As it happened, he didn’t arrive home until eleven at night, after Emily had, item by item, hope by hope, returned the food to the refrigerator and dismantled the picnic makings. By the time he arrived there was no sign that she had been expecting him earlier. Nor did she clue him in. After all, he had said Saturday night. She was the one who had assumed he would make it for dinner. She had simply assumed wrong. It was her mistake.
He gave her a perfunctory kiss, then rolled into bed and fell promptly asleep. He was still sleeping when she woke up the next morning, and while she might have liked to rouse him, to do the kinds of things Sunday mornings had meant once, she resisted. He clearly needed the sleep. Waking him when he was exhausted was more apt to invoke annoyance than desire.
Sunday brunch seemed the next best thing. She mixed a coffee cake from scratch and put it in the oven, fixed a bowl of berries and kiwi. After tiptoeing back into the bedroom, gathering his dirty clothes and putting them in the wash, she assembled the makings of a three-cheese omelet, put the pan on the stove with a wad of butter inside, and, thinking that breakfast could be a celebratory occasion, too, set out fluted glasses for mimosas.
Doug wandered into the kitchen at ten-thirty, took one look at her preparations, and put a cautionary hand on his middle. “None of that for me. My stomach’s been acting up. I think it’s too much rich food. Hotel eating’s like that.”
Emily was set back. “Some fruit, then,” she urged, trying to be understanding, and he agreed. She put away the omelet makings and the champagne. “Coffee?” She had the beans ground and the water in the machine.
But he shook his head. “Maybe later. Just fruit for now.”
Just fruit for now. Okay. She wanted him to be happy to be home. She could accept just fruit for now, if that would make him happy.
She filled two bowls and sat down beside him at a kitchen table made festive by glass dishes, linen napkins, and Myra’s contribution to the homecoming, apricot marigolds. She didn’t push him to talk right away. More considerate, she thought, to let him relax for a bit.
In time, he set down his spoon. “What’s the word from Jill?”
“She’s great. She calls every day. Classes start tomorrow.”
“Good courses?”
Emily had run them past him when he had called on Thursday. He must have forgotten. Patiently, she repeated what she had told him then. Moving along without comment, he asked, “How’s her roommate?”
“Nice, apparently.”
“That’s good.” He picked up his spoon and resumed eating.
Emily studied his face. He didn’t look tired, exactly. But weary, somehow. “Are you okay, Doug?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You seem far away.”
He jabbed at a berry. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Want to share it?”
“Not particularly. I’ve been living with it all week. I want a break.”
That was fine and dandy for him, not so fine and dandy for her. He needed silence, but she needed talk. “Is it the Baltimore account?”
He shrugged.
“The problem wasn’t resolved by the time you left?”
He set down his spoon. “We’re making progress.” He reached for the Sunday paper.
“What about Philadelphia?”
He unfolded the paper with a snap. “What about it?”
“How did it go?”
“Fine.” He focused on the front page.
She waited. She watched his eyes move, but she wasn’t sure if he was actually reading. “Talk to me, Doug,” she said softly.
He turned down the paper only enough to meet her eyes. “This is the first day in a week that I’ve been able to relax over breakfast with the morning paper. It really is a luxury. Indulge me?”
Put that way, she felt guilty. He was the one on the road, the one working all week, the one feeling pressure to produce and earn. She supposed that if she were in his position, she would find reading the morning paper a luxury, too.
“Can we have lunch out by the pond?” she asked. That seemed a fair compromise.
“Lunch. I can’t think of lunch. We’re just having breakfast.”
“Only fruit. That’s not much. I have fried chicken and fresh corn and salad. And strawberry-rhubarb pie.”
“Strawberry-rhubarb?” At last, an inkling of interest. “Yours?”
She nodded, feeling pleased.
He searched the counter. “Where is it?”
“In the fridge.”
“Can I have a piece now?”
“What about your stomach?”
“It’s worth it, for a piece of that pie. It is the best.”
Relieved to catch a glimpse of the old Doug, she left the table and cut him a piece. Then she watched him eat every last bite. The instant he was done, she reached for his hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“The garage apartment. You won’t recognize the place.”
“Let me get dressed first.”
“No need.” He was wearing a knee-length terrycloth robe. It was comfortable and familiar to Emily. The urbane business consultant was miles away. She didn’t wish him back.
She led him out the kitchen door, down the steps, and across the driveway to the far side of the garage. She pointed at the locks when she opened the door. “They’re new. And I’ve ordered a runner for these stairs.” They started up. “It’ll be safer for a child.”
“Jill did fine without.”
“Jill wouldn’t have sued us if she fell.”
“And this guy will? Maybe it’s a mistake renting to a cop.”
“No mistake. He’s a nice guy. I’m just thinking landlord thoughts.” She led him into the room and smiled. “Different, huh?”
She waited for an answering smile. What she got was something akin to dismay. “The walls look raw.”
“We’ll be painting next week.”
“Well, I suppose anything’s an improvement over that dingy wallpaper and Jill’s awful scribbles.”
Emily didn’t think the scribbles were awful. “I saved them for her. She’ll laugh hysterically over them someday. They’re like a chronicle of her adolescence. John was appalled.”
“When was John here?”
“When he brought Brian over,” she said, but she was sorry John’s name had slipped out. Friends once, Doug and he had drifted apart. Aside from the girls, they had little in common. At times Emily sensed an animosity in Doug toward John. She didn’t ask its cause, didn’t want to know.
“What are the markings over there?” Doug asked.
“We’re putting in a round top window.”
“My God, it’s huge space.”
“It’ll be charming when it’s done.”
“Is it necessary? For five hundred bucks a month? And the ceiling fan’s new. This guy’s getting one hell of a deal.”
