Free His Wounded Light by Christine Brae Page B

is in order before she wakes up. Good thing there’s a bar that connects the door from my office to hers. I would’ve liked to share the space with her, but she’s always said she needs total peace and quiet when she writes. I silently make my way to the bar and pour myself a scotch, settling back against the wall for a moment to take in the beauty of the woman on that couch. Her legs are still long and lean and firm. Her hair is draped on her face and I can see the perfect profile of her nose and her full lips from where I am. She stirs to shift position and slightly opens her eyes. She blinks when she sees me and smiles.
    “Hi,” she says with outstretched arms as I cross the room and bound right into them. We embrace for a few seconds until she loosens her hold on me and sits up. “I asked them to serve dinner at seven. Is that too late?”
    “No, it’s perfect. I had a lunch meeting and I’m pretty full. Have the kids left?”
    “Yes. I drove over to Ali’s with them and came back.” She stands up and gathers her things so she can sit at her desk while I remain on the couch with my drink. “Did you bring that paperwork with you? What did we purchase?”
    I’m not afraid to tell her. I’m afraid to tell her what it’s for.
    “I bought a car a few months ago.”
    “Oh, wow. That’s nice. Where is it?”
    “It was delivered to Leigh’s place while we were in Hong Kong. He’s keeping it there until I check everything out.”
    “What is it?”
    “You’ll like it. Porsche 911 GT2.”
    “Color?”
    “Orange.”
    She laughs. “Cool. Ed’s favorite color.”
    I can sense a bit of tension between us. First of all, she’s across from me sitting at her desk, and second, I can see her face trying to register what this means.
    “A, you know I love it when you buy stuff for yourself and cars are your thing. But really? Doesn’t that car have too much power to just drive around the streets?”
    Here goes.
    “It’s not for driving around the streets, Iss.”
    Her entire demeanor changes instantly. Her expression turns dark as she straightens her shoulders and crosses her arms resolutely. “No. We’ve talked about this so many times! No. Every year, you ask me and every year, I say NO.”
    “Talk to me, baby. Tell me why you’re so afraid of me racing. It’s just a hobby. Something I’ll do on weekends. I’m turning forty soon, I’d like to be able to do this by then.”
    “You’re not forty yet, you have a few more years to go.”
    “Can we talk about this, please? Why are you so afraid?”
    “I worry about you. Isn’t that enough reason?”
    “I worry about you too. And the children. And our family. I never stop worrying. But it doesn’t make sense why you’re so adamantly against my racing. We can place rules around it if you want—anything. I just have to understand why you’re just so closed up about it!” I didn’t realize it then, but the tone of my voice has gotten louder and louder. I mean, I’m allowed to lose my patience too. Especially when my wife won’t just come out and tell me what the hell is going on with her.
    “No. End of story. I’m not discussing this anymore.” She gets up from her desk, unplugs her laptop, and nonchalantly walks out of the office.
    “Goddamn it, Isa, I’m not done talking to you yet!” I chase after her and grab her arm.
    She spins around with a pained look on her face. “You’re so selfish.”
    Simple statement, but geez, that hurt.
    “Selfish? Because I want to pursue a hobby that interests me?”
    “Please, Alex. Don’t push me right now. I just can’t.” She continues walking down the long hallway and turns right towards the stairs. She stops dead in her tracks after climbing a few steps. I see her swing slightly from left to right and the laptop falls to the floor as she grabs the railing with both hands to steady herself. But just as quickly as it happened, she straightens herself up and continues walking forward. I leave the