Into the Quiet

by Beth C. Greenberg

  Not one for subtlety, Joan fired her cannonball into Ruth’s lap. “He never told you?”

  How Ruth would have loved to have told Joan to butt the hell out, but the truth was, none of this had anything to do with Joan, never had. This was Ruth and Zach’s marriage, and they were the only two who could fix it. Luckily, Stuart Glover had stepped up to the podium, and all Ruth had to do was point. Joan couldn’t be caught talking while her boss’s new boss was speaking. She snapped her head around, and Ruth breathed a temporary sigh of relief.

  Glover’s words were amplified by the microphone, but Ruth’s thoughts were louder. Zach’s deception stung. And the cruel irony of selling their home now. How could he have let her pour her heart and soul into the writing sanctuary when he knew—or at least, the chances were pretty damn good—they’d be putting their house on the market? Was it possible they’d sprung the move on him yesterday, a new condition of the grant? Still, he’d gone ahead and accepted the terms without consulting or even informing her. What kind of marriage was that?

  Her gaze shifted to Zach. What else are you hiding? She’d shrugged off her suspicions for months now, not truly able to believe he could cheat on her. But now? This feeling of distrust was so alien to Ruth, she couldn’t reconcile it with the kind, familiar face staring out into the bright lights.

  “. . . with that, I turn the microphone over to the extremely talented Zachary Miller.”

  Applause rose throughout the room, shaking Ruth’s attention back to the moment—this enormous moment for Zach. In her heart of hearts, she understood why he’d waited to tell her. Of course she would support him. He knew this. In a way, didn’t his omission demonstrate a certain faith in their bond? Or was she acting the fool?

  Zach shook Glover’s hand. The applause died down. “Thank you very much for that warm welcome. I would first like to thank Peter Langston for reaching out to Brighter Tomorrows and showing the courage to share our vision.” Ruth swiveled to applaud Langston, who nodded and waved to the adoring crowd. “And of course, our gratitude to the board of directors for approving this grant for fifteen million dollars over five years to increase our reach into thirty states!” Applause. “We could not be more thrilled to partner with you, and I promise we are going to make every Glover investor proud to be a part of this work. Maybe I shouldn’t confess this, but . . . oh, what the heck? The papers are signed, right, Peter?” Peter nodded gamely, waiting for the punch line with a smile on his face. Zach leaned dramatically into the microphone and covered his mouth as if he were telling a secret. “Our model is embarrassingly simple.” Titters of laughter. Zach stood tall again and clicked off the points on his fingers. “Excellent vocational training. Strategic corporate partnerships. One-on-one support and supervision for our clients. And the heart of our program, ladies and gentlemen: outstanding volunteers like my wife, Ruthie, right there at the head table. Yep, I quite literally would not be standing up here right now if not for my amazing, warmhearted wife.”

  Oh no, he didn’t. But yes, he had, and she was fairly certain he was about to share a slice of Miller lore retold nearly as frequently and lovingly as their first encounter. Ruth bunched her napkin in both fists and held on tight.

  “Ruthie first volunteered at the Tarra center three years ago. That evening over dinner, she couldn’t say enough about the gifted teachers, the impressive facility, and the warmth and sense of community in the classroom. These centers are first-rate day care, and that is not to be taken for granted, but the real magic is this: while the kids are busy finger painting and singing and having tea parties or”—he stole a smile at Ruth, and a furious blush made her grateful for the dim lighting—“sitting in my wife’s lap being read to, their parents are either out earning a decent paycheck, or they’re down the hall, improving their vocational skills.

  “I was intrigued. I sat down with the officers of Brighter Tomorrows, who quickly convinced me of the sustainability and replicability of the model, and let me pause here to tell you, I am not the easiest man to convince. Ask my wife if you don’t believe me.” Laughter from the crowd, tears from Ruth. “So, I did what any reasonable man would do: I quit my job and joined the team. Best day of my professional life.”

  Zach’s gaze swept the room, then landed dramatically on Ruth like a spotlight over her head. “The moral of the story is marry a good woman.”

