“Right. I’m going to call in too. I’m staying here with you,” he said, his face a mask of worry. “You never get sick, Emily. In all the years I’ve known you only had one cold.” He took her temperature then looked at her, startled. “God, Emily, it’s a hundred and three. I’m going to call a doctor.”
“No. You’re almost a doctor. Just take care of me. There’s nothing they can do for the flu and you know it. Fluids, rest, and aspirin for the fever. Trust me, Ian. Don’t call a doctor.” All she could think of was the ten days’ pay they were going to lose.
“For now, but if your fever doesn’t come down, I’m calling a doctor,” Ian fretted. “Soup, do we have canned soup? I’ll get some when I go out. I was going to make you a hot toddy. We have brandy, don’t we? Coffee for me, maybe some toast. Do you want some?”
“Ian, go to class. Call me during the day.”
“Absolutely not. I’m staying right here with you.”
By midmorning Emily’s fever was down a degree. Ian had used the last of the alcohol to rub her down three different times. She was on her second toddy when he announced that he had to go to the drugstore for more alcohol and aspirin.
Emily could barely keep her eyes open. “Swear to me you won’t call a doctor. I’m feeling better, really I am. By this evening my fever will be down. I mean it, Ian.”
“What the hell kind of doctor am I going to make if I listen to you, Emily? You need a qualified physician. This is home care at its worst.”
“You’re the best medicine for me. I want your promise,” Emily croaked. “Besides, you’re going to be spending money at the drugstore. I feel better. It has to run its course.”
It took three days before Emily was able to shake the chills, the fever, and the sweats. The soreness in her throat eased some and her ears, with drops from the drugstore, ceased to ache. The toddies and the aspirin had finally worked. Or else, as Emily had said, the flu was running its course. She drank constantly, urged on by Ian, who sat at her side the whole time. “You look worse than I feel,” Emily whispered when she woke from a nap on the fourth day.
“I feel like shit,” Ian said quietly. “Sleeping in this chair has given me a permanent crick in my neck. Guess what, I ironed today.”
“Good, the job is yours,” Emily quipped. “It looks so nice outside today, Ian, open the windows and let’s air out this room. I don’t want you to catch whatever I have.”
“I think it’s a little late for that,” Ian said, banging at the window. He finally raised it. “If you think you can handle being alone, I’m going back to class tomorrow. You have to promise to stay in bed, though.”
Emily nodded. “I’ll be fine. How far behind are you going to be?”
“I’ll catch up.”
“I’m so sorry, Ian. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“You were pretty sick. This is the last time I’m listening to you, Emily. This has been eating at me, your stupidity and my stupidity for going along with it. I know better.”
Which meant she was really the stupid one. She didn’t know better. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Emily, I was so worried about you. I felt so…helpless. You just lay there. I love you,” he said gruffly. “But no, I am not taking over the ironing. How about some scrambled eggs?”
“Sounds good. No toast, though. My throat is still a little sore.”
“Another toddy, okay?”
“Hey, I’m hooked.” She smiled. “I love you, Ian, with all my heart.”
“My heart returns the feeling.”
Emily scrunched herself into the mound of pillows. Everything happened for a reason. She’d gotten sick and Ian had realized how much he loved her. He’d taken care of her, putting his own life on hold for a few days. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, “for giving me such a kind, wonderful husband.” Another part of her mind shrieked, fool, fool, fool.
Only time would tell if she was a fool or not.
Ian was right, Emily thought as she stepped from the shower. The last three years had gone by in a giant, tired blur. How was it possible that they were approaching their third anniversary? What she wanted, the only thing she wanted was a long, hot bath and one of Ian’s soothing massages. A good dinner, a little wine, and then some lusty lovemaking. Instead she was going to celebrate her anniversary at a restaurant. She’d taken a shower instead of the long, soothing bath, and the dinner would be Chinese with carry-in beer. She did have a new dress, one that Ian said made her look like his own glorious rainbow. It was beautiful, she couldn’t quibble with the colors, but the style didn’t, in her opinion, suit her. Plus, she didn’t have a single pair of shoes that matched the dress.
