Great, Coop thought. He was already nervous about the lobster slaughter that was about to take place, and now he had to do it in front of an audience.
“Go ahead,” Audrey said, nodding at him.
Coop took a deep breath and took the lid off the enormous stockpot, purchased especially for the evening. Unfortunately, just as he was about to drop the lobster inside, it—perhaps sensing its fate—began to squirm.
“Ack!” Coop said, panicking. He dropped the lobster inside, causing hot water to splash out, and clanged the lid on.
“Good job,” Audrey said dryly. “Way to cowboy up.”
“Like you could do any better,” Coop said.
Audrey set down her glass of wine, headed to the cooler, and, then—with a terrifyingly cold-blooded efficiency—she quickly transferred the six remaining lobsters to the pot, and replaced the lid. The lobsters let out an awful high-pitched screeching sound that made Coop’s stomach turn.
“They’re screaming,” he said, swallowing hard.
Audrey looked at him in disbelief. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of master fisherman? Lobsters can’t scream. They don’t have vocal cords.”
“What’s that noise?”
“I think it’s steam being released from their shells, or something like that,” Audrey said.
Coop contemplated if this was any less gruesome than screaming, and decided that it was. Slightly.
“I think I’m officially scared of you,” Coop said. “You just committed six counts of lobstercide and seem completely unaffected by it.”
This time, Audrey laughed. “You know that ground beef you cooked the other day came from a cow that was, once upon a time, alive and well and unaware of its future as a hamburger.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because I got that meat from Butcher Bob, already dead and wrapped in plastic,” Coop said.
They smiled at each other, and for a moment Coop wondered if everything might be all right between them, after all. But then Fran stuck her head in the kitchen.
“What are you two doing in here? Coop, do you need any help?”
“There’s a salad and a bowl of potato salad in the fridge. You could bring those outside,” Coop suggested, hoping to get rid of her quickly.
But Audrey said, “I’ll help you, Fran.”
“Thanks.” Fran opened the fridge and handed a large green bowl to Audrey. “Here’s the potato salad. Does the green salad need dressing, Coop?”
“Yes. The dressing should be right there next to it,” Coop said, watching Audrey depart with the potato salad.
Fran took out a Pyrex measuring cup that Coop had mixed the vinaigrette in and then covered loosely with Saran wrap. “You made your own dressing? I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” Coop said. “I like to underpromise and over-deliver.”
“Is that your personal creed?” Fran asked, twinkling up at him.
“No, my personal creed is Every Man for Himself,” Coop said.
She whacked him playfully with a dish towel.
By the time the lobsters were steamed, and the melted butter divided into seven mini soufflé dishes, Fran had herded the dinner party club out to the patio. Coop thought the setup looked nice. The table was decorated simply with a row of votive candles—also provided by the party supply company—and you couldn’t beat the view.
“Everything looks wonderful,” Jaime said.
“Do you know what you need out here?” Fran said, surveying the table.
“What?” Coop asked, as he set the platter of lobsters in the middle of the table to general murmurs of approval.
“Twinkle lights,” Fran said.
“Excuse me, what?” Coop said.
“Twinkle lights,” Fran repeated. “Those little white lights that you string on your house at Christmas.”
“I think it’s safe to say that I’m not going to involve myself with anything called ‘twinkle lights,’ ” Coop said. “It wouldn’t be manly.”
“If you were really manly, you wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not things sound manly,” Fran retorted.
Coop smiled. “Too true. Shall we eat?” he said.
Audrey chose a seat as far away from Coop’s as possible—On purpose? he wondered—and spent most of the remaining evening discussing films with Leland. They both had a fondness for small English period dramas, the sort of movies that acted as instant Ambien on Coop. Every once in a while a date would drag him out to see one, and he’d fall asleep ten minutes into the film. Maybe this was another sign that he and Audrey weren’t meant to be. That, and the fact that she didn’t seem to like him very much.
Toward the end of the meal—which everyone said was delicious, although Coop personally thought the potato salad was too bland and the salad dressing too vinegary; clearly he wasn’t about to have a future as the next big celebrity chef—Audrey and Leland seemed to move off the subject of movies and into relationships. Coop perked up and turned away from Fran—who was flushed from the wine and kept going on and on about some boat trip they’d all taken together twenty years earlier—and tried to listen in on what Audrey was saying to Leland.
“We talked about my meeting someone else before she died,” Leland said.
“You did?” Audrey asked. She was leaning toward Leland. By candlelight, her eyes looked large and luminous.
“She said that her life was nearly over, but mine wasn’t, and that she wanted me to be happy and fulfilled. Of course, at the time, I couldn’t imagine ever meeting another woman, much less falling in love with one. But Penny knew that over time, I’d be ready to move on. She wanted me to know that I had her blessing,” Leland said.
“But wasn’t that hard? I mean, she was dying. That must have been awful enough. But to think of your husband with someone else …” Audrey stopped abruptly, mid-sentence, as though suddenly worried that her words might upset Leland.
“That was just it. The idea that I would keep living gave Penny peace,” Leland said gently.
