“Eric, please.’’
“Eric.’’ Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photograph from the envelope. He handed it to Oliver.
“Last one left.’’ A puppy with big paws and big ears stared up at Oliver. “She has her shots and everything.’’
“Cute,’’ Oliver said. “What kind is she?’’
“Mother is a golden. Father is a lab. Total retriever.’’
“Could bring me my paper,’’ Oliver said, starting to slip.
“Might be nice for your daughter.’’
“Emma,’’ Oliver said, brightening. “Come see her.’’ He took Eric through the ell and into the kitchen. “Here we are,’’ he said.
“Eric!’’ Jennifer hugged him warmly.
“Eric has a puppy for us.’’
“A puppy?’’ Jennifer looked at the photograph.
“Oh, how cute! How cute! Oh, Oliver, wouldn’t it be just perfect for Emma?’’
“Mmm.’’ It was hard for Oliver to disagree.
“I can bring her any time you’d like. Sooner would be better—you know—bonding and all that.’’ Jennifer nodded wisely and took Eric to see Emma who was in her playpen in the living room. Oliver went back to the barn. Christ, he said to himself. It was beginning to get dark, a relief.
“Gotta go, Handsome.’’ Jacky appeared at his elbow.
“So soon?’’
“Long day tomorrow. Driving back.’’
“I’ll walk you down,’’ Oliver said.
“Where’s your coat? You’ll get wet.’’
“I don’t need one,’’ he said. They walked down the driveway in comfortable silence. The light rain had gradually wet things through. Branches and leaves were dripping, and the drive was muddy in patches.
“You don’t look so great,’’ she said.
“I’m O.K.’’
“Terrific kid.’’
“She is. I don’t know . . . It’s the sex thing.’’
“I thought so,’’ Jacky said. She was surprisingly sympathetic for someone who had been throwing wine glasses at him the last time he’d seen her.
“How’s your love life?’’
“Improving,’’ Jacky said. “I found a real nice guy. He works on Capitol Hill, actually.’’
“I’m glad,’’ Oliver said. “You look mellower.’’
“I’ve been working my way through some of this sexual stuff,’’ she said. “I’m not so different. I mean—I still like my equipment.’’ Oliver put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “But it’s not so important. There are other kinds of bonds.’’ She paused. “I think maybe you have some work to do in that area. But—leave it in the bedroom, Oliver.’’ They walked on.
“I’m trying,’’ he said.
“I think you have a little dom in you,’’ Jacky said. Oliver realized that he was having a talk that actually meant something. He filled with gratitude.
“I love you,’’ he said. “I can’t live with you, but I love you.’’ They reached her car.
“Thank you,’’ she said. “That’s sweet.’’ She got in the car, started it, and rolled down her window. Oliver put both hands on the window and leaned over. “Be true,’’ she said. “That’s the main thing.’’ He straightened.
“Take care,’’ he said. He didn’t kiss her; his mind was going too fast. Be true? To what? He fought for understanding.
“Bye, Oliver,’’ she said. She backed out and continued backwards down the driveway at a good clip. Coordinated, he conceded.
“Bye, Jacky,’’ he said, waving as she disappeared around the corner. The rain came a little harder. Drops washed down his face like tears. No wonder things can grow, he thought. The rain forgives them.
18.
Bogdolf Eric delivered the puppy two days later while Oliver was at work. Emma loved her and vice versa. As soon as Bogdolf’s presence faded, Oliver loved her too. They tried “Jesse’’ for a name, then “Jesse Woofwoof.’’ “Woof’’ was what stuck. She was good—natured and full of energy, forever trying to get Verdi to play. Verdi would tolerate her briefly and then swipe her in the nose. Woof would yelp and jump back, feelings hurt. Verdi would leap to a windowsill and ignore her.
Oliver stayed away from Suzanne, although he badly wanted to talk to her. He could have gotten out of the hospital Christmas party if he had made an effort. He didn’t.