This was it, the end of the long years of studying, of sacrificing. Life was going to move forward now. Now she would be able to quit her job, get pregnant, and perhaps start school. It was her turn now. Tomorrow was going to be the first real day of her life with Ian. Tomorrow afternoon she was going to register for the fall semester.
Emily found herself smiling. Thirty-one wasn’t too late to start her education. Tomorrow morning she was going to sleep in, then go by Sassy Sallie’s and give her notice. “Thank you, God, for finally giving me this day,” she murmured.
In the bedroom, Emily slipped on a robe before she settled down to paint her toenails. She was on her pinkie when Ian arrived. He picked her up, whirled her around, and then kissed her until she thought her chest would explode from lack of air. “Tell me we aren’t still newlyweds!” he chortled.
“We’re newlyweds, we’re newlyweds,” Emily laughed. “You’re a half hour early.”
“That’s because I finally said to that old bear, today is my anniversary and my wife needs me. I wish I had done it more often. You aren’t upset with me, are you, Emily?”
“Of course not. Do you really think I counted all the missed holidays, birthdays, and the last two anniversaries? And all those weekends when you had to cover for someone. Not on your life. That’s all behind us now. We really need to talk, Ian, about the future.”
“I know. Tonight at dinner. We’re going to…guess, Emily?”
“The Chinese Garden.”
“Wrong. We are going to, wait till you hear this, Adolpho’s. I made the reservation last week. I don’t care what it costs. Hovering waiters. Champagne. For you. You deserve the best and I’m finally going to give it to you. Listen, I know it’s money you earned, but right now I don’t have a pot to piss in. That’s going to change starting tomorrow. Tell me it’s okay, honey.”
Emily stared at her husband. He hadn’t changed a bit since their wedding day. His summer blue eyes could still beguile her. She fought the urge to brush back his wheat-colored hair. He didn’t like it when she did that. He looked so incredibly handsome in his white Arrow shirt and Fabil tie. There wasn’t a trace of a line or wrinkle in his face, whereas hers had several. Her early years in the sun, she supposed. The only thing was, Ian didn’t look right to her unless he smiled. Right now, this very instant he looked chagrined, like a small boy who’d done something wrong. She and she alone could wipe the look away and replace it with a smile. So what if tonight’s dinner would be two student loan payments? Once in a while you had to do something wild and crazy, and today was her anniversary. “Why don’t we say we both deserve this night out and who cares what it costs? Promise me candlelight or I’m not going.” Emily giggled. She could get into this; she’d had many years of practice making Ian smile. He did.
Ian smacked his hands gleefully. “I’m going to shower and then we’re both going to get into our new duds and split this place. When we get back, I’m going to love you all night long. What do you think of that, Mrs. Thorn?”
“I think that’s a splendiferous idea, Dr. Thorn.” Please, God, don’t let me fall asleep, she prayed silently. Let me get through this evening in one mental piece.
“I have a better idea, let’s get a head start. C’mon, Mrs. Thorn, we haven’t done it in the shower yet.” He kissed h
er then until she thought her teeth would rattle. Her adrenaline kicked in. It had been over a month since they’d made love. “Do that again,” she moaned. He did, all the way into the shower and while the shower was pelting them both. The exquisite release left her buoyant. They were both giggling like children when they left the apartment.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the restaurant.
“They give you a rose when you leave,” Ian whispered.
Emily smiled. A rose would be nice, something to remember the evening by. She’d press it into her photo album when it wilted.
Ian frowned. “Promise me you aren’t going to pick the service apart. Promise me you won’t roll your eyes if the waiter makes a mistake.”
“Only if you promise to leave a generous tip,” Emily muttered.
“Okay, it’s a deal. Forget that you’re a waitress tonight, and for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone, okay?”
The edge was off her happiness now. “Why, are you ashamed of what I do? What do you tell your friends I do, Ian?”
“I don’t tell them anything. It’s none of their business. And no, I am not ashamed. Nobody appreciates what you do more than me.”