“That’s beautiful,” Jaime said, twirling her wineglass by its stem. “And so romantic.”
“Just so you know, when I die, you can date whoever you want,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair. “But just make sure you do a background check on him before you let him near the kids.”
“Somewhat less romantic,” Jaime said.
“And yet ever so practical,” Will said.
Audrey shook her head and shrugged. “I think your wife is a better woman than I am,” she said to Leland. “I’d want to think that my husband would love me so much, he’d spend the rest of his life mourning my loss.”
“At the risk of sounding like an old fart, that’s your youth speaking. Yes, your youth,” Leland repeated, when Audrey snorted. “When you get a bit older, it becomes less about sex and rock ’n’ roll and more about companionship. Not that the sex can’t still be quite gratifying,” Leland added.
At this point, everyone at the table was listening in. There were a few guffaws at Leland’s rock ’n’ roll comment and then a general stunned silence.
“That’s good to know. Here’s to gratifying sex,” Will said, raising his glass.
“To gratifying sex,” a few others chimed in, also raising their glasses, and laughing as they did so.
“I should probably get going,” Audrey said.
It was a clunky interruption, and six surprised faces turned toward her. Audrey flushed with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she said. “But I have to work tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday?” Fran asked.
Audrey nodded. “We decided to expand our weekend hours in an effort to cater to working women who might not be able to fit in spa treatments mid-week.”
“Speaking as a workingman, I can say I frequently have that problem,” Mark said.
“I think it’s a very smart idea,” Jaime said.
“Thank you,” Audrey replied, smiling at her.
“You haven’t had dessert yet,” Coop said.
Audrey looked at him directly for what seemed like the first time since the lobstercide.
“Thanks, but I really have to get going,” she said.
Coop stood. “I’ll see you out,” he said.
Audrey looked like she wanted to object, but then—possibly realizing that there was no way she could do so without looking awkward or possibly even rude—she changed her mind and nodded.
He followed her to the front door. His head was buzzing slightly from the wine and aftereffects of the rich food. Bear had been dozing on his bed, but as they walked through the living room, he jumped to his feet, gave his furry body a firm shake, and trotted after them.
When Audrey reached the door, she turned. Coop didn’t know what to expect. Best case scenario, she’d throw herself at him, kissing him deeply while knitting her hands in his hair and murmuring in his ear that her early departure was just a ruse to lure him away from the others, so they could have a quickie by the front door.
This did not happen.
“Thanks for dinner. Everything was wonderful,” Audrey said.
“Thank you for coming,” Coop said.
“Thank you for having me.”
They seemed to have fallen back into their Chip ’n’ Dale politeness routine.
“Look, I’m …” Coop paused, searching for the word. He remembered girlfriends of yore criticizing him for not being able to apologize. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Audrey’s face seemed to close. Her expression hadn’t exactly been welcoming before—her eyes had been wary, her features a mask of polite diffidence. But suddenly, all friendliness seemed to vanish.
“Okay. I’m sorry if I upset you, too,” she said coolly.
Coop understood at once that this was not a real apology. For one thing, she didn’t sound sorry. She sounded pretty pissed off. And second, he hadn’t been upset. Irritated, yes, but she was the one who had stomped off that day.
“I wasn’t upset,” Coop said.
“Oh, right. Okay, then,” Audrey said.
Ah ha, Coop thought. Further proof that her apology had been bogus: She was clearly annoyed at this denial. If she’d really been sorry for upsetting him, she would have been glad to learn that he wasn’t upset.
“I’m leaving Monday for the Bahamas,” Coop said.
Audrey nodded, one curt bob of her head. “Have a good trip.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you when I get back,” Coop said.
“Okay, whatever,” Audrey said.
Coop knew he should leave it there, on somewhat less-than-completely-hostile ground. But for some reason, he couldn’t.
“Whatever?” he repeated. “Whatever, I should call you, or whatever, you’d rather I left you alone?”
Audrey’s nostrils seemed to flare, and she pressed her lips together. Finally, she swallowed and spoke. “There’s not much point, right? I think we both know this—whatever it is—has run its course.”
“Okay,” Coop said. “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s just what it is,” Audrey said, her manner prickly enough to make Coop miss the earlier Chip ’n’ Dale politeness, no matter how awkward it had been.
“Well, then,” Coop said.
Audrey opened the door, and walked through it. “Bye,” she said. She leaned over and patted Bear on the head. “Bye, Bear.” Bear’s tail thumped against the ground. Audrey looked back up at Coop. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“Don’t mention it,” Coop said.
She didn’t.
ONCE THE DOOR HAD closed behind her, Coop headed toward the kitchen, under the guise of getting out the dessert—a key lime pie he had bought from a local bakery, but had no plans of trying to pass off as his own work—but really more to process what had just happened.
Yes, he was disappointed. Part of him had hoped that the conflict between Audrey and him would have passed, that they would pick things up where they’d last left off. Or, at least, where they’d last left off just before the fight. Maybe she’d even stay the night.
Apparently not.
