Where could she be?
As he studied the tidy room, he noticed the light flashing on the answering machine. Snow had fallen all afternoon, and the roads were starting to get sloppy. Syl had probably gotten stuck in traffic and had called the house to leave him a message. He rubbed his hands together — he really needed to get out his winter gloves — then measured grounds into the coffee brewer to make a warm drink. When the drink was ready, he cupped it in one hand and jabbed the playback bar on the answering machine with the other.
The voice that filled the kitchen definitely was not Sylvia’s.
"Ah, Sylvia. It is Etienne," the smooth baritone proclaimed. "I am so disappointed you are not there. These carols playing on the radio have made me so lonely, and I knew talking to you would cheer me. But, alors that is not to be."
A deep sigh issued from the machine.
Dave shook his head in disgust. "Drama Queen!" he muttered.
"Have you thought more about our next trip, cherie?” the voice continued. “Eet would be wonderful to see you again. I have missed you. Eet has been too long. Call me, s’il vous plait, and let me know what you have decided. You have my number. I will be waiting."
Dave pressed the replay button and listened to the message again and then another time. With each playing, his anger deepened.
So this was why Sylvia wanted to go on all those trips. Was this phony Frenchman the reason she’d taken on so many students to tutor? So she could afford to go on trips with him? And where did this character get off anyway, calling another man’s wife and leaving messages in that smarmy French accent?
Does the guy plan to replace me? Dave wondered.
When he’d picked Sylvia up from her bus trip, Dave had only gotten a brief glimpse of the man. This Etienne character had looked like he was barely half his wife’s age. Well, maybe not that young, but definitely younger than Sylvia.
Dave carried his coffee into the den, swirling the dark brew thoughtfully as he walked. Was that why Syl suddenly decided to start walking at the Y and had her hair and nails done every week? He turned off the lamp then plopped down in his favorite chair to think.
What on earth had happened to his marriage? Sylvia hadn’t been the same since she’d retired and suddenly gotten this bug to travel. Dave remembered the early days of their marriage when they’d been so in love. When Syl had told him she wanted to travel one day, Dave had promised to whisk her away for a long vacation once their kids were grown and they had money in the bank. He would have promised her the moon if it would make her smile.
Syl seemed to understand and never minded that they were poor. She believed him when he vowed to make a good life for them. And he had made good on that promise. He’d built a stable life for them, balanced on the twin pillars of Financial Security and Dependability. It was what Grandfather Beaumont had drilled into Dave’s head all his life. Dave would have been more comfortable staying in a low-level job with his spreadsheets and actuary tables, but he’d advanced through the ranks at Davis Andrews to provide for his wife and children. Dave made a good salary but never spent a cent without first analyzing if the purchase was necessary. Their personal funds were invested even more carefully than those of his business clients. When the boys were born, he’d set aside money for their educations. He’d done the same for Lynne but had also started a wedding account for her. He and Sylvia owned a lovely home, drove nice cars, and were largely debt-free, thanks to his sensible money management. If his parents had been half as sensible, they would never have left their children penniless when they’d died.
Sensible.
Why did the word suddenly echo in his head like an accusation?
****
"Dave? Where are you?"
The sound of his wife’s voice startled Dave awake. Before he could answer, the light flipped on in the den, half-blinding him.
"Why are you sitting here in the dark?"
Dave shrugged. "I dozed off."
He rubbed his eyes and stretched then glanced back over at his wife.
"Your boyfriend called," he said, watching her face for her reaction.
"My what?"
"Your travel friend. Englebert."
"Etienne?"
"Whatever.” Dave brushed aside the correction. "He had some questions for you about your next trip. I didn’t know you were planning to go away again."
"I told you about it, Dave. There’s a concert of 60s and 70s music in January near the casino in Traverse City. I wanted more information before I signed up. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come with me."
"It didn’t sound like he was planning on me joining you, cherie. Anyway, the message is still on the machine. He said you have his number — or else it’s probably on the caller ID." He felt the anger rising again and took a deep breath to try to calm down. He didn’t want to argue with Sylvia, but knew he would if he stayed there. Dave rose from his chair and picked up his empty coffee cup. "I’ll give you some privacy so you can call Eduardo back."
"Etienne," Sylvia corrected then puffed out a breath. "Anyway, there’s no need for you to leave. I can call him later. I brought home pizza since I was so late. It’ll take just a minute to set the table."
"I’m not hungry."
"But it’s your favorite: pepperoni and portabellas on a thin crust."
"Doesn’t matter," he said. "I’m going to bed."
Chapter Twenty
"No."
"No? But you’ve always liked the Londoners and—"
"It’s too expensive and too soon after the holidays."
"It’s not nearly as expensive as the historical tour I told you about. Nor as long as the one I told you I’d like to make to the Texas Quilt Museum someday. Besides, I’m making good money with my tutoring, honey. I have more than enough to pay for our tickets, the bus fares, and—"
"No. N. O. No!" he declared. The silverware rattled as he slammed his coffee mug on the breakfast table. "Or maybe I need to say non in some sissified French accent in order for you to listen to me."