“Appreciating it and being ashamed are two different things, Ian.”
“We’re getting off to a bad start here. Let’s back up two steps and start over. I for one still feel like a newlywed so let’s act like it. That’s an order, Emily.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said, snapping off a smart salute.
Ian’s hand was on the doorknob when the door swung open. Ian stepped back, ushering Emily through the door as he nodded curtly to the doorman. Inside he maneuvered Emily to the secluded area where the head waiter stood discreetly with an immaculate white towel folded over his arm.
“Dr. and Mrs. Thorn,” Ian said imperiously. Emily flinched.
It was a small restaurant with only twelve tables and as many waiters hovering against the wall. One-on-one service, she thought. She knew immediately that this was the kind of restaurant where the tables did not turn over. One seating, and the dinner would take three hours, possibly longer if they dawdled over coffee and liqueurs.
Emily gave her husband a gentle nudge and whispered quietly, “Ask for the table by the wall. You don’t want to sit by the kitchen.” Ian bristled as the waiter led them to a draped table one table away from the kitchen door. Emily nudged him again. She could see Ian’s shoulders stiffen.
“This is unacceptable,” he said quietly.
That was good, Emily thought. When you said something was unacceptable, it left no room for discussion. The waiter veered to the right. Emily felt herself nod approvingly. Ian’s lips were compressed into a tight, white line when the waiter held her chair. If Ian wanted to pout, let him, she thought. If they were going to spend the kind of money she knew they were going to spend, then they deserved a good table. And if there was one thing she knew about, it was good tables.
“That really wasn’t necessary, Emily,” Ian said, smiling for the benefit of the other diners and the waiter as well.
“Yes, Ian, it was. We’re celebrating so we should get the best for our money. Or is it that it was my suggestion that’s bothering you?” She smiled sweetly to take the sting out of her words. “I guess this is the rose they give you,” she said, motioning to a single yellow rose in a bud vase.
“No, they hand it to you when you leave. I saw them in a box by the front door.” He always had to one-up her. There was no box by the front door on the little counter. She’d taken in the decor, everything, the moment they walked through the door. She let it go and nodded. “This is a lovely restaurant. I understand the food is wonderful, but incredibly rich. We’re going to gain weight, Ian.”
“I haven’t gained an ounce in seven years, Emily. You, on the other hand, are getting…love handles.”
It was true, she thought in dismay. She’d gone from a perfect size ten to an uneven size twelve. It was all the fast, greasy food she ate on the run, not to mention the sweets she was addicted to. Tomorrow she was going to go on a diet. “I know,” she said miserably. “Starting tomorrow I’m going to switch up and go on a vegetable and fruit diet.”
“Emily, Emily, you’re kidding yourself. They don’t serve fruits and vegetables in that dive you work in.”
Emily’s heart thundered in her chest, but she was determined not to spoil this evening. She leaned across the table to take her husband’s hands in hers. “I’ll give it a try,” she said. “Tomorrow is a new day and I’m looking forward to starting college and being a practicing doctor’s wife. How many committees do you think I’ll have to work on? Ooohhh, this wine is wonderful.”
“Have some more,” Ian said, refilling her glass just as the waiter arrived at their table to pour it for him. Ian waved him away. “I hate hovering waiters,” he whispered.
“Me, too,” Emily whispered in return.
“Bet nobody hovers at that place you work at.”
“You’re right. Ian, what’s the name of that place I work at?”
“What?”
“You know, the name of the lounge I work at? What’s the name of it?”
Ian shrugged. “It escapes me at the moment. It’ll come to me.”
“No, it won’t. You never asked me. I bank the checks so how would you know?”
“You told me, I guess. I’ve called you there.”
“So how do they answer the phone?” Emily persisted.
“Jesus, Emily, what is this, twenty questions? Just because I can’t remember the name of that joint doesn’t mean I don’t know it. I know the phone number by heart so why do I need to know the name of it?”
“What if something happened to me and you had to get there right away?”
