by Juliette Fay
Finally she got into the car, dressed in wool pants, a cotton sweater, and Marie’s triple-goddess necklace. She hoped the sheep-farming and cotton-growing industries were environmentally friendly. And if her potential employers were aware of the charm’s symbolism, she hoped they weren’t, in Marie’s words, “religious bigots.”
The office was in a small industrial park in the nearby town of Glastonbury, and when she arrived a few minutes early, she could see the need for her services. Files splayed out on tables, office supplies piled haphazardly in a corner, and the phone ringing and ringing.
“I’m not getting it!” she heard a man call from an office in the back. “I got it the last time!”
“And I made you breakfast, walked the dog, and did the laundry,” Ben’s voice called from another direction. “Payback’s a bitch!”
The next day she met Tony for lunch at Keeney’s. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the new job. “It’s not a ton of money, but they did give me a tiny bit of stock in the company.”
“They decided that fast? You just interviewed yesterday.”
“I already started! They’re paying me under the table until they get the paperwork filed. God, it’s a mess, but they seem really nice.”
Their conversation wandered from Marie’s new tattoo to Kendra’s enormous lunches to the pair of polypropylene walking socks that Polly bought her and sent home with the kids.
“She really wants you back,” said Tony.
“I’m thinking about it,” said Dana. “She was a really good friend before she totally betrayed me. Plus, at the moment she’s in my life whether I want her or not—she’ll be with my kids for most of the weekend. The rehearsal dinner’s on Friday night, the wedding’s on Saturday, and her husband’s the best man.”
“Speaking of this weekend ... I’d like to take you out on Friday. On a date.”
A date. “That sounds very official.”
“As official as you want it to be.”
She didn’t let herself think for more than a moment before she said, “As official as you can make it.”
All too soon he had to get back to work. In the parking lot by the edge of the pond, he kissed her like he meant it, his body pressing her against the minivan. She didn’t want it to end, but there was a cough not far from them, and they turned to see its source. Two fishermen stood a little ways down the shore, lines reaching into one of the few parts of the pond that wasn’t frozen. The men were grinning appreciatively in their direction.
“How’s it going,” Tony called wryly.
“Good,” one of the guys called back. “You?”
The other guy burst out laughing.
Polly’s apology seemed to settle something for Morgan, and for the next day or two she was more relaxed. She even went to Rita’s house after school on Thursday. But on Friday she came home and went right to her studies. She played her cello for an hour and stalled when Dana told her it was time to put it away and get dressed for the rehearsal dinner.
“Can I bring it?” Morgan asked. “I have to practice for the concert.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m not sure. It’s kind of a busy weekend, don’t you think?”
“I could practice tomorrow morning. The wedding’s not till noon.”
When Polly came to pick up the kids and take them to the dinner, Dana pulled her aside. “I think Morgan’s pretty stressed about all of this. She’s not saying much, but it shows,” she said. “Polly, I need you to keep an eye on her. Just make sure you’re with her, if you can.”
“Of course!” said Polly. “I’d do anything for that kid.”
“Thank you. I’m so worried about her.”
A month or a year or ten years ago, this would have precipitated a full-body, vice-tight, ten-second hug from Polly. Maybe longer, if Dana had started to cry. But now she only reached out and squeezed Dana’s wrist. “I’m on it,” she said.
Dana took a shower and was standing in front of her open closet with a towel wrapped around her, wondering what to wear for her very official date with Tony. There was a moment—albeit brief—when she wished she still had the beautiful silk blouse Nora had given her. Even for free, she reminded herself, it wasn’t worth the price.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.
“Hey,” said Alder.
“Nice towel,” said Jet.
“Hi, girls. What are your plans tonight?”
“Um ...” said Alder.
“We thought we’d get high, steal some airsoft guns, and shoot each other without protective gear,” said Jet. “Okay by you?”
Dana gave her cheek a little pinch and said, “You are soooo funny.”
