His Missing Wife Jaime Hendricks (popular romance novels .txt) 📖

water on my face and brush my teeth. Candy and I head downstairs for our normal routine, where I feed her breakfast and sit outside with my coffee as she explores the small fenced yard. Only this time, I’m too out of sorts to even make coffee, so I watch Candy eat breakfast, and then try to will the queasy feeling away. But it doesn’t work, and I have to haul ass inside, barely making it to the bathroom before I throw up bile—I didn’t eat the night before so there was nothing to come up.

The worry has made me sick.

I wonder if the gun is still in the house, or if James took it with him. Driving with an illegal weapon. Great idea.

I’m still on the floor of the bathroom spitting stringy saliva when I hear Candy claw at the back door. I flush and rinse my mouth with water, then amble over to the back door to let her in. Still unable to eat or drink, I decide that maybe I need a talk session with Gwen. I text her and ask if she’s around, and she said says she’s finishing Caleb’s breakfast and to come by in a half hour.

I quickly shower and toss on a tank top and denim shorts and tie my hair into a bun at the back of my head. My bangs have gotten longer and annoy the shit out of me, and I attempt to tuck them behind my ears over and over. Stay. I say it to myself like I’m talking to Candy. Finally, I just use a bobby pin on each side. I look like R2D2, but who do I have to impress?

The walk over to Gwen only takes a minute or two. Every time I walk up her driveway, I admire the pavers they used, instead of tar and concrete. Even their mailbox has its own paver house built around it, all ornate and detailed. Much better than the stick in the ground that we have, but we spent our discretionary fund opening up the entryway. Maybe next year.

I knock, and Gwen comes to the door, Caleb in her arms, as usual.

“Hey, buddy!” I say to him and smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Teffa,” Caleb says. He has problems with his Ss.

“Come on in, T,” Gwen says. “Do you want some coffee?”

I don’t mean to, but I swallow a small gag and cover my mouth with my hand. The worry from the night before is still there, churning away in my stomach, and until I take care of this issue, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep anything down.

“Oh, jeez, are you okay?” Gwen asks.

“No. Not really. It’s why I wanted to come and talk to you.”

“Sit down. Let me set Caleb up, hang on.”

Gwen is wearing yoga pants and a tank top, basically the only thing I ever see her in, except for the times we go to dinner or for a drink. I see her pushing Caleb in the stroller around the neighborhood—yoga pants and tank. At the grocery store—yoga pants and tank. Weeding the front lawn—yoga pants and a tank. It’s her mom outfit. She sets Caleb down at a chair, right next to me, and turns on her iPad in front of him.

“That’ll keep him busy,” she says. “What’s up?”

“Well, last night, I—” I side-eye Caleb, who is looking at me, not the iPad. He presses a button on the screen and some cartoon comes to life. Loudly. “I told James something about my ex—” And, now there’s singing. Loudly. Children’s voices, in sync. “I told him I was scared of—” Caleb is singing along with them.

I lose focus completely. Gwen is staring at me, her big eyes trained on me with concern, like she’s waiting for me to spit it out. Like she can’t even hear it.

“I’m sorry, can we go in the other room?” I ask.

“And leave Caleb alone?” She’s utterly flabbergasted that someone would suggest leaving a four-year-old boy alone for more than ten seconds. “He’ll scream if we leave.”

Well, that’s great parenting.

“I don’t want him to hear what we’re about to talk about. It’s—sensitive.”

“He’s not even paying attention.” She widens her eyes and waves toward him as he sings along with whatever he’s watching. “He loves that show.”

“Right, but I can’t concentrate with the singing.” I chuckle. “I’m not used to kids. I can’t tune it out like you do.”

She huffs, stands, and walks to the other end of the kitchen, and calls me over. To stand as I talk. “Go ahead. What happened, now?”

“I told James that I was afraid my ex was looking for me.”

“Oh. Is he?”

“Last I heard, he was. But that was a couple of months ago. Anyway, we ran into one of James’s exes last month and it brought up all these things about my ex, and I told him that I was scared of him. He—he wasn’t a good man.” I look back at Caleb, still singing, so he can’t hear us. “He hit me. It was that type of relationship.”

Gwen grabs my arm. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I got the hell out of there. It’s a whole long thing. Anyway, the reason I’m feeling sick is that we had a fight last night.”

“Did James hit you?” Her eyes go from concerned to furious in less time than it takes me to blink.

“No!” I want to clear that up immediately. “He said he wanted to protect me. He got a gun.”

“A gun? Are you kidding?” Now she looks at Caleb, likely playing out every scenario of him walking down the block alone, like that would ever happen, and James coming out and pumping her child full of lead. Not that she lets him walk. He’s four and she still puts him in a stroller. She reminds me of those people that put their dogs in strollers. “How did he even get a gun?”

“That’s the thing. He just ‘got one,’” I say, using air quotes.

“Oh, hell no. You