Julianna stared up at the ceiling of the room she was sharing with Jody. She could hear the soft sounds of the little girl’s occasional dream-inspired murmur. The whistling wind was masked by the air-conditioning system, but she knew the storm still raged, because nothing could mask the hideous roar of thunder.
Her fear of storms was more than just a childhood phobia. She was terrified of them in the most primal of ways. A storm meant death and destruction. A storm was punishment for some unknown sin, and no matter how many times she told herself a storm was just one more impartial whim of Mother Nature, she was still terrified.
Through the years she had learned to live with her terror. Only those who knew her well—and they were few—suspected how frightened she was. She had learned to stay inside when a storm hit, to find a room with few windows and to pull the drapes shut. And she had learned to say as little as possible, because if she spoke, she might admit her fear.
Running through the rain with Dillon this evening had been almost more than she could bear, but she had wanted to get to real shelter before the thunder and lightning began. She had wanted it badly enough to do almost anything. Even come to Gray’s hotel.
Now they had finally had their talk. If she still didn’t understand why Gray had come all this way to tell her he wanted a divorce, at least she understood one thing. The events of the past had affected him, too.
Despite her best efforts, those events began to materialize in the form of memories. For ten years she had hoped he felt some of her pain. As she lay awake and remembered, the answer to one question eluded her. Where was the satisfaction she should be feeling?