Coop shook his head, as he lifted the pie out of its white box. And his ex-girlfriends had thought he’d had intimacy issues. Compared to Audrey, he was Mr. Relationship.
You should be glad for the clean break, Coop told himself. In fact, it was a good thing he’d be leaving town for two months. Even if he was tempted to call Audrey, it was hard to make calls from a boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
“A nice clean break,” Coop said out loud, dishing pieces of pie onto small white plates. And hopefully, by the time he got back, Audrey would be completely exorcised from his thoughts.
WILL DIDN’T REALIZE HE’D fallen asleep until Fran kicked him.
“Ouch,” he said.
“You’re snoring.”
“How can I be snoring? I wasn’t asleep.”
“Either you were snoring or there’s a rhinoceros in distress somewhere in the room.”
“I love it when you flatter me like that,” Will said, curling toward her.
Fran squirmed away. “Don’t.”
“Why not? I just want to cuddle.”
“Because you’ll fall asleep on top of me and snore in my ear.”
Will rolled back to his side of the bed.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked.
“Mmm,” Fran said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. It was an odd night.”
“I didn’t think so. Everyone seemed like they were in good spirits,” Will said.
“What do you think about Mark and Jaime?”
“What about them?”
“I get the feeling that Jaime isn’t happy. Do you know what I mean? She and Mark weren’t really interacting that much. They talked to everyone else, but not to each other.”
“I didn’t notice. Has she said anything to you?” Will asked.
“No. She won’t talk about it with me. You know what she’s like. Everything’s fine. Always perfect. Although she was pretty pissed off at Mark last week, when Logan was hurt and she couldn’t track him down.”
Will shrugged. “It’s a hard time. Their kids are young, they’re probably not getting a lot of downtime. Or sleep.”
“Maybe,” Fran said.
“I actually thought Audrey seemed a little off,” Will said.
“Yeah, that was weird how she left so early,” Fran said.
“I think there might still be something brewing between her and Coop,” Will said.
Fran turned toward him. “Why do you think that?”
“Just the way they were acting around one another. Like they were trying too hard not to notice one another.”
“That could be residual awkwardness from their bad date,” Fran said.
“I don’t think so. Coop kept staring at her when he thought no one was looking.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Fran said.
“Why are you so against the idea of the two of them getting together?” Will asked. He put his hands behind his head. “I thought you liked Coop.”
“I love Coop. You know that.”
“Then, why are you being so weird about him and Audrey getting together?”
“I’m not.” Fran rolled away from him again. “They didn’t hit it off, remember? Anyway, maybe it’s a good thing the dinner party club is taking the summer off. It will give them a chance to get a break from each other. By the time we start up again in September, the awkwardness between them will have passed.”
Will moved closer to Fran, now feeling more awake than he had a few minutes before. He stroked her back, the way she’d always liked. In fact, once upon a time, this would be enough to make her purr with happiness and roll back toward him. Now she just lay there, still as stone, tolerating his touch.
“Is something wrong?” Will asked.
“No, nothing.”
“You’ve just been … distant lately.”
“Have I? I’m sorry,” Fran said.
She continued to lie with her back to him. Will stroked her back, still hopeful that it might lead somewhere.
“Honey, do you mind? I want to go to sleep,” Fran said.
Will withdrew his hand.
“Good night,” Fran said, her voice muffled in her pillow.
“Night,” Will said. He closed his eyes, wondering when they had stopped kissing each other before going to sleep.
“And try not to snore, okay?”
“Believe it or not, I don’t actually have control over what I do when I’m asleep,” Will said. He sighed and turned away, and tried to stay awake until he heard Fran’s breath slow into the steady rhythm of sleep.
september
SPINACH SALAD WITH GRAPEFRUIT AND RED ONION
CHICKEN RILLETTES
CHICKEN LIVER PTÉ
SLICED BEEF TENDERLOIN WITH HORSERADISH MAYONNAISE
CREAM PUFFS
JAIME FELT LIKE SHE’D been standing at the kitchen counter forever. The travertine tile floors were beautiful, but probably not the most comfortable choice they could have made when they redid the kitchen. She picked up one foot and rested it on the other as she diced carrots. She’d already chopped cupfuls of garlic, onions, celery, and thyme.
“Is this a new kind of yoga?” Mark asked, coming into the kitchen. “One that involves standing on one leg while you chop vegetables?”
“Are the kids asleep?” Jaime asked. The nighttime routine was usually her job, but this was her only chance to cook without having little ones underfoot. Mark had stepped in and helped out. For once.
No, Jaime chided herself. He’s been much better about helping out lately.
“I seriously doubt it. However, they are in bed.”
“Faces washed, teeth brushed?”
Mark slapped himself on the forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something! No, I’m just kidding. I’m not completely incompetent, thank you very much. But I think whoever wrote Brown Bear, Brown Bear was a sadist.”
“Eric Carle.”
“Right. He was probably abused as a child, and to get back at his parents—and all parents everywhere—wrote the most mind-numbing collection of children’s books ever to be published.”
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