Sylvia stared with shock at the man sitting across from her. She knew Dave had been upset over Etienne’s message the night before. She’d been upset about it, too. The Londoners were Dave’s favorites, so Sylvia had hoped the concert would entice him to make the trip with her. Etienne’s call had pretty much shot that possibility. So she was angry, too. However, Dave’s mood went way beyond angry. In all their years together, she’d never seen him quite like this. She sipped her coffee, took a deep breath, then tried to reason with him again.
"What about a different trip after the holidays, honey? Just you and me. We can go by car if you don’t want to take a bus. It might be a lot of fun. We can pick some spot on the map and just take off."
"Doesn’t interest me."
"Blast it, Dave!” she exclaimed, losing her patience. “What does interest you these days?"
"Getting this house fixed up so we can sell it."
"Sell the house?" She carefully set her mug down so he wouldn’t notice her trembling hands then stared at him across the table. "Why would we want to sell our home?"
Dave shrugged. "It’s too big. We don’t need a four-bedroom house anymore. We need to downsize."
"I see." Her eyes narrowed, but she forced herself to keep an even voice. Screaming wouldn’t help this situation. "And when did you plan to let me in on this decision, David? Before or after you started packing?"
He fidgeted in his chair, refusing to meet her eyes. "If you’re going to be traipsing around the world, it won’t really matter what kind of place you come home to. Besides, I figured you’ll need more money for all your travels."
"You figured this? Based on the one trip I’ve made since retiring? Get real! I earned enough money for that trip as well as the next ones I wanted us to take together. I haven’t taken one single, solitary cent from you — or from my retirement checks. Did you forget that little fact?"
He sighed. "I know. But—"
She continued
as if he hadn’t spoken, forcing herself to maintain a calm tone. "Dave, this is what we’ve talked about for years. Why we’ve always wanted to retire early."
"I don’t."
"Don’t what?"
"I don’t want to retire, Sylvia. I have other plans."
Sylvia was glad she was sitting or her knees might have given out. She knew things had been strained between them lately, but surely Dave wasn’t talking about divorce. She wet her lips. "What do you mean by ‘other plans’? What are you saying?"
"I’ve worked hard at Davis Andrews, Syl. I’m good at what I do, and our clients like me. But I’ve never risen higher than division manager."
"Honey, that’s no reflection on you. Davis has always brought their vice-presidents in from the corporate headquarters in Atlanta."
"True. But that thinking has changed. Do you remember Roger Bentley?"
"The Grand Rapids VP? Of course. We went to the big welcome bash they threw for his family. It was just before Thanksgiving last year, and we had an early snowstorm. Remember how his wife kept looking out the window and saying it was like being inside a big snow globe? She couldn’t wait to take their kids sledding."
"Well, apparently she changed her mind after a few months of the stuff. She told Roger she wasn’t going through another winter like that. She took the kids and moved back to Atlanta before the school year started."
"Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. Are they divorcing... over a job?"
"When she left, Roger didn’t know what would happen between them. I had drinks with him a few times after work — some of the nights when I got home late — he thought Joyce might file. But Joyce is the daughter of Michael Davis—"
"The CEO of your company?"
Dave nodded. "Apparently, Joyce blamed her father for the split. Said it was unforgivable of him to uproot families and move them to strange towns just to run a regional office. She said the branches already had plenty of qualified people who could run them. She must have made a pretty strong case, because Roger’s been transferred back to Atlanta. I hear HR has contacted the vice-presidents at our other branches to see who else might want to move back to corporate."
"So who will run your branch now?"
"I’m not sure..." he hedged, looking everywhere except at her.
"Wait a minute. Did they offer you the job?"
"Not yet," he said. He took a sip of coffee then continued. "But Davis’s assistant called yesterday. He wants to do a phone interview with me next week."
The more Dave talked, the more enthusiastic he became about the possibility. Sylvia listened and tried to make supportive comments, but she couldn’t stop wondering how long this had been in the works and why she was only just now hearing about it. Of course, they really hadn’t been talking too much about anything lately.
"So, that’s all I know," Dave finished, holding his hands out, palms up. "Now, do you understand why I don’t want to retire?"
"I do and I don’t," Sylvia replied. "I understand you’re excited about this opportunity — and you deserve the promotion. I’m happy for you. I really am..."
"But?" Dave asked and Sylvia could see his jaw tighten.
She clenched her hands in her lap and took a deep breath before answering. "But what about us?" she finally asked. "What about our plans? I told you how much I wanted to travel. For goodness sake, I’ve never been anywhere further than Grand Haven. I told you I couldn’t even go on my senior trip because I had to take care of my mother..."
"Sylvia, you want to travel, I don’t."
"You talked about it, too, Dave. You even analyzed how early we could retire without hurting our pensions..."
"Well, things have changed. I’ve changed. This is a chance of a lifetime for me. You don’t seem to understand that."
"Oh, I understand it just fine!" Sylvia rose from her chair and glared at her husband. "You’ve already made up your mind. You plan to accept the promotion when it’s offered, scrap our retirement plans, and continue to invest for a someday that’s so far in the future you’ll probably never live to see it.