When the day of the party came, Jennifer was happy to stay home with Emma, Woof, and Verdi. Oliver put on a warm jacket and drove to the hospital where he passed a slow two hours exchanging glances with Suzanne. Various employees made speeches, and her uncle presented awards. Dan’s daughters were a hit playing a fiddle and accordion medley of dance tunes and Christmas carols. Suzanne was wearing a caramel–colored cashmere sweater over a tight red skirt. She made an effort to be cheerful, but she seemed tense. Without either of them making an obvious effort, they moved next to each other.
“I’ve got to talk to you,’’ he said quietly.
“Not here,’’ she said.
“O.K.’’
A minute later she turned toward him and said, “Follow me when I leave.’’ Her lips barely moved. He nodded.
When the party ended, she exited the parking lot, turned right, and drove slowly until he came up behind her. She led him seven or eight miles away from the coast and into the country before turning into a narrow driveway. They climbed between pines to the top of a short rise where a small house faced away from the driveway. Suzanne parked in the carport and got out as Oliver stopped. She waved for him to follow her and walked around to the front of the house. A screened porch looked out on a two acre field, a tangle of browns and yellows in the weak December sun. A rectangle of field near the porch had been made into a lawn. A flower border separated the lawn from the field.
“Isn’t this pretty,’’ Oliver said.
“I guess it’d be easier to live in a condo,’’ she said, “but I like it out here.’’ The way she said “I’’ and “out here’’ was instantly familiar to Oliver. She was comfortable with being alone, in the company of the trees and the field. A chickadee flitted to a large bird feeder and flew back toward the woods. The quiet hammered in Oliver’s ears. He took a deep breath. Suzanne was looking at him in a concerned way. She was concerned about him, he realized—not their future, not their work, not their child—him.
His knees began to shake. She felt it and moved closer. “I need to sit down,’’ he said. Suzanne looked at the porch. Oliver went to his knees on the hard ground. She bent over and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I can fix us some tea,’’ she said. Oliver closed his hand on her wrist and pulled her slowly to the ground beside him. She rolled gracefully to her back, her eyes wide open on his. Her other hand was on his arm, lightly holding him to her. Time slowed.
He brought his mouth down on hers. She softened and opened. He pressed harder, flattening her lips against her teeth. He could feel the ground through her head as he rocked in each direction. Her hand went to the back of his head, pulling him closer. Oliver’s mind began to spin from not breathing. He started to pull away. Suzanne’s head came up with his. She made a pleading sound and drew him back to the ground. His hand went to her hip. Heat spread across his upper chest and into his arms. He put one hand on each side of her head and held her down as he raised his body and gasped for air.
Suzanne’s eyes were closed. She was breathing rapidly through her mouth. Oliver got to his knees, took off his jacket, and spread it next to her. She did not resist as he lifted her hips and moved her onto the jacket. He lay next to her and put the fingers of one hand across her mouth. She kissed his fingers. He pushed up her skirt and reached between her legs with his other hand. Her knees fell open, and her mouth opened under his fingers. She tilted her pelvis, pushed against his hand, and helped him to remove her warm underwear.
He took off his pants and put his fingers back on her mouth as he lowered himself over her. As he slid into
her, she took the heel of his hand between her teeth. When he withdrew, she bit harder. He came in deeper, and she lifted against him. Her arms were flung out wide, palms up. He was cradled in her hips. With each stroke, he felt the ground beneath her, felt closer and closer to home. Suzanne strained up, jerked twice convulsively, and sent a clear cry across the field. She wrapped him with both arms and urged him, helped him through the door. He fell headfirst, grateful, filling her as he fell, filling her for good and all.
He lay collapsed and quiet while his breathing straightened out. Suzanne giggled. “What?’’ he mumbled.
“I’m hot on top and getting cold below,’’ she said.
He pictured them from above. “Ummm,’’ he said, “spy satellites . . .”
“It’s your ass going to be saved for intelligence,’’ Suzanne said.
Oliver raised himself from her. “Enough to make a man put his pants on.’’
“I’ve got a shower big enough for two,’’ she said.
Minutes later, they were trading places under a stream of hot water, soaping each other and rinsing off bits of grass and dirt. “Great breasts,’’ Oliver said, rubbing each one respectfully.
