you, Patrick. Don’t go away from me. Please let me in.”

His mouth softened under hers and she deepened the kiss. She pressed tighter to him, needing to be closer, and her hands slid down his neck to grasp his shoulders. Resistance gone, Patrick’s arms wrapped around her and he turned, pressing her body into their bed.

---

Later, Patrick chuckled into her ear. “You always surprise me, sweetheart.”

“Hmmm. It’s no surprise, dearest.” Shelagh opened her eyes and smiled. “I love you so very much.” She stretched, her soft body against his, her feet pressing to the tops of his.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, though,” she admitted.

Patrick picked up her hand from his chest, intertwining their fingers. “I’m glad it did.”

She nodded, watching their hands. “Yes. You were so far away.” She released him, pushing up on his chest to meet his eyes squarely. “We have to be able to disagree, Patrick. Wait-let me say this and then we can let it rest for a bit, I promise.”

He sighed heavily, sitting up higher against the pillows.

Shelagh sat up as well. On her knees, she sat just even with him. She took a deep breath and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I think your cough is a problem, dearest, and I think you do, too. I think you were so angry tonight because you don’t want Timothy to smoke, ever.” Patrick made to interrupt. “No, let me finish. It’s the one area you don’t lecture your patients on, but you know as well as I do how very harmful it can be.”

She reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. “You know how much I love you, Patrick. I don’t want anything to harm you. Just consider it, that’s all I’m asking.”

Patrick’s eyes ran over her, taking in the tousled hair, her swollen lips, the sheet pulled up as modestly as she could and nodded. “I tried once. To quit. After the war, after-when I came home. I thought if I could stop smoking, it would be another way to leave it all behind me.” He smiled crookedly. “I reckon I can be a bit thick.”

Shelagh smiled back at him and pushed her fingers through his hair. “Perhaps a bit. Patrick dearest, trust me. Don’t hold it in. If we need to, someday we’ll have a full stop shouting match. And we’ll survive.”

Reaching out, he pulled her onto his lap, a tangle of sheets and pillows. “Hmmm,” he groaned into her neck. “Especially if we can make up so nicely.”

“That’s a promise we can definitely keep, lovely man.”

Patrick lifted his face, suddenly serious. “I can’t promise about the smoking, though, Shelagh. It’s been a long time. But I will consider it.”

Her arms slid back around his neck. “I know. And I promise not to nag about it. Just as long as we keep talking.”
“Shhh. You talk too much,” her husband murmured.

Next Chapter