Nightchild

Chapter 42

Over a week had passed since the incident in the stable and Nate had not gone to bed with his wife. He found himself making excuses to stay up late, showing up in their bedroom only in the wee hours of the morning, if at all, long after he thought she'd be asleep. No mention was made of the fight or Blythe's culpability in what led up to Joey's behavior. Nor did they discuss Rene or Nate's curious trip to Nashville. Their conversations were cool, polite, as if they were strangers forced, through an elaborate trick of fate, to live in the same house.

Blythe knew Joey had been fired and interviews for another drummer were being conducted at Eddie's office in Dallas. She was crushed with guilt, knowing she was responsible for what had happened to the young Cajun, because she had led him on out of a need to soothe her own insecurity and jealousy and he was the one that was punished.

And yet, a subtle trepidation she found impossible to suppress had grown towards Nate, blanketing all other emotions. The look on his face, the clouded dead eyes, the grim brooding mouth with deep lines etched on either side, accenting it hardness as his unrestrained brutality was unleashed on Joey...all this kept prying its way into her mind and the indelible picture it left frightened her. The picture of just how far Nathan Wade Stevens would go was the image of a man completely out of control.

Midway into the following week Blythe, feeling alienated from her husband's world, called Scott Weber in Ringwald to set up a luncheon date. Blatantly, though not without compunction, she lied to Nate, telling him she was going shopping in Dallas. She didn't dare tell him the truth...that she had run into her old childhood friend, the man she'd had a crush on so long ago and was now going to meet with him. After what had happened with Joey, Nate would never believe it was innocent or they were merely friends. Her husband was jealous. He'd proven that. But Blythe didn't want to think about that now. Now, all she wanted was a friend, someone to talk to who understood her...someone like Scott.

#

Blythe Stevens and Scott Weber had what she considered a therapeutic lunch. It had been good to talk to someone who truly knew her, knew what she had been through in the past and what she was really like. She was able to bare her soul and open up to Scott, telling him about her suspicions concerning her husband and Rene Sanders having an affair, about her foolish actions when she'd gotten drunk with the wild Cajun, flirting out of a desire to get back at Nate. She relayed in detail the fight that ensued and her growing fear of this man she loved with all her heart.

Scott had been an attentive listener, giving advice when asked for, support when needed. Knowing she had a personal friend she could turn to with her problems, someone not tied to her husband, Blythe had felt a weight lift. She hadn't realized how alone she'd felt.

But her sense of wellbeing was short lived, for as soon as she returned home, Nate informed her he was going on another business trip, giving her no more information than he would be back in a day or so. There was no room for discussion, no mention of her going along, no details about where, when or why and Blythe was again thrown into the depths of despair. Doubts and suspicions taunted her, filling her with resentment and insecurity once more.

When it was time for him to leave, she silently left the room, making herself scarce. She would not play the part of dutiful wife as he wished. This time, she wouldn't even say good-bye. Instead, Blythe watched in sullen dejection from an upstairs window as Nate's Rover down drive and out of sight.

#

The door swung open and Connie Bledsoe stood with a brimming drink in her hand. Without ceremony, she offered it to Nate. "Get in here, you handsome devil. Gin, right? I thought you could use it. God only knows, I need one to talk about Blythe. She has that effect on people. I warned you she was complicated," she bubbled. Leading the way to the great stone fireplace, she gestured for him to drop his bag and be seated on the couch in front of the welcoming flames.