Didn’t Dave care about her anymore? They had always had such an intense, physical intimacy. Nowadays, he forgot to kiss her goodnight half the time. When he did remember, the kiss was barely a peck on the cheek.
She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about the upcoming holidays. What if Dave was merely waiting for them to pass before he served her with divorce papers? Her stomach suddenly lurched. How on earth could she get through their family gatherings without letting the kids see her worry? She needed to get away, needed time to think. Maybe she should go to the concert after all. It might be hard listening to the Londoners perform the songs she and Dave had loved, but the time away would give her time to think, to decide what to do about her marriage.
"Do you want something more?"
The question jerked Sylvia back to her festive surroundings. She opened her eyes in time to see a slender redhead in a low cut, too-tight, mini dress lean against Dave as she laughingly retrieved her drink from the bar behind him.
Sylvia turned toward the young waiter, who’d asked the question. He extended a tray filled with champagne flutes toward her.
"Do you want something more?" he repeated.
"Oh, I do indeed. But nothing you have on your tray."
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Honey, did you get the extra batteries for the camera?"
Sylvia didn't wait for an answer. In the mood he was in, Dave would answer when he got around it, but she didn’t have time that morning to try to jolly him into a better mood. The kids were coming for brunch, and she wanted everything to be perfect. The baked omelet was warming in the oven, the coffee pot was filled and ready to brew, and all the juices were chilled. Croissants and Danishes rested in separate, napkin-lined baskets. Now it was time to set the table. At the last moment, Sylvia decided to splurge and use her good china.
Dave shuffled into the kitchen, holding a new package of batteries. "Got the batteries right here. I don't know why you need to take pictures every single year. It's the same bunch of people in the same place, doing the same things each time. We just get older in each set of pictures. Besides, if the batteries run out, the kids all have cameras on their phones."
Sylvia suppressed a sigh. A few months ago, she might have laughed at her endearing curmudgeon, now the tension between them made it an effort not to criticize him for being Scrooge. But this was Christmas Day. The children would arrive soon, and she was going to try her hardest to put on a cheerful face for them.
She pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Her new haircut was going to take some getting used to. So was the color. It was a subtle change, but with the gray covered, she felt younger, more energetic. The salon had been running a special on manicures, and she'd splurged on that, too. She could count on one hand the number of professional manicures she'd had in her lifetime. It had been an expense she just couldn't justify when they were raising their kids and getting financially stable. But now, the kids were out of the house and she didn't need to be so frugal. Besides, she'd picked up some additional tutoring, too. A few university students had needed coaching, and she'd made some extra money that way. So she deserved a day of pampering, and she felt soft and feminine from head to toe.
D2 arrived first. He came in through the garage door, set his boots on the mat in the mudroom, and hung his coat up. So meticulous, just like his father. He made sure everything was hung neatly before coming into the kitchen to give his mother a warm hug. "Merry Christmas, Mom."
"Merry Christmas, Davey," she replied, reverting to his childhood name as she hugged him back. “How were the roads from Chicago?"
"Not bad at all. We got an early start in order to avoid the traffic, but the plows had already been out, and the roads were clear."
"That's great. But where's your brother? Didn't he come with you?"
"Oh, you know John. As soon as he got out of the car he spied Mrs. Carruthers getting her morning paper next door, and he had to rush over to talk to her."
Her younger son had always been the more social of the two boys. "I'm sure Leona enjoyed that. Meanwhile, could you help me finish setting the table?"
Lynne and Ron arrived with a large tray of fruit just as the last place was set. Dave took their coats, Ron put their gifts under the tree, and the family sat down to eat.
"Mom, you look so different. I love what they did to your hair," Lynne remarked.
D2 peered at her. "I thought something was different about you. It's darker, isn't it? Or maybe it just looks that way with all the gray gone. It’s a lot nicer this way."
Lynne swatted her brother. "You oaf. No wonder you're still single. Don’t you know you should never tell a woman how gray she used to be? Just tell her how young she looks now."