  The crowd gave out a collective, “Awww,” while Ruth struggled to keep her mouth from twitching. You’re in big trouble, Zach Miller, she said with a shake of her head.

  He nodded. Worth it.

  Lucky for both of them, Zach didn’t wink again.

  “Fast-forward to tonight. Thanks to your generosity, we will be able to build ten new Brighter Tomorrows centers per year for the next five years. At an average of eighty families per center per year, you will move over 12,000 families to sustainable financial independence in the next five years alone and 4,000 every year thereafter for a fraction of your capital investment.”

  A roar went up in the crowd, and Zach stepped back from the podium to add his own applause. Ah, the darling of the perennial charity fundraiser: the big, fat slap on the back for writing that check.

  “Speaking of your investment,” Zach went on, “I hear we have some outrageous vacation packages to auction off, so grab those paddles and don’t be shy. Thank you so much.”

  Zach gripped the podium while the standing ovation gained momentum like the wave at a Colts game. On her feet with the rest of his admirers, Ruth soaked her napkin with tears. Zach lifted his hand to acknowledge the applause, mouthed a few thank-yous, and exited the stage.

  Ruth’s heart swelled as she watched him make his way back to her, shaking hands thrust at him as if he were walking the red carpet. He locked eyes with Ruth as he approached the table. Zach’s steps lightened as a gorgeous smile broke across his face. He was close enough now for Ruth to see the tears behind his glasses. There was nothing that choked her up like her husband’s tears.

  Neither of them noticed Joan step into Zach’s path, her arms spread wide to receive him. Zach nearly plowed right through her. He bounced back as if stung, grabbed her right hand, gave her a couple of quick pumps and a pat on the opposite shoulder, and said, “Thanks, Joan. Excuse me, won’t you?” Ruth couldn’t be bothered to take her eyes off Zach, but Joan had to be fuming.

  Langston peered over Ruth’s shoulder. “Well done, Zach. I know better than to keep you from this little lady. We’ll talk later.”

  He disappeared before Zach could thank him. Finally, alone—ish.

  Zach opened his arms and shrugged. “How much trouble am I in?”

  “A lot. Oh, Zach.” Ruth fell into his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. They rocked gently together, holding each other up while the emotions shook their way out. “I’m crying all over your tux,” she said.

  Zach laughed. “It’s a rental.”

  She pulled back and stared into his moist eyes. “Is that the speech you were going to make before I showed up?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I was gonna wing it.”

  “Only you, Zach.”

  He ran his palms up and down her arms, settling his hands tenderly on her bare shoulders. “Have I mentioned how”—he leaned in to whisper—“fucking happy I am you’re here?”

  One last sob spilled out with Ruth’s laughter. “Me, too. I am so proud of you, Zach. All you’ve accomplished and all the great work in front of you.”

  “Look, Ruthie, there’s something I should have mentioned sooner—”

  “We’re moving.”

  Anguish crinkled his forehead. “Joan told you. I’m so sorry, Ruthie.”

  “Actually, no, but that doesn’t matter. How did we get to the point where we don’t talk about these things?”

  “I don’t know, but I hate it. I feel like we have so much to catch up on.”

  “Yes.�
�� Normally, the “we need to talk” line set off warning bells in Ruth’s gut, but right now, it was exactly what she’d needed to hear.

  Zach glanced over his shoulder at the stage. “This isn’t the most conducive atmosphere.”

  How had Ruth not noticed the auction barker riling the crowd? And there they were at the epicenter right up front, the seats reserved for the big spenders. “No, it’s really not.”

  “Hey, why don’t we stay the weekend? Did you bring any clothes? Oh, who cares? We’ll buy you a new wardrobe.” He was eighteen again, lit with passion for her, for his work, for life. His enthusiasm was contagious.

  Ruth giggled. “I left a small suitcase in the coatroom. I brought you a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts. I was hoping maybe we could make a little vacation out of it, see the sights?”