“Actually,” said Alder, “Connie’s putting on massive pressure for me to go home for the weekend. But I said no way, except maybe for Sunday. Morgan and G come back Saturday night, right?”
Protective gear, thought Dana. She thinks she’s my armor.
“Honey,” she said, “your mom deserves more than a day. She misses you, and I’m fine here.” Alder looked skeptical. “Really,” said Dana. “With the new job, I have a million little catch-up tasks. I’ll be going pillar to post tomorrow. And tonight”—she grinned proudly—“I have a date.”
Alder and Jet looked at each other. “With who?” Jet demanded.
“Not the iPod guy!” Alder was horrified.
“Oh, please. Give me a little credit, will you?” said Dana. “No, this one is pretty special. Maybe I’ll tell you about it when you get home. On Sunday.”
So the girls had gone to up Hamptonfield, and Dana had gotten dressed. She didn’t come up with anything so spectacular as that blouse, but she felt she looked pretty good. Tony arrived at seven-thirty carrying a Stargazer lily tied with a dark pink bow. The rich smell filled the room when he came in. “I was going with a rose,” he explained, following her into the kitchen. “But Lizzie made snoring noises over the phone when I mentioned it, and Abby suggested this.”
“You’re getting dating tips from your kids,” Dana teased, reaching for a bud vase.
“Hey, if the advice is sound, I’ll take it where I can get it.” He took the vase from her and began to fill it with water. “Follow the one with the working compass.”
“Your compass works fine.”
He took the lily from her hand and slid it into the vase. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, and kissed her lightly, then more urgently, his arms slipping across the silkiness of her dress, her hands sliding beneath his sport jacket to press at the muscles of his back. They almost missed their dinner reservation.
The restaurant was beautiful and the meal delicious, but Dana didn’t focus on that. As Tony told her a story or asked her a question or guessed—often quite accurately—about her opinions, she watched him. The way he looked at her, eyes glinting above the light of the candle, happy and longing at the same time. The way his tan fingers slid cross the tablecloth to connect briefly with hers when she said something particularly astute or funny or endearing.
“Hey,” she said as they shared a chocolate dessert torte. “How come you seemed just the tiniest bit happy when you told me Kendra was coming back and you had to let me go?”
“Because I was. I knew I had it bad for you, and either you would go out with me or you wouldn’t. Either way it was going to get very difficult to be your boss for much longer.”
As they walked out to the parking lot afterward, she said, “Remember when I broke my tooth and you told me that story about wearing the dead husband’s suit jacket?”
“I certainly do,” he said. “It was the most embarrassing thing I could think of.”
“It was so generous,” she said, tucking her arm under his. “Taking the time to make me feel less pathetic. It really impressed me.”
He opened the car door for her, then let himself in on the driver’s side. “Good to know my worst date was impressive,” he said. “Leaves a generous margin for improvement.” He started the car but didn’t put it in
gear. He glanced over at her. “You’re in the driver’s seat,” he said.
She looked at him, taking him in—all of him, not just what was visible. “I’d like to see your house again,” she said quietly.
“Buckle up,” he told her, and the engine roared to life.
CHAPTER 50
SHE HALF HOPED THEY WOULD GO STRAIGHT TO bed. There was a tiny part of her that wondered, What if he doesn’t like my body? What if I don’t like his? What if we really love each other but the sex is bad and it ruins everything? She had heard about that—couples who should have just stayed friends. If she were ever going to know, it was best to speed straight ahead without a chance to chicken out.
Unfortunately, Tony seemed to be of an opposite mind. He opened a bottle of wine. Poured it. Gave her a tour of the house while they sipped. This was Abby’s room, with the geometric bedspread and the framed calligraphic rendering of the periodic table. This was Lizzie’s, with the animal-print curtains and the poster of a bunch of mud-spattered boys called Tokio Hotel, whatever that was. A half hour went by as they chatted and sipped and reviewed the artifacts of his life, her anxiety rising as quietly and relentlessly as the tide.
