Midnight, Moonlight & Miracles. Teresa Southwick

watched the front door open and his visitor step onto the wooden floor in the entryway. “Simon?”

      “Hi, Janet.”

      The attractive, fiftyish woman wearing designer jeans, tailored T-shirt and matching navy cardigan stood motionless, studying him from across the room. Her short blond hair was neatly arranged around her softly lined face. Her normally warm brown eyes stared at him in horror.

      “Good Lord, Simon. What in the world have you done to yourself now? I came over because I was afraid of something like this.” She slammed the door, then walked over to him.

      “I don’t want to talk about it, Jan.”

      “The fact that you’re a mess from head to toe? Or that Marcus died two years ago yesterday?” She came farther into the room and stood by the couch, studying him. “Or do you not want to talk about the decision I was forced to make after the accident?”

      “None of the above,” he said, throwing his forearm across his eyes. But that didn’t stop him from seeing the memories. “You’ve done your good deed for the day. You’re off the hook.”

      “I was never on the hook. But okay.”

      For a moment he thought she’d listened and was going to leave him alone. But when she cleared her throat, he knew it was only the beginning.

      “We won’t talk about it now,” she said. “But mark my words, the day is coming—soon.”

      “No, it’s not. When are you going to give up on me?”

      “Never.”

      “Why do you bother?” He removed his arm and looked at her. “I made your daughter miserable.”

      “It takes two people to make or break a relationship, Simon.” She sighed and sat on the coffee table to face him. “Donna wasn’t blameless. I’m afraid she had expectations that most men couldn’t live up to. Now we’ll never know if she might have found happiness,” she added sadly.

      “I still don’t know why you waste your time on me. Surely you’ve got better things to do?”

      “You didn’t give up on me after I lost Hank.”

      “That was different.”

      “Oh? I loved and missed him. How is that different?”

      “I don’t have the strength to explain. It just is.”

      “You and Donna were divorced. But that didn’t stop you from calling and coming by when I needed some chore or manly thing done around the house. Did you consider it a waste of time when you took me to lunch or dinner, giving me a reason to put on makeup and get out of the house? What about that line you fed me? That I was your son’s grandmother and that made us family.”

      “It wasn’t a line. You’re a good person, Jan.”

      “And you’re not?”

      She knew the answer to that as well as he did. Why did they have to play twenty questions? He lowered his arm and met her sympathetic gaze. He didn’t want or need her to tell him anything. Marcus had dibs on forgiveness, but he was gone and wasn’t coming back.

      “Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know what you’re trying to do,” he said.

      Her mouth quirked. “What?”

      “I invented the innocent act. It won’t work on me. Have you been taking those classes again?”

      “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

      “I’m sure you do. Those touchy-feely things you like. You know the ones I mean—Armchair Psychology. Ten Easy Steps to a Better Relationship, even with the former son-in-law who made your daughter’s life a living hell.”

      “Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. And don’t scoff. Those classes are very informative and have made a big difference in my life.”

      “Have they helped you get over losing Marcus and Donna?”

      “Nothing on earth can do that.” The light in her eyes flickered, then was extinguished. “We both lost our only child. We share the same pain, Simon.”

      “Do we?”

      “Maybe not. Mine is compounded. I lost my grandchild, too. It was a shattering loss. And I’m still trying to put myself back together. But we could help each other. I need to talk about it.”

      “I don’t. And the last thing I want is help. Nothing will bring them back.”

      He wanted to recall the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Her expression made him wince. She didn’t deserve his abuse. He was very fond of her, but he wasn’t fit company. He just didn’t have enough reserves to play nice.

      She stood. “Not that you care, but at least I’m trying to move forward with my life. You’re living in perpetual midnight.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Doom and gloom. Your new best friends. As much as I wished it was me who had died, I had to come to grips with the fact that it wasn’t. Every day without them hurts like hell. But I put one foot in front of the other. You taught me that. And it takes courage. But I guess you’ve got more brains than guts. You talk the talk without walking the walk.” She stared at his bum leg, then slung her purse over her shoulder and walked toward the door.

      “Janet, I—”

      She turned back and held up a finger to stop him. “Don’t say anything. I’m really ticked off. You lashed out on purpose to get rid of me. It worked. You hurt me, and I’m leaving. But that’s not why I’d like to punch your lights out. You’re wasting your life, Simon. I have no patience for waste.”

      Maybe this time he’d finally gotten through to her. He wasn’t worth her effort.

      She took two steps, then pointed at him. “And don’t think for one minute you’ve gotten rid of me. I’m not through with you yet, buster. If it takes the rest of my life I’ll keep after you. But I’m finished for today. I’ll leave you alone now, since that’s what you seem to want. But if there’s any justice in this world and a god in heaven, each time you haul yourself up off that sofa, every muscle and nerve in your body will hurt like a son of a gun.”

      Then she opened the door and slammed it after herself.

      Simon let out a long breath. That certainly wasn’t his finest hour. And he’d definitely gotten his wish. He was alone. Although he didn’t feel a whole lot of satisfaction from it. If only the kitchen, the TV remote and everything else he needed could be within arm’s reach.

      In spite of the fact that he’d sworn not to consume liquid, he was so thirsty he couldn’t stand it. Steeling himself for the pain, he pushed to a sitting position, then grabbed his crutches and stood. By the time he had accomplished that feat, he was sweating and dizzy. He’d held his breath against the discomfort he knew was coming and had forgotten to breathe.

      The doorbell rang. Since he was already standing, he hobbled across the short distance to answer it. Maybe Janet had come back and he could make up for his churlish behavior. She reminded him of one tough, straight-talking ER nurse.

      But when he opened the door, it wasn’t his former mother-in-law standing there.

      “Megan.”

      Chapter Three

      Megan stared at the man with a death grip on his crutches and struggled to keep the shock from her expression. He looked terrible. Black, blue, and a rip-roaring case of the tired crankies. No, even more than that—tired clear to the bone. More than anything, she wanted to put her arms around him. The urge came suddenly and with such force it shocked her socks off. If she’d ever seen a soul in need of comfort, it was Simon Reynolds.

      Hours had passed since she’d seen him through last night’s