  “I like the way you think.” Zach grazed her skin with his thumbs. “Actually, full disclosure here, I, uh, went out with a real estate agent this morning, and there’s an adorable pied-à-terre in Georgetown I’d love to show you. I thought we might start out living in the city, just until we get our bearings?”

  “That could be a really nice change for us.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, Zach. Are you so surprised?”

  “I know you love our house in the suburbs, and you were really looking forward to writing in your new study.”

  “I love you, and I can write anywhere.”

  “I think you’re going to love this place. There’s a sunny room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two walls and French doors leading out to a little patio and small yard for Pookie. I’ve already imagined you sitting at your desk, typing away.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” she said, tipping her head toward the line that had formed behind Zach, “but I think we should discuss this later. Your fans want you.”

  “I’m sorry, Ruthie.”

  “Don’t be.”

  He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

  “Go. Be adored. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will, but you just got here, and I don’t want to let you out of my sight.” He sighed. “I’ve missed you, Ruthie.” He wasn’t referring to the last thirty-six hours, and they both knew it.

  “I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

  The shocked expression on Zach’s face was worth every ounce of pain soon to be inflicted by Ruth’s wildly impractical shoes.

  34

  Reunited

  Pan pulled his truck up tight behind Cupid’s Prius in the driveway. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of the neighbors had already called the police. Heh, the good folks of Tarra Heights would never have believed who was hanging out on their ritzy-titzy street tonight. He grabbed the pizza box and liquor store bag off the passenger seat and headed to the back door Q had directed him to use.

  This is not a date, Pan reminded himself, though his loins seemed to have decided otherwise. The time apart had been sheer misery for Pan’s soul, but his libido had enjoyed a much-needed rest. Pan had been on full tilt since his friend’s arrival. Even for the god of the hunt, that was a whole lot of arousal.

  A few days into Cupid’s absence, Pan had started feeling much more in control again, and he’d secretly begun to believe he might have built up some kind of immunity. The ride over had blown that theory to bits. Pan was stiff as a board and emotional to boot. What a perfect time for bourbon.

  He suspected Cupid had heard his truck roll up but knocked on the glass pane just to be sure. Or maybe he wanted to light a fire under Cupid’s ass to even the playing field.

  “Be right there,” came Cupid’s voice.

  Pan peered through the window, excited beyond reason when Cupid’s sneakers rounded the corner and hit the top step. His old buddy appeared in the frame, one delicious inch at a time. Immunity, my ass.

  Hot on Cupid’s heels, a blur of white fur tumbled down behind him. In one smooth motion, Cupid bent down, gathered the barking dust bunny under his arm, and opened the door. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  Pan swallowed the raunchy comeback, even as Cupid’s scent brought every repressed desire straight to the fore. Damn, he’d missed Cupid more in these last six days than in the two thousand years they’d been separated, and it wasn’t just the physical attraction. Pan had nearly convinced himself this earth life wasn’t lonely, that leaving everyone and everything he knew on Mount O was an easy trade for the riches of relative autonomy and the animal delights afforded by his human—and rather exceptional, if he did say so himself—form. Then Cupid fell, reopening that gaping hole Pan had learned to ignore while filling it at exactly the same time. The self-imposed separation had only reminded Pan of the farce.

  And here they were, together again, even if only for a few hours more. And there stood Q, silently imploring Pan for forgiveness while stroking his fingers rhythmically through the dog’s hair. Was Cupid struggling as mightily as Pan to keep his hands to himself? Between the dog nestled in Q’s arms and the pizza box and bourbon bottle in Pan’s, there would be no satisfying body contact anyway.

  “You have got to be shitting me. This little mutt?”

  Cupid lifted the dog so his face was level with Pan’s. “Pookie, meet my friend Pan. Sometimes, he can be a bit gruff, but his bleat is worse than his bite.”

  Pan shook his head at the hairy rat. “I have to tell you, I pictured something more dignified and less . . . mophead.” If Pan’s friends at the muscle gym ever got wind of this, he’d never live it down. Still, he had to be grateful. If not for the little rodent, he and Cupid might not have repaired their friendship in time.

