Those Weekends In New England

Chapter Twenty

One song is ending. Time to start a new one ... but the words and tune aren't written yet.

Denny didn't have to wait until he was out of the hospital to see Elaine. Once the story of what had gone on the last few days was leaked to the press, she immediately came to him. In his hospital room. Bearing white roses tied together with pink bows, and a white teddy bear wearing a black tuxedo and a pink cummerbund. The gifts, carried in by a snarling nurse, were only the first indication that his wife was near before she was even visible. The sound of her voice, demanding that another nurse ensure their privacy, was the second obvious clue.

Denny groaned. And he wasn't in any physical pain at that moment.

"My dear sweetheart, this is terrible." Elaine finally arrived in the flesh in a swirl of bright pink, leaning over her husband and kissing him square on the lips.

Denny rolled his eyes. Yes, even the heavy perfume was the same. This was someone ready for battle. And she was intent on winning.

"Elaine, nice of you to come all the way to Washington." His voice dripped with sickeningly sweet sarcasm. "I planned to visit you when I got out of here." He scooted up a little in the bed. Still quite early in the morning, he'd just had breakfast, his ankle was sore, and he felt ill-prepared to deal with this woman. But, he sighed, clearly he didn't have a choice.

"Of course I'm here. You don't think I'd leave you alone at a time like this, do you?"

No, he answered to himself, silly of me to even hope.

"Why didn't you call me, Denny?"

A deep breath and a grunt before he blurted out, "Elaine, cut the crap." He was tired of walking on eggshells with her. It felt so good to let loose, and for the first time since she entered the room, he smiled. In fact, he almost laughed, just barely stopping himself.

She gasped.

"No, dammit, I mean, really. Forget the give-a-shit stuff. You don't care about me, about how I'm doing after the incredibly ugly, harrowing, life-threatening situation I was in. This," he swept his hand in her direction to indicate all that she represented at that moment, "is a public show. For the press. You're here because you know I'm in love with another woman, and you're concerned your status, as Denny Lorenzo's wife, may be threatened. Well, let me tell you, dear, your status, in fact, is threatened. No, not only threatened, but it's done. Finished. So go ahead, admit that much to yourself. If not for that minor detail, I can't believe you'd tell me anything but how I got what I deserved." He stared at her, patiently waiting for an explosion.

Elaine didn't immediately answer. Denny watched her walk around the room, seemingly careful to keep her back to him. She touched everything—doorknobs, walls, window frames. Her movements were intentional. He knew she was thinking.

Finally, she pivoted his way, and he wasn't surprised to see a crooked, tight smile starting on her full pink lips. "You do know me well, don't you?"

He only raised an eyebrow.

"But, I know that little incident is now over with her, right?" She gave him no chance to answer. "I read everything in the papers, about how her husband hadn't been the one after you. Her friend did this. A hell of a friend, I'd say." She cackled. "And of course, since her husband's not guilty, she'll go back to him, right? And you'll come home. To me. To our life together."

Elaine's words seemed so logical to her she could do nothing but smile expectantly. Denny actually pitied the woman. He was surprised he could still feel anything for her.

His wife.

He wiped a hand across his wearying eyes. He really was so tired. Denny took a deep breath before saying quietly, "No."