She stared out the window in the guest bedroom. Relax, she ordered herself. For Pete’s sake, RELAX!
“What’s going on?” he asked her. “You look funny.”
“Nothing,” she said, focusing on him. “No, I, um ...”
He waited.
“Do you ... um ... do you think we’ll ... sleep together?”
His eyebrows went up.
“God,” she breathed. “That was unbelievably tactless.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I was trying not to rush things.”
“Yes, I could tell. And I really appreciate it—you’re always so thoughtful. But I ... uh ... It’s just starting to drive me a little crazy. Not knowing.”
“Well,” he said, “what did you have in mind?” His mouth trembled just a little, and at first she thought he was getting emotional.
Oh, God! she thought. I’ve shocked him!
But then he bit the inside of his lip, and she could tell that he was trying desperately to contain himself. She frowned at him, and his face broke open with laughter. “I could prepare an agenda.” He grinned. “With a timeline.”
“Shut up.”
“Maybe a flowchart?”
She let out an aggravated sigh and leaned against one of the bedposts. He tried to put a conciliatory arm around her, but she shrugged him off.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently. “Do you think I’m not thinking the same thing? Do you think I’m not wondering, ‘Now? Is this the right moment? Or even the right day?’”
Anger ebbing, but not completely gone, she flashed a look at him. He put a hand to her face, brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Dana ...” He kissed the other cheek. “Sweetheart,” he whispered against her skin. Her jaw unclenched, and her neck loosened, and she turned her lips toward his. They stood there kissing and holding each other, and then his hand slid up her spine, his fingers dipping into the neckline of her dress.
He’s in, she thought. The boundary of her clothing had been breached. And she wondered how it was that she could disrobe so easily with Jack Roburtin, a man she’d thought so little of, and yet Tony’s finger inside her collar felt like the first step toward bliss or misery. She wouldn’t know which until she got there.
His lips moved along her jaw and down her neck and onto the span of shoulder he had revealed with his finger, as if he knew it was tender, a wound beginning to heal. Then he covered it back up and murmured, “Let’s just lie down together and see how that feels.”
“Yes,” she said. And they lay on the pale blue cotton quilt of the guest bed, facing each other, not touching until she leaned forward and kissed him. And then waiting became unbearable, so she undid the buttons of his shirt. He watched her do this, not moving except for the quick, shallow breaths that made his rib cage rise and fall. His tan chest was smooth except for a sprinkling of fine black hair across his pectorals. Another sprinkle ran from his navel down into his pants. She ran the palm of her hand down from his collar-bone, following the trail to his belly, and he let out a sound, half groan, half sigh. The sound reverberated in her brain, and she slid closer, kissing him, wanting to feel that sound in her body. No longer able to restrain himself, he reached for her.
He unzipped her dress and pulled it forward, tugging at the sleeves to help her out of it. She undid his pants and slid her hand inside, down the warm, smooth length of his thigh. Soon all the clothing had been tossed off the bed like unneeded ballast.
“You are amazingly beautiful,” he said, and let his hand glide across her shoulder and breast and hip. Then they were pressing against each other, arms and legs intertwining, the kisses deeper, more urgent. That unbuckled, speeding-headlong feeling she’d had on the school roof came back to her, but it felt right this time. No passive restraint necessary.
They must have slept. The light in the room was different, the darkness less thick. But it seemed she’d dozed for only a matter of minutes, that his hand had only just stopped running lightly up and down her arm, as she nestled her cheek into the flat spot by his collarbone. He had been saying something to her, and she had answered, but now his breath came in even, rumbling passes, as if he’d been asleep a long time.
Then a gauzy light was spilling into the room, and his chest was pressed against her back, his thighs tucked behind hers, his arm curled around in front of her. Her breast was cupped in his hand as if it had settled there like a bird into its nest.
