The Husband Hour

by Jamie Brenner

  The day after Nora had mentioned selling everything, even the four walls, she realized she and Howard were looking at the business problem completely wrong. Their options weren’t only to keep it going or sell it; they could sublease the space. With just one day in Philly exploring this option, she’d put out some feelers and had leads on potential tenants. Nothing concrete, but it was a start.

  Howard had completely missed it. It wasn’t like him. Howard thought he was being practical and strategic during the store crisis, but the truth was, the loss of the family business was more than just a financial blow. It was an emotional one, and that’s why he made big mistakes in the end. Why he was still making a big mistake.

  “Mom? Why are you standing here in the dark?”

  Beth looked up, startled. Had Lauren been home after all?

  “Did you just get home?”

  “Yeah. I was…out. I thought you were staying in Philly overnight.”

  Beth explained it wasn’t worth it; she wanted to wake up in her own bed. She didn’t bother telling her about the store and the sublease. It was clear from the distracted look on Lauren’s face that there were more important things to discuss.

  “Are you okay?” Beth asked gently. There had been a time when Lauren was as transparent as a glass of water. But she had closed herself off after her marriage, and even more after Rory’s death.

  “I’m just confused,” Lauren said, but in a way that was surprisingly light. In that moment, Beth noticed that there was a brightness about her, an energy that she hadn’t seen in her in a long time.

  “About what?”

  Lauren opened the fridge, then closed it. She leaned against the counter facing Beth.

  “My life. What it’s supposed to be now. Who I’m supposed to be now.”

  Beth nodded. She’d been waiting for years for her daughter to come to her. She wondered if her sense of being pulled back to the shore that night had less to do with the need to sleep under her own roof and more with the universe making sure she was in the right place for this conversation.

  She put down her wineglass. “Your relationship with Rory was a major part of your life. But your life is going to continue past that point. It already has, whether you realize it or not. You need to stop fighting so hard against it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t? Lauren, I know you’re trying to do the right thing, to be strong. But it’s like that fable, the oak and the reed? Remember from when you were little?”

  “I don’t know. Vaguely.”

  “Okay, I might not be getting this exactly right. But the oak tree always seemed so strong because it never bent in the breeze, while the reeds swayed with the wind. But when the huge storm came and the oak tree couldn’t bend, it broke.”

  “The reeds were fine, I take it?”

  “Come on. I’m serious.”

  “So what are you saying? I’m being weak?”

  “No,” Beth said. “But I do think the storm has come. And I don’t want you to break.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  It was a mistake.

  Matt woke up thinking about the kiss, and for a brief moment of self-delusion he told himself it was a dream, it was the alcohol, it was too much time in front of the computer screen—anything but reality.

  A mistake, but not fatal. He would see her at some point during the day, act like nothing had happened. No, he would apologize—again. And then get back to business as usual. He wanted to see those newspaper articles and yearbooks.

  But he couldn’t stop remembering the way it felt. There was a strange relief to it, as if he’d been thinking about kissing her for weeks. He’d come to care for her—a complete mistake from a professional standpoint.

  All in all, the transgression had lasted, what, twenty seconds? The shocking part—the reason it hadn’t been even more brief—was the way she’d responded to him. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Until it wasn’t, and she freaked out.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” she’d said, pulling back, her hand covering her mouth.

  “Sorry!” he said. “My bad. And, hey—I guess that pink cocktail must be stronger than it looks.” His attempt to lighten the mood failed. She became silent.

  When he dropped her off at her house, he said, “Lauren, please don’t be upset. It’s as good as forgotten, okay?”

  She shook her head, as if they had been debating something. “It’s not your fault.”

  And then she got out of the car without another glance at him. He felt like a total jerk.

  He’d spent too much time in that town. It was fucking up his head. The first red flag had been his mixed feelings about interviewing Stephanie last night and not letting Lauren know. It was absurd, of course; he didn’t have to report everything to Lauren—anything to Lauren. But he was uncomfortable knowing the truth about Rory and her sister.

  Then he realized that he hadn’t saved Stephanie’s interview from the drive to his laptop. Usually, he did the transfer immediately following the interview, but Lauren had left him a voice mail while Stephanie was there. As soon as she’d left, he listened and then ran right over to see her. The night unfolded from there. When he got back to his room after the kiss debacle, file management had been the last thing on his mind.

  He downloaded the interview, labeled the chip Stephanie #2, and tucked it into the drive folder on his desk. He was meticulous about keeping two sets of every interview, one on his hard drive and the physical chip in the folder. Every filmmaker he knew had horror stories about corrupted drives and lost laptops.

  His phone rang. Craig.

  Matt waited a beat, steadying himself.

  “Hello,” he said, trying to keep his tone normal.

  “Hey, man. Watched your updated reel last night.”

  “And?”

  “I think maybe this conversation is worth continuing. When are you coming back to New York?”

  Matt’s heart raced. “I’m wrapping things up here.”

  “Tell you what—I’ll come to you. I wouldn’t mind a day at the beach.”