“The Lord was in a good mood,’’ she said, pushing against him.
“Oh, oh,’’ Oliver remembered. “What about babies?’’
“I’m on the pill,’’ she said. “Have been ever since Donny.’’
“Donny?’’
“He’s the one I ran away with.’’
“Oh. Good about the pill.’’
“I wouldn’t mess you up,’’ she said. “Or me, either. I could never have an abortion. How about that tea?’’
“Yes,’’ Oliver said.
“You’re a much better fuck than Donny,’’ she said. Oliver was embarrassed and pleased. “Well look at you blush! Come on, Lover—here’s a clean towel.’’
He dried himself and dressed. As he waited for tea, he thought about going home. Impossible. “We’re in big trouble,’’ he said.
“I knew that the first time I saw you,’’ she said. “If my uncle finds out, I’m a goner. Milk and honey?’’
“Sounds good.’’
Suzanne handed him a steaming mug. “I just don’t get it,’’ she said. “How can anything that feels that right be wrong?’’
“I don’t know,’’ Oliver said. “How old are you?’’
“Twenty-seven.’’
“I’m thirty-six.’’
“Perfect,’’ Suzanne said. Oliver sipped his tea. The room was comfortable—clean and furnished simply.
“Leaving isn’t going to get any easier,’’ he said, a few minutes later.
Suzanne got to her feet quickly. “I know.’’ Oliver took another swallow of tea and put his mug down slowly. He stood. Suzanne came into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, breathed deeply, and squeezed her. Her hair smelled of mint.
“Don’t worry,’’ she said. “I’ll do whatever you want.’’ He squeezed her again in response and left, not trusting himself to look back.
He couldn’t go home. He drove into the city and had a Guinness at Deweys. He called Jennifer and said that he needed strong drink after the non-alcoholic Christmas party and that he’d be back soon with a pizza.
Richard came in, and Oliver ordered another pint. “What’s your definition of home?’’ Oliver asked him.
“Home is where you’re most yourself,’’ Richard said without hesitating. He looked comfortably around the bar.
“Ah,’’ Oliver said. “Not necessarily where you sleep, then.’’
Richard raised his eyebrows. “Not necessarily. I have two homes—at the lab and right here.’’
“Lucky dog,’’ Oliver said. Richard flashed his smile. Be yourself and you are home anywhere. Oliver drank up. “Well, I’ve got to be going.’’
“Have a good holiday, Oliver.’’
“You, too.’’
“You smell like Deweys,’’ Jennifer said, when he walked into the kitchen. She took the pizza from his hands.
“Good old Deweys,’’ Oliver said. “How’s Precious?’’
“Sound asleep. Oooh, it’s getting chilly.’’
“I’ll get some wood,’’ Oliver said quickly. “Come on, Woof.’’ They had a couple of cords stacked in the barn, cut to two foot lengths. He turned on the light and found the maul leaning against the corner where he had left it. He swung the maul and tossed the wood and pretended that Suzanne wasn’t sitting in her quiet living room, pretended that nothing had happened. Woof sat attentively in the doorway. There was only the splitting, the thunk of the maul into the chopping block, the klokking sound of pieces thrown on the pile . . .
“Pizza’s ready. My goodness, Sweetums, what a pile!’’ Oliver gathered up an armful.
“Should hold us for awhile,’’ he said. Woof bounded into the house, wagging her tail. “You know,’’ Oliver said, “we really ought to get a decent wood stove. More efficient. And if we have furnace trouble, it would be good to have something besides the fireplace.’’
“Maybe we could get the kind with glass doors, so we can see the fire,’’ Jennifer said.
“They make good ones now,’’ Oliver said.
“Let’s go tomorrow.’’
“Solid,’’ he said. Little by little, normality was returning, but he had to work at it. Luckily, he didn’t have to go to the hospital until Monday.
19.