The next time she woke, he was coming into the room wearing blue-striped boxers. As he slid back under the covers, she asked, “Where did you go?”
“Just to put on some coffee. I didn’t know if you were a coffee person.”
“Not really,” she told him. “Tea sometimes.”
“Duly noted.” And then he was kissing her again, and the coffee was overcooked before they got down to the kitchen to drink it. He gave her a pair of sweatpants that she kept hitching up to keep from sliding off her hips, and a Brown University T-shirt. “Lizzie brought that home for me, Christmas freshman year. Never fit me. Looks fantastic on you, though.”
He made spinach-and-feta omelets, and they ate and talked and smiled lazy, satisfied smiles at each other. She let out a spacious yawn, and he took her hand and led her back upstairs.
At four-thirty she told him, “I should go. The kids will be back in a couple of hours.” But by the time she actually got up and got dressed, she had to hurry if she wanted to get home, shower and change her clothes before they arrived.
Tony threw on jeans and a T-shirt and drove her home.
When they pulled into her driveway, he took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “So,” he said, gazing at her, “that seemed pretty official.”
“It was practically an inauguration.”
“Took about as long.” He grinned. “Not that I’m complaining.”
She raised his hand to her lips and whispered, “I love you.” For a moment she worried that she’d been too forward. But then he slid his arms around her and murmured, “I love you, too, sweetheart. Call me when the kids are in bed.”
Victor carried Grady in and kissed Dana on the cheek as she removed the sleeping boy’s shoes. Then he went upstairs to put Grady into bed. Polly came in with Morgan, both weary, arms around each other. Morgan slid away from Polly, then slumped against her mother and let herself be kissed and hugged. Her hair was arranged in elaborate curls and ringlets. Dana could feel the lattice of bobby pins along her scalp. “You hair looks very fancy,” Dana murmured.
“Tina did it.” She could barely keep her eyes open. “I’m going up to change,” she said, and then, glancing at Polly, she told her mother, “Come with me.”
You’re not my armor, Dana thought for the second time in as many days. “I’ll be up in a minute.” When Morgan had gone, she looked at Polly.
&n
bsp; “She did okay for most of it,” said Polly. “Really held it together. Has to be hard seeing your dad marry someone else, when last year it was your mother in all the family pictures.”
“You stuck with her?”
“Like white on rice.” She glanced away. “It was hard for me, too. You and I and Kenneth and Victor were so close. Now everything’s in the toilet.”
“Tina doesn’t seem that bad.”
“Who gives a shit about Tina!” Polly flared. “I don’t want Tina!”
Victor came back from tucking Grady in. He took Polly’s arm, said, “Good night, Dana,” and muscled his wife out the door. “Time and space,” he muttered at her before the door closed.
Dana went up to Morgan’s room. She was under the covers, her dress in a heap on the floor. From habit Dana put it on a hanger. “Don’t bother,” said Morgan. “I’m never wearing it again.”
“Never say never.” Boy, that sounded just like Ma, she thought.
“Okay, I’ll wear it when the Jonas Brothers ask me to play cello on tour with them.”
“Fair enough.” Dana scooted her over and lay down beside her. “How’d it go?”
“Terrible.”
“Details, please.”
“I did good,” Morgan said, “up till the vows. Up till the ‘death do us part’ part. And I thought, ‘He said this same thing to Mom, and he didn’t mean it. How come anyone believes him now?’”
“He did mean it.”
“Yeah, right,” she snorted. “And look where that got us.”
“Morgan, I’m not going to start defending your father,” Dana said quietly. “But I was there fifteen years ago when he said it the first time, and I know he meant it. He had every intention, and so did I. But sometimes the best of intentions just don’t work out. A lot of times they do, but sometimes they don’t. And I’m sorry you had to learn that so early in life, sweetie, I really am. But hating Dad is no help to you.”