  Beth maneuvered her way past the line and into Nora’s Café. She angled her body so the tray of doughnuts didn’t get jostled or knocked out of her hands and finally spotted Nora in the back of the dining room near the specials board.

  “Hi, Beth,” Nora said cheerily. “Are you looking for Lauren? She’s off today.”

  “I know. I came to see you, actually. I brought these.” She handed her the tray. “I wanted to thank you for the party the other day. That little talk in the kitchen was just what I needed.”

  “Well, I appreciate the doughnuts—they were a huge hit and I wish I’d saved a few more for myself! But I’m afraid I don’t remember a serious talk.”

  “It was what you said about business—about selling even the four walls. It gave me an idea. A financial lifeline, really.”

  “Lauren did mention at the beginning of the summer that you were thinking of selling the house.” Her brow furrowed in concern.

  “My husband wants to sell it. But I’m fighting every step of the way. And as I was saying, thanks to our conversation, I had a brainstorm and things are looking a little brighter. So enjoy the doughnuts.”

  Nora lifted the foil covering the French crullers, the chocolate glazed, and the peanut butter and jelly doughnuts.

  “The peanut butter and jelly ones were my grandson’s idea,” Beth said. “I would eat them today. Just a suggestion.”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm!” Nora said. “You certainly are talented.”

  Beth beamed. “Thank you. I realize how much I’ve missed it.”

  Nora walked to the counter and set down the tray. When she turned back to Beth, it was like she was seeing her for the first time.

  “Would you be interested in catering the dessert for a party I’m throwing? It will be here, in the restaurant, so you could use my kitchen for anything you need.”

  Beth, mouth agape, took a mom
ent before answering. “I don’t know what to say! That’s…I mean, I haven’t catered an actual party since before Lauren was born.”

  “Nonsense! You basically catered dessert for my entire Fourth of July party. And of course, just tell me your fee.”

  Beth’s smile faded at the mention of money, but before she could say anything Nora jumped in with “And don’t you start thinking this offer is just because you mentioned financial troubles. I was thinking about placing an ad for a pastry chef before you walked in today. And here you are! It’s meant to be.”

  “What’s the party for?” Beth asked, stalling.

  “I’m finally taking the leap and opening the restaurant for dinner service. I’m inviting about a hundred friends and loyal customers to celebrate and sample the new menu.”

  Beth swelled with hopefulness. It was just the sort of thing she’d fantasized about—baking again, working again, feeling in control of her own destiny.

  “And if I cater dessert for the party and things go well…”

  “Then we talk about making it an ongoing business relationship. What do you say?”

  “I say…I’d better get home and start working on a menu.”

  It was her day off, but Lauren woke to the alarm she’d set for her run. And the previous night rushed back to her.

  “Oh my God.” She sank back against the pillows, covering her eyes with her arm. She could feel it all over again, Matt leaning close to her, the confusion as her body moved toward him while her mind blinked frantically like an emergency light. But her body won out, and she kissed him back.

  It was the realization that it felt good, that it felt right, that made her pull away. The guilt was instant and almost physical, like nausea.

  She could tell by the look on Matt’s face that it had been an impulse, that the whole thing had taken him by surprise too. She’d wanted to just bolt, to walk home without another word to him. But she didn’t want to make too big a deal out of it or, worse, make him feel bad. If she were a normal woman, if they were in a normal circumstance, she would have been flattered. In an alternative universe, without the anchor of her past, Matt would be the type of guy she would be interested in. He was good-looking, smart, curious about people and the world around him.

  She’d felt his outrage, though he hadn’t said a word, when she admitted that Rory had hit her. Maybe that was what freed Matt to see her as a woman, not just a widow. He probably lost a little respect for Rory. After it happened, she had as well. But then he died, and there was no room left for anger over an argument. No room left for resentment about the way their relationship had deteriorated. He was gone, and everything changed.

  If he had lived, would they have gotten back together? Could their marriage have been saved? She hated to admit it, but the answer was probably no. All this time, she had been fighting that realization. But it was true.

  Even though Lauren had set her alarm to go running, she felt oddly unmotivated. Instead of running clothes, she put on a bathing suit, then grabbed a towel from the hallway linen closet and walked to the kitchen. She’d barely reached the coffeemaker when she heard the splashing and laughter coming from the pool.

  She looked out the sliding-glass doors and saw Stephanie standing in the shallow end with Ethan, Neil Hanes sitting close by on the pool ledge. Well, good for her, Lauren thought. At least she was paying attention to Ethan. And it probably didn’t hurt for him to have a man around. Lauren spent as much time with him as she could, but it was clear the kid was lonely.

  She watched him get out of the pool, take a running jump in, and splash Stephanie, who squealed with delight. Ethan spotted Lauren watching through the door and waved. She waved back. He climbed out of the pool again and ran over; he had to use both hands and his body weight to pull open the door.

  “Come swimming, Aunt Lauren!” he said, breathless.

  “Um, maybe later. It looks like you’ve got enough company out there. Go on—have fun with your mom.”

  “I want you,” he said, grabbing her arm with his little wet, water-pruned hand. She glanced outside and caught Stephanie’s eye. Stephanie gestured impatiently, like Just come out.