The children laughed, but Sylvia noticed Dave hadn’t said a word. With his head down, he concentrated on cutting his food into uniformly sized morsels.
Doesn't he like my new look?
Well, too bad. She wasn’t going to dwell on him and his odd moods. The kids were not going to see her worrying about her marriage on Christmas. She would be the happy mom and loving wife they were used to seeing. And hopefully, as soon as Dave opened his gift from her, she hoped he’d realize how supportive she now was of his plan to keep working. It had taken her a long time to find a special gift that would tell him, but she’d finally found a beautiful monogrammed desk set for him. She remembered seeing a similar set once on his grandfather's desk, and since he revered his Grandpa Beaumont, she decided to outfit him with a similar set. It had cost more than they usually spent on gifts for each other, but she’d had her extra tutoring money, so she could easily afford the luxury.
****
Dave tried to keep his expression pleasant, but he could feel the heat rising in his ears. He knew if his kids took a close look at him, they'd notice his red neck and cheeks. Blast it, he'd wanted to compliment Sylvia on her appearance, but the kids had beaten him to it.
Now, hearing her thank them and say how much younger it made her feel, he regretted not speaking up. In his opinion, Syl hadn’t needed to dye her hair or get a new haircut. She was already the most attractive woman of her age he knew. Shoot, she was the most attractive woman he knew, period. Those yahoos at the company party sure hadn’t been able to keep their eyes off her. Why didn’t she realize how beautiful she was?
He sighed. Maybe he hadn’t told her enough recently. Have I told her at all lately? He wanted to kick himself for not telling her how nice she’d looked that morning. Now, if he said anything, it would look like he was doing it only because the kids had said something. If he was in the doghouse, he deserved to be. He used to tell her all the time, but recently, he’d been afraid to do so since he wasn’t sure if she was doing it because of the Frenchman.
Besides, it seemed that lately anything he said came out wrong.
Well, hopefully she'd like his gift. It was something he'd seen her pick up in the store the last time they'd gone to the mall together. She'd put it back down, but he'd remembered it and gone back later to get it. He could hardly wait to see her face.
As was the custom on holidays in the Miller home, the men cleaned up after the meal since the women had prepared the food. While the boys rinsed off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, Dave cleaned off the table and wiped it down then replaced the table runner and centerpiece. Finally they all migrated to the living room where the seven-foot tall Douglas fir presided. Since the kids no longer took part in decorating the tree, Sylvia had done it all herself this year. He wondered if she resented him for not helping her with the job this year. They used to have such a great time decorating the tree together.
He settled in his chair, and waited as the others took their favorite seats on either the couch or floor. John volunteered to play Santa. As always, he clowned it up and presented every gift with a joke or a flourish. Sylvia, as always, had found perfect gifts for each of the kids. All of them, including his new son-in-law, were thrilled with what they’d rec
eived. A soft wool sweater and gloves for Lynne, NFL sweatshirts and warm gloves for the boys. And of course, each of the kids had received a stocking filled with candy, fruit, and silly gag gifts.
Sylvia always seemed to know just what to get, but getting a gift for her was tougher. Long ago, he’d learned he had to do it himself. Over the years, he'd tried to enlist the kids' help, but that hadn't worked too well. They'd always suggest things they liked for themselves. Asking her friends hadn't been a good idea, either. They couldn't keep secrets, and Sylvia had known what he'd gotten her long before she’d unwrapped the package. He had learned to watch her and get his clues from the way she acted. And he'd picked a winner this time. Now, if only everyone would dispense with all this chitchat. It wasn't like the kids had been gone for years. Dave's anxiety rose with each passing minute. When would they get to his gift?
"Dad?"
Dave blinked. John stood in front of him with a wide, flat box. He took it, noting the tag. It was from Syl.
"Come on, Dad, open it up," Lynne encouraged.