“I’d call first. I have it written down somewhere. None of this is important, Emily.”
“Yes, Ian, it is. The dive I work at is called Sassy Sallie’s. That dive put you through medical school, paid our rent, bought our food, paid our utilities, helps to pay your student loans, paid for that suit, shirt, and tie, not to mention your underwear and shoes and socks as well as my new outfit. And this dinner. So, you see, it is important. To me. And it should be important to you too.”
“Emily, that isn’t what I meant. I meant the discussion. Dive is just a word. You’re the one who used it first when you first started to work there. I picked it up from you. I am appreciative. What is it you want?”
“Respect. Why did you tell me not to tell anyone what I do? You admitted you don’t tell people because it’s none of their business.”
“It isn’t. Do you tell people what I do?” Ian asked huffily.
“To anyone who will listen. I’m proud of you, Ian. Waitressing is honest work. Hard work. Look, let’s drop it. I guess I’m just tired.”
“You’re always tired, Emily. Are you taking those vitamins I got you?”
“I take two a day and I’m still tired. I can’t wait to sleep in and do nothing.”
Ian shrugged. Their salads arrived. Ian refilled their wineglasses a third time.
A long time later, their soup and salad plates gone, Ian said carefully, “Listen, I don’t have the foggiest idea of what I ordered for us. The menu was in French. I just pointed. I think it’s some kind of fish. Let’s not make a fuss if it’s something we don’t like. I’d hate to be embarrassed.”
Emily felt her hackles rise as she thought about the hours she’d worked, the hours she’d stood on her feet to pay for a dinner she might not even like just so her husband wouldn’t be embarrassed. She sighed and shook her head to show she would do as he wanted. She always did what he wanted. Always.
Ian ordered a second bottle of wine. It arrived when the dinner of salmon mousse was set in front of them. Ian beamed. Emily stared at her plate. She hated salmon. She’d rather have a greasy hamburger.
“You’re a good sport, Emily,” Ian said happily. “I love it when you look like you do right now.”
“How’s that?”
> “Determined.”
Emily burst out laughing. “This tastes like…like my father’s muddy galoshes with a topping of Parmesan cheese.” Ian choked on his food and then burst out laughing. He finished the wine in his glass at a gulp, his face red. “Is everyone looking at us?” he whispered.
“Uh-huh. I think we need a little more practice before we eat in restaurants like this or else we need a crash course in French.” Emily giggled.
“I think you’re right, Emily. We’ll stop and get a banana split when we leave here.”
“Are you kidding? We’ll be too drunk to make it to the ice cream parlor. Besides, I thought you had other things in mind,” Emily said, leering at him across the table. “Oh, Ian, I can’t wait to give my notice.”
“You look so beautiful in candlelight, honey. When we finally settle in somewhere, let’s have candlelight every night.”
“Okay. You’re the handsomest man in this restaurant, Ian.”
“How blitzed are you?”
“I can still see straight. You are the handsomest. Look around at the men in here. Pot bellies, bald heads, I’d wager half the women in here are mistresses. You know how you can tell?”
“How?”
“They’re talking. Husbands and wives drink, eat, and leave. Lovers dally, smile, talk, and look into each other’s eyes.”
Ian looked around. “Jeez, you’re right. That’s disgusting.”
“Will you always be faithful to me, Ian?”
“Of course. What about you?”
“Always,” Emily said, her eyes shining with love. “I would never muck up what we have. Men…I’m not sure men feel the same way women do when it comes to affairs.”
“I feel just the way you do, Emily. We are going to have the perfect life to make up for all our sacrifices. We deserve the best and I’m going to make sure we get it. That’s my job.”
Our sacrifices, Emily’s head buzzed with the wine she’d consumed. She should be paying attention to what Ian was saying. She’d think about it tomorrow while she lay in bed. Maybe Ian would bring her breakfast. She didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until Ian said, “It will be my pleasure. How about French toast with melted butter, warm syrup, and sprinkled with powdered sugar or maybe that spice you use?”
Dear Emily Page 2