Free You Don't Know Me by Susan May Warren Page A

“I’m sorry for being testy this morning.”
    She gave him a soft smile, and suddenly his world slowed. Righted. Sometimes, when their life seemed to overflow with school events and church board meetings and mayoral races, he forgot the easy, simple days when just looking into her eyes made him feel as if he already had everything he needed.
    As if he was already someone.
    She picked up a rag, wiped her hands on it, then came over to him and took the flowers. “They’re beautiful, Nathan. Thank you.”
    Her words curled around him, empowered him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Are you okay? You just seem so distant, even angry.” He tried to wipe away a smudge of paint with his thumb, but it wouldn’t clean off. “I’m not sure what I have to do to get your vote, Mrs. Decker, but I’m willing to try.”
    “Really. How hard?”
    Oh, he could meet that challenge. He tipped up her chin, held her eyes for a moment, and kissed her.
    She had a way of making him believe that he could save her with his touch, that when he took her in his arms, he became a hero. Maybe it was her surrender, how she usually molded herself to him, her fingers looping in his hair. He could get lost in the little sounds she made, soft sighs, like he could put all things right.
    Not today.
    Today she gave him what he called her duty kiss, the one where he knew she was thinking about the laundry or signing permission slips or what new pillows she’d buy for the old slipcovered sofas.
    Like kissing him was on her to-do list, the one she kept to make her life ordered and perfect.
    He let her go. “Okay, what did I do?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You. I could be kissing a walleye for all the love here.”
    “Nice. Thanks.” She shoved the lilies back at him. “I have to finish painting before the kids get home.”
    “Lise.” He dropped the flowers onto a table. “C’mon, that isn’t fair. You’ve been acting strange. What did you mean when you said you’re not running for mayor? You might as well be—this town looks up to you.”
    “They shouldn’t—”
    “Yes, they should. And I need you at the luncheon. You know how much this means to me.”
    She picked up the roller, drove it into the paint, then turned to the wall, her movements brisk. “That’s what I can’t figure out. Why do you have to be mayor? You’re already so busy. You already miss soccer games, and . . .”
    “Once. I missed one game.”
    “And you missed a volleyball game.”
    “I had a church board meeting.”
    “Exactly. And now you’ll be mayor.”
    “That’s right. I’ll be mayor. Mayor of Deep Haven, Lise.” He wanted to grab her, make her listen to him. But she kept painting.
    And sighing.
    How he hated the sighing. “What?”
    She rolled until the paint ran out on her roller, then turned to plunge it back into the paint tray. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You’re not your father, and everyone knows that. You’re Jason and Colleen and Henry’s dad. And my husband.”
    “It’s not enough.” He said it without thinking, just let the words slide out, and hated himself the moment they emerged.
    She drew in her breath. “Thank you for the honesty.”
    “Lise, I didn’t mean it like that.” He reached for her, but she moved away. “I just want more for us.” Oh, he was making it worse. “Not that I’m not happy—”
    “I need to finish this.”
    “Could you just shower and get dressed for the luncheon? We can talk about this later.”
    She stood there, paint dripping onto the plastic, her shoulders stiff.
    “I need you there. The voters expect to see you, to see us. And with Seb Brewster running . . . please, Lise.”
    “Seb Brewster is running?”
    Had she not even listened to the radio show? He tried not to let her question spear him through the chest, but it must have shown on his face because she shook her head and made a sound of defeat.
    “Fine. I’ll