He slid the ribbon off and then picked off the tape, the way Grandpa Beaumont had taught him. If he was careful, the wrapping paper could be used again. The kids teased him about his frugality, but old habits were hard to break. Finally, he got to the gift itself. His eyes widened. It was a leather desk set, just like the one his grandfather had used. When Grandpa Beaumont had passed away Dave had inherited it and used it until it grew so worn he'd had to throw it out. He missed that set but had never bought a new one. How had she known?
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Vice-President," Syl said, giving him a big smile across the room.
“Thank you,” he said, basking for a moment in the warmth of her smile.
Finally, John handed his mother a large shirt box. Dave grimaced at the store's fancy gift-wrappings. He'd hated to spend the extra money for the paper and bow, but he'd learned the hard way that the appearance of a gift was almost as important to Syl as what was inside. Since he couldn't decorate gifts nearly as well as his wife, he'd splurged. He held his breath as she pulled the ribbon off the package then carefully picked off the tape. He was glad to see she wanted to save the pretty paper, but a part of him wanted to tear off the paper himself so he could see her delighted reaction.
After what seemed ages, she opened the box and lifted out a high-necked, pink flannel nightgown and held it up.
Silence. No one said a word. The kids looked from their mother to him as if waiting for something to happen. What was wrong?
"Oh, how pretty," Sylvia finally said. She placed it carefully back in the box. "It’s… a lovely color and will... definitely keep me warm this winter."
Dave felt his insides start to boil. What had gone wrong? She'd gushed over the gifts the kids brought her, and they were nothing but gift cards. Lynne had gotten her some little trinket to hang over the kitchen window — a colored glass sign that said something about Home is Where the Heart is or some nonsense like that. This nightgown had cost a lot more than that sign. And it was functional, too. Why couldn't Syl appreciate that? Besides, she'd wanted it. That's what she was trying to tell him when she didn't buy it, right?
"That's the one you picked up when we were at the mall a few weeks ago. I thought you liked it."
Her mouth curved upward, though Dave noted her eyes lacked the sparkle they always got when she was truly happy about something. "I do like it, Dave. Thank you for noticing that I’d admired it at the mall." She turned back to the kids.
"So, what else did Santa get you?" The perkiness in her voice seemed a little forced, but the kids filled in the gap with their answers.
Dave tuned out the conversation. Heavy hearted, he realized he'd somehow messed up again.
The long day loomed before him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Another year. How many New Year's Eve shows had she watched over the years? Sylvia wondered. Dick Clark had been in his prime when she and Dave had cuddled on their second-hand couch for their first New Year's together. They’d gotten so wrapped up in each other that they had almost missed seeing the ball drop. Now, the passion in their marriage had departed as finally as Dick Clark had, leaving nothing behind but memories.
Another unfamiliar music group took to the stage to perform. Since she didn’t particularly like their music, she got up to refill her glass with champagne. Raising the glass toward the television, she gave a mock toast: "To another year of hopes and dreams being dashed against the rocks."
Why on earth was she being so melodramatic tonight? she thought as she made her way back to the couch. Just because Dave decided to go to bed early doesn’t mean I have to let it ruin my evening.
Before she sat down, her cell phone gave a muted ring. Thinking it might be one of the kids, she raced to find it. The thing was buried somewhere in her purse. Where had it gone? Ah, there it was, under the stack of Christmas receipts.
She connected with a breathy "Hello?"
"Bonsoir, Sylvia."
"Etienne?"
"Mais oui, cherie. Bonne année et bonne santé. Good year and good health."
"Thank you, Etienne. Happy New Year to you, also."
"Merci. I wanted to call to find out if you had decided to go on the concert bus trip. I need a seatmate, cherie. Please say you will come and keep me company, non?"
Sylvia chuckled. "Good grief, Etienne, I'm sure there will be no shortage of women who will be more than happy to keep you company."
"Ah, but none are as lovely and charming as you."