  It was pushing ninety degrees on the deck and it wasn’t even ten in the morning. The water was enticing. The company? Not so much.

  “Hey there, nice to see you, Lauren,” Neil said, standing up to greet her. For a second it seemed he was going to try to kiss her cheek in greeting, but she stepped back. She realized in that moment that she didn’t like Neil Hanes. There was no particular reason for it; he was nice enough, and she didn’t hold it against him that he’d bounced from being interested in her to being interested in Stephanie. There was just something about the way he was always showing up that set her on edge.

  “We’re going to play Marco Polo,” Neil said. “Now that you’re here, we have an even number and can do teams.”

  “I’m just going to watch,” she said.

  “Aunt Lauren!” Ethan called, throwing her a beach ball. She caught it, and the feel of wet plastic pumped with air brought her back to the time when she and Stephanie had been children in that pool, when their grandmother used to sit on the steps in the shallow end, white-nosed with zinc oxide, and admonish them for swimming too soon after eating.

  She tossed it back to him.

  “Come on, Lauren. You seem game-ready to me,” Neil said.

  Lauren ignored him and arranged her towel on one of the chaise longues.

  “With four people we could have a chicken fight,” Stephanie said, already climbing onto Neil’s shoulders. “Ethan, you get on Aunt Lauren’s shoulders.”

  So typical of Stephanie. She was surprised Stephanie hadn’t broken out the Woody’s vodka coolers like she used to do in high school. Lauren, not wanting to be the most epic bad sport of all time, waded into the pool and lowered herself so Ethan could get onto her shoulders. She put her hands on his thighs, making sure he was secure.

  “Hold on to me with your legs—just try not to strangle me,” she said.

  “Come and get me!” Stephanie said to him, holding a fluorescent green noodle and bopping him on the head with it. Ethan laughed.

  “Aunt Lauren, can you get me the yellow one?”

  Lauren reached for the wet, spongy plastic and handed it to Ethan. Armed, he and Stephanie jousted while Lauren and Neil stood facing each other, bolstering the dueling mother and son. Neil, maybe tiring of his purely functional role, launched Stephanie off of his shoulders into the deep end.

  “I win!” Ethan said. Lauren eased him off her shoulders and swam with him to the shallowest spot. Then she felt, more than saw, someone watching them.

  “Sorry to intrude,” Matt said. He was wearing cargo shorts and an NYU T-shirt.

  She started to say, You’re not intruding, but he was. And besides, she was too unnerved by how happy she was to see him to bother with politesse.

  “The door is open,” she said, glancing toward the deep end at an oblivious Stephanie and Neil, frolicking like teenagers. “Go in the house and I’ll be right there.”

  She climbed out of the pool, quickly wrapped herself in a towel, and told Ethan to sit on the steps. “Hey,” she called out to Stephanie. “I have to run inside. Watch Ethan.”

  Matt leaned against the kitchen counter next to a pile of handwritten doughnut recipes her mother had left out. “Who’s the chef?” he said.

  “My mother. Remember the doughnuts on the Fourth of July?”

  “That’s right. I forgot. Look, I’m sorry to barge in on you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with…last night.”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s…we’re good,” she said.

  “That’s a relief.” He smiled at her and they fell into an awkward silence. “Well, I should get going.”

  “Do you want some coffee or anything to eat? I mean, you’re here anyway. And we’re in the kitchen,” she said lamely.

  “Thanks, but I have to do some editing. My producer is coming out to
see me today.”

  His producer. The film wasn’t just Matt’s project; other people were involved. The world would see it. This was happening.

  “I need your word that you’re not going to make him look bad,” she said.

  “Lauren, Rory doesn’t look bad. He looks human. And I know you want the world to remember the man you loved, not some myth. The real Rory—and what happened to him—is a more important story than some fake example of perfect valor that doesn’t help anyone. You knew Rory’s flaws but still loved him, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

  “Then you have to trust that the world will too.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Beth tried to juggle too many grocery bags and dropped the carton of heavy cream onto the driveway. She picked it up and inspected it to be sure that it hadn’t split open. The last thing she needed was to have to go back to Casel’s and stand in line again. All she wanted was to start baking, to experiment with the best possible doughnut varieties for Nora’s party.

  The opportunity felt overwhelming. For years, she barely baked. Now she’d just dipped her toe back in and made doughnuts for fun, and suddenly she had a party to cater. Humming with excitement, she rearranged her shopping bags. That’s when she noticed Howard’s car.

  What on earth? Had she missed a call from him? A message that he was coming back?

  She walked around to the back of the house.

  Someone had left the pool area in disarray—wet towels were everywhere, noodles still floated in the deep end, and there were soda cans on the table. She hurried into the kitchen, closed the door behind her, and was greeted only by the silence of the house.

  “Hello?” she called.

  “Up here!” Lauren yelled from the second floor.

  She climbed the stairs. Lauren’s bedroom door was open, and she peeked in to find her looking through one of the big moving boxes she had brought down from the attic.