  “She’s very cuddly, and she loves to play catch.”

  “You don’t have to sell it, Q. I’m doing the job,” Pan said, cuffing Cupid on the arm as he pushed past him into the extravagant playground of the Millers’ great room. “Wow, no wonder you wanted to live here. This house makes mine look like a dump.”

  Cupid scurried up the stairs behind him. “No, Pan. I miss your place.”

  Pan wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. “Hungry?”

  “Yes. That pizza smells amazing. Is that sausage?”

  “And pepperoni.”

  “Mmm. What’s in the bag?”

  “Bourbon.” Pan chuckled at Cupid’s expression. “Yeah, you’ll hate the first few sips.”

  “Let me grab some plates and glasses.”

  “Plates? What do you think the box is for?”

  “I don’t think Ruthie would approve.” Ruthie, right. Their invisible hostess. Cupid bent down to release the dog, who made a beeline to Pan’s ankles.

  Pan shooed the dog away—“Go see Daddy”—which, of course, only made her want Pan more. Each time she skittered back, he gathered her in his palm like a bowling ball and rolled her away. She’d slide halfway down the hallway, scramble onto her paws, and rush him again. “Hey, you remember how Mia’s kid wouldn’t leave me alone? What is it with puppies and babies?”

  Cupid tossed a grin over his shoulder as he plucked two glasses off the shelf. “Too young to know better?”

  “Funny.” Pan rounded the counter and gave Cupid a friendly hip check. A low growl trilled in Pookie’s throat.

  “Better watch it, Pan. She’s very protective.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Pan said with a confident grin. He pulled the Knob Creek out of the brown paper bag, peeled off the wax, and worked the cork out.

  Cupid watched warily as Pan poured a generous shot into each glass. He considered offering a splash of water or a couple of rocks, but why dilute good alcohol?

  Pan raised both glasses and handed one to Cupid. “To old friends in new places,” Pan started, taking stock of the massive kitchen.

  “And forgiveness?” Cupid offered his toast with a hopeful gleam.

  “Absolutely.” Th
ey clinked. “Hang on. Don’t drink yet. First, you want to take a good whiff. If you were human, I’d tell you to stick your nose in the glass but—don’t.”

  Cupid lifted his face well above the rim, took the lightest sniff possible, and screwed up his nose. “Wow, that’s strong.”

  “It needs to rest a few minutes. Oh, I know. We can put the pizza on our plates while we’re waiting. Do you have one of those fancy pie servers?”

  “I suppose you’ll make fun of me for using napkins, too?”

  “If you pull out utensils, I’m leaving.”

  “Fine, but we’re sitting at the table.”

  “Whatever.”

  Cupid shuffled to the table like a waiter with his ankles roped together while the dog ran circles around his heels. The novelty of the unknown visitor obviously wasn’t enough to dissuade the dog from sticking to Cupid like glue, not that Pan could blame her.

  Pan took his first bite of pizza before his ass hit the seat. Manners were no match for a piping hot slice of meat lover’s pie. Besides, hadn’t he already shown enormous restraint tonight? Both pizza and alcohol had arrived unopened, and Cupid remained unmauled though the thought had occurred more than once.

  If Cupid entertained similar thoughts, he hadn’t let on. He was too busy eyeing the amber liquid in his glass. “Is it ready yet?” How fluidly Cupid moved from caution to curiosity, probably why introducing him to new earthly experiences had quickly become the most entertaining aspect of Pan’s job.

  “Sure. Just sip it, okay? It’s not one of those sweet cocktails you like so much.”

  Ever the student, Cupid imitated Pan’s subtle swirl of the wrist, gentle tip of the glass, and slow, measured swallow. The face Cupid pulled as the alcohol burned its way down his throat was entirely his own. “Ugh.”

  Pan didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “It’s a man’s drink.”

  Cupid traded his drink for a slice of pizza, clearly more to his liking. “This is so much better than everything I’ve reheated in my microwave.”