"You flatter me," she protested but wondered if he could hear the smile in her voice. "But, I'm still not sure, Etienne. The weather can be vicious up north in January, especially along Lake Michigan. The roads get quite treacherous. I don't want to be on a bus when it's icy."
"If the weather is bad, I am certain Traveling Solo will cancel or reschedule the trip. But if the roads are clear, we could have a marvelous trip, non? The concert has been getting wonderful reviews, and you said you wanted to see The Londoners. So, please, call Deanna and sign up."
"Well... The Londoners are one of my favorite groups, and I really wanted to see them in concert, but Dave still doesn’t want to go..."
She paused and looked at the TV where happy partygoers huddled in Times Square and watched the New Year ball slowly descend. They looked as cold as she felt inside.
"Okay, Etienne,” she said. “I'll think about it."
"Please do not just think about eet, cherie. Say yes. The trip will not be the same without your lovely presence. "
"That is very charming, Etienne." She chuckled. Surely, he didn’t think she’d be taken in by his outrageous flattery. However, she had to admit, it felt nice to have someone make the effort.
"So you will make the trip with me?"
"I will consider it," she clarified. "Happy New Year, Etienne."
****
Dave stood in the hallway, unable to believe what he’d just heard. He'd been unable to sleep and had noticed the time on the bedside clock. He knew Sylvia had been disappointed that he hadn't stayed up to watch the annual broadcast from Times Square, so he'd gotten up to wish her Happy New Year. But his wife didn't seem to be all that unhappy now. Had he just heard her actually making a date with the smarmy Frenchman?
He watched her as she disconnected and put her phone back in her purse. She did a little pirouette, like their daughter used to do when she'd gotten off the phone with whatever boy she was dating at the time. His wife's step seemed a little wobbly to Dave. Did the man affect her that way, putting her off balance? The real test was her expression. She'd always had such an expressive face he could tell what she was thinking just by looking at her eyes.
He stepped into the family room to get a better look.
"Oh, Dave! You startled me. I thought you'd gone to bed for the night." Sylvia's flushed face and gleaming eyes told him a story he'd hoped he wouldn't read.
"I did go to bed, but I noticed it was midnight. I got up to wish you Happ
y New Year, but I see your Frenchman beat me to it. Are you planning to see him soon?"
He was surprised when Sylvia didn’t bother correcting him again about the man’s nationality. "I might. I told you about the trip to the concert."
"And you also told me you probably wouldn't go because of the unpredictable weather. I take it Etienne changed your mind?"
"I don't see what difference that makes to you. You weren't going to go with me anyway."
"Maybe not, but I didn't expect my wife to go with another man!"
"Oh stop it. You know it's not like that! Etienne has always been a perfect gentleman."
"For now. The man is merely biding his time before he makes his move."
"You’re being very unfair. You don’t even know Etienne. Besides, you have female friends at work. You even have lunch with other women."
"That's completely different. We're working, not sightseeing and going to concerts together."
"But people seeing you eating together might get a different impression."
"I have never done anything inappropriate."
"Are you saying I have?" Her blue eyes flashed daggers at him.
"I'm saying — I don't know what to think." He stormed over to the closet and pulled out his winter coat and boots, putting them on over his pajamas. "I need to go out and walk."
"At midnight on New Year's?"
"What difference does it make to you? You've got travel plans to make."
He zipped up his coat, jammed his hat on his head, and opened the door. A blast of cold air almost made him reconsider, but he was too angry to face Sylvia again without saying something he'd regret later.
****
A heavy, wet snow had been falling since mid-afternoon, and the front walk was slippery, but Dave kept going until he got to the driveway then followed it to the sidewalk. He paused momentarily, unsure which way to head. Whenever he walked for exercise, he usually went to the park and followed the foot trails. The same trails Sylvia had visited so often before the cold weather had prevented it. She'd claimed walking helped her get more toned and increased her energy level. But now, he wondered if she’d had an ulterior motive. Had she really wanted to get healthier, or had she wanted to look better for the Frenchman?
The Calico Heart Page 10