"What I do not see, David Miller, is any place for me in your high and mighty plans."
Chapter Twenty-One
He didn’t want to be there.
Dave nursed his drink, listening with half an ear to the conversations buzzing around him, and wished he could be somewhere else. He hated these company parties where all the employees sucked up to the brass, and all the brass tried to act like they were just regular guys. He’d much rather be home in the den, watching this favorite Friday night line-up on their big screen TV.
Not Sylvia. She stood near the condo’s fireplace, chatting easily with one of the company execs. Firelight shimmered on her deep blue silky dress, a dress that hugged every one of her shapely curves. Syl always looked forward to the Christmas party. When the invitation arrived in the mail, she’d immediately put it on their calendar and began planning what to wear.
Sylvia loved parties of every sort. He wouldn't call her a social butterfly; she just enjoyed people and was comfortable in these situations. He’d never met anyone like her. She could make polite conversation with anyone, from the new kid in the mailroom to the president of the company. Wherever she went in the room, people welcomed her with warm hugs and genuine smiles. DA’s management should take lessons from her.
Maybe she could add lessons in social chitchat to her tutoring resume. She’d make a fortune. I could be her first student.
Dave had never learned the art of polite art of social conversation. His grandfather had considered parties a waste of money and energy. He’d raised Dave to speak only when he had something of value to say. Over the years, Sylvia had tried to assure him he had lots of important ideas to contribute to conversations. With her at his side, he’d slowly become a bit more self-assured both socially and in the accounting offices of Davis Andrews. Once he began to speak up at client meetings, people took notice, and he’d soon been given some big accounts to manage. However, he was always glad to have Sylvia by his side at important dinners and social events.
Tonight, it was more important than ever to mingle and pretend he was having a great time. Since Roger had returned to Atlanta, management had a VP position to fill, and Dave wanted his chance to reach for the brass ring. Vice-president. Head of the entire Midwest operation. His grandfather would have been pleased with that. Dave frowned and took another sip of his drink. Actually, Grandfather would probably have found something wrong with it. Just as he did with everything else in my life.
The thought shocked Dave. Did he really believe his grandfather had disapproved of him so deeply? A peal of familiar laughter floated across the room, disrupting Dave’s introspection. He glanced around the room looking for its source, and spotted his wife with a group of DA’s management, laughing at something Brian Dylan had said. Dave felt a twinge of jealousy as the company president put a hand on Sylvia’s arm then leaned toward her to whisper something in her ear. She gave him one of her incandescent smiles but shook her head and turned to one of the other execs. Was the company president flirting with his wife?
Dave could hardly fault the man if he was. His petite wife looked gorgeous this evening. Her eyes sparkled and the champagne she’d been sipping brought a delightful glow to her cheeks. She was beautiful — as breathtaking as the day he’d married her — maybe more so. She’d swept back her dark hair in a twisty arrangement at the back of her head that showed off her long, graceful neck. All night long, he’d wanted to lean down and kiss that creamy skin and whisper, "I can’t wait to get you home."
But he couldn’t... she was leaving him.
His morose thoughts were interrupted by a delicate hand, stroking his arm. "So, how is our future vice-president doing this lovely evening?"
****
All evening, Sylvia had been circulating, trying to be the perfect corporate wife, but she was ready to go home. Dave hadn’t mentioned the D word yet or made any further comments about selli
ng the house since his outburst earlier in the week. Was stress over the job the reason behind his recent bouts of temper? If this promotion meant that much to him, she planned to do everything she could to help further his cause.
Determined to show Dave her support, she’d spent the morning at the beauty shop — the day spa they called it now — having her hair tinted then arranged in an elegant braided updo. She’d even splurged on a facial. Weeks before, she’d spotted the perfect cocktail dress in a small shop near The Stitching Post. Dave loved sapphire blue, so she’d bought the beautiful column dress even though it had been a bit snug around her hips. However, last night, she’d tried it on, and the dress had skimmed her figure beautifully. All that walking had really paid off. Or maybe it had been her loss of appetite from worrying about her marriage. Whatever the cause, she knew she looked her best. In fact, Lynne had stopped by the house and had raved about her sexy new look.
But Dave hadn’t noticed. Before they’d left the house, he had barely glanced at her outfit even though she was wearing the strappy stiletto heels he always found so sexy.
Since arriving at the party, he’d left her to fend for herself while he chatted with the group of execs standing near the bar. In her head, Sylvia knew he had to mix and mingle with the people who could influence his promotion. But couldn’t he have taken a few seconds to comment on her appearance? Other men certainly had. One of Dave’s half-inebriated coworkers kept making embarrassing passes, and Brian Dylan, DA’s president, flirted outrageously every time he came near her. In the past, Dave would have noticed when men hit on her, and he would have come to stand protectively beside her.
Tonight, he didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t commented on her appearance or the fact that she wore his favorite color. Etienne certainly would have noticed. Her gallant Canadian friend would have lavished compliments on her elegant hairdo, and he definitely would have had something to say about her sexy shoes.
The Calico Heart Page 9