Saturday morning, Oliver and Jennifer bought a stove and brought it home in the Jeep. Mark came out and helped move the stove from the Jeep to the living room in front of the fireplace. It would go in the corner when they put a chimney up for it, but, for now, they could use the old chimney. A hole for the stovepipe was waiting, covered by a decorated pie plate.
Sunday afternoon, Emma lay contentedly in her playpen near the new stove while a fire burned and Oliver watched the Patriots lose another one. Jennifer had driven in to The Conservancy for a couple of hours. Woof was outside. Verdi was curled by a window. The stove had cost a bundle, but it was worth it, Oliver thought. They charged it on one of Jennifer’s credit cards.
“Da Da.’’
“Yes, Emma.’’ He lifted her and held her in the crook of his arm. She looked up at him steadily as he walked back and forth across the living room. Muffled snapping sounds came from the stove. He heard the wind outside and saw bare branches moving in the trees across the lawn. The sky was gray and darkening. “Here comes the storm, Emma,’’ he said. “Here it comes.’’ He put her down in the playpen, turned off the TV, and played La Traviata.
Pavarotti’s voice swelled through the house. “Listen to that, Emma!’’ He stroked Verdi and watched the lowering clouds.
Jennifer came home full of enthusiasm and plans. “Eric is having a party!’’
“Hot diggety.’’
“It will be fun! And lots of Conservancy people will be there. I really have to go. And I think it’s good for Emma.’’
“Well, it’s that time of year,’’ Oliver said, giving in.
“We won’t stay long.’’
“We’ll stay as long as you want,’’ he said.
They went to bed early that night. When Jennifer reached for Oliver, he followed her lead, waited for her, and tried to stay close. He floated away and brought himself back. She was uncomplicated sexually. Thank goodness.
She rubbed his back. “Oooh, that was nice,’’ she said. “You worked so hard on the stove. You’re tired. Poor Sweetums.’’
“Mmmm,’’ he said, nuzzling and hiding his face on her shoulder. “Sweetums sleep now.’’
The storm dumped eight inches overnight, the first real snow of the winter. It was blustery and clearing when Oliver went outside in the morning. The Volvo was in the barn. Jennifer was staying home until the road was plowed. He cleared off the Jeep and crunched slowly down the hill. As the clouds shifted, the light changed from gray to white and back to gray. The Jeep slid around
a little, not much. He had concrete blocks in the back, three by each wheel. The heater threw out a blast of hot air. Four wheel drive is great, he told the world. People were brushing snow from their cars and shoveling walks. Several waved as he passed. The first snow was always a relief.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Suzanne. It would be best not to see her. When he walked into his office, the first thing that he saw was an envelope on his desk. It looked like the ones that his paycheck came in. “Oliver,’’ was written on the front. He opened it and took out a note.
Hi. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me. But if you do—I get off at noon Friday. I can go straight home and do the shopping Saturday. If you can’t make it, next Friday would be good too. But if you don’t want to, I’ll understand. (I said that already.) Missing you. S.
P.S. Eat this note.
Oliver folded the note into a small square and buried it in his pocket. Suzanne looked up when he put his head in her door. She was dressed plainly in a white blouse. Her hair was pulled back. Her eyes were soft. “Saturday’s a good day for shopping,’’ he said.
She lowered her eyes for a moment. The corners of her mouth moved down and back, the beginning of her smile. “If you go early,’’ she said. She was tender and proud, so compact that Oliver wanted to sweep her into his arms and keep her inside his shirt. He smiled helplessly and went back to his office. Didn’t mean to do that, he said to himself. But he knew he couldn’t run from her; it would be like running from himself. This thing was going to destroy him if he didn’t come to grips with it, if he didn’t understand what was going on.
It was a relief to sit at his desk. One thing about computer work, he thought. You can’t do it and do anything else at the same time. Auditors were coming from national headquarters, and the trial balance was off by $185,000. Dan was hoping to find the problem before they arrived. It was a lot of money. Oliver wondered if it had been stolen. Was there a First Fundamentalist embezzler? He concentrated until lunch time, leaving his office only once. Suzanne drove out at noon, and he left five minutes later. He wasn’t sure he could take seeing her again that day.
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