“So are we,” Emily said defensively. She was proud of what she had done here. She was tired of being put down. “He’s installing the window himself.”
“Paying for it?”
“No. Providing the labor.”
“I thought you said he was a cop.”
“He worked as a carpenter when he was younger. I told you he offered to help finish the place.”
“This isn’t finishing. It’s reconstructing. Does he know what he’s doing? Have you seen his work? How do you know you won’t end up with a collapsed roof, or a window that leaks?”
“I don’t know for sure,” she argued. “I wouldn’t know for sure even if I hired a contractor.”
“At least a contractor is bonded.”
“A contractor is also expensive, whereas Brian comes cheap. I’ve worked with him for three days now. I’ve heard him talking with the electrician and the plumber. He’s knowledgeable. And anyway, if he does it wrong, he’s the one who’ll have to live with it.”
“We’re the ones who’ll have to fix it.”
; “I trust him, Doug,” Emily insisted. “You would, too, if you met him. Why don’t I have him stop over later?” She liked that idea. She wanted Brian to meet Doug.
But Doug gave an impatient wave. “I can’t waste time meeting a tenant. I’m leaving at three. I have to be in Atlanta tonight for an early morning meeting tomorrow.”
“Three,” Emily cried in dismay. She had been hoping for four or five, at the least. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“For what?”
“To talk. You promised we would.”
He stared at her, then put his hands on his hips. “Okay. I’m here now. Talk.”
Time, place, atmosphere—all were wrong for what she wanted to say. She had been hoping for a warmer mood, a more intimate setting. But if her choice was between this one or none at all, there was no contest.
So she blurted out, “Jill’s gone, and I’m all alone in this house. I was counting on our being together Thursday, and when that didn’t happen, I was counting on Saturday, and now that’s come and gone, and we’ve done none of the things I was hoping we would. I want us to spend time together, Doug. I want to do things together, to have fun like we used to.”
“Yeah, well, that would be nice. I could retire. But then who’d pay the bills?”
“Not retire. Just make home time.”
“Emily, I have a business to run.”
“So do other men, but they manage to make time for their wives.”
“Are you saying I don’t manage my time well?”
She thought to pull back, but the words spilled out. “It’s a question of priorities.”
“And you think mine are screwed up? You are unbelievable. I’m out there working my tail off so that my wife and daughter can live comfortably, and you stand here and complain? What’s with you?”
Ahhh, the guilt. “I’m lonesome.”
“Well, so am I, stuck alone in strange cities, but I’m not paying a bundle to have you tag along.”
“You could call more often. You could tell me about your day and I could tell you about mine.”
“We do that.”
“Not every night, and it’s mostly me doing the telling. There was a time when you used to do it, too.”
His voice grew slow and pedantic. “Life was simpler in those days. We used to talk about the weather or the lettuce harvest or a new piece of machinery I’d ordered. My work is more complicated now.”
“I’m not dumb. I can understand it.”
“But why do you want to know?”
“Because it’s your work and it interests me.”
He gave her a cold stare. “You’re making things very difficult.”
“How?” she argued, stung. “Is talking to me difficult?”
“You’re pressuring me.”
“All I want is a little time.”
“I don’t have it to give,” he ground out. “Christ, Emily, life is tough enough. Don’t make it worse.”
She studied him for a disbelieving minute, then let out a defeated breath. “That wasn’t my intent.”
“Yeah, well, it never is,” he said.
“What does that mean?” she cried.
He made for the door. “You’re such an innocent.”
“Is that bad?”
“Deathly.” He started down the stairs.
“Doug?” She ran to the door. “Doug.” But he didn’t look back, and in seconds he was gone, leaving her vaguely shocked and wondering what in the hell had just happened.
Emily remained in that same vague sense of shock through the few hours that remained of Doug’s stay at home. She didn’t try to talk with him again, but was simply, sweetly there, as she had been for most of the last twenty-one years.
That seemed her role in their marriage. She hadn’t thought twice about it, what with Jill such a major player in her life, but Jill was gone now, back for vacations but moving toward an independent life as surely as the sun moved east to west.
Emily’s future was with Doug. If this weekend was indicative of what that future would be, she didn’t know what she would do.
So she didn’t dwell on it. She folded his clean clothes and packed his bag while he busied himself in the den. To show that she understood the importance of his work, that she could compromise, she brought him lunch there. It was an inside version of the picnic that wouldn’t be, and when he finally took a break, she called Jill.
She wanted Jill to hear their voices together. That seemed just as important as leaving her bedroom intact.
six
BRIGHT AND EARLY MONDAY MORNING, BRIAN dressed Julia and drove her to the babysitter’s house. His stomach was tied in knots in anticipation of her crying.
She didn’t let him down. The crying started the minute he took her out of the car.
The fact that she clung to him as though she adored him to pieces and simply couldn’t bear parting with him was small solace. He felt like he was an ogre, turning her over to an executioner, rather than to a woman who had impressed him both with her knowing ways and her references, and he had certainly checked those out. Every last one. Emily’s endorsement was representative of the lot.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered while Julia screamed against his shoulder, “no one’ll hurt you here. You’ll have lots of fun, and I’ll be back to get you later, I will, I’ll be back.”
Janice pried her from Brian’s arms. “Once you’re gone, she’ll be fine. This isn’t unusual, especially at first.” She started off toward the other children.
Julia’s screams rose. Her little arms reached around Janice for Brian. They touched air and Brian’s heart, which was breaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he called, feeling a touch of panic. “We’ve been together every minute for days now. Mine is the only face she’s known. We’re inseparable. I’m all she has.”
“She’ll be fine once you leave, Mr. Stasek.”
“Loud noises frighten her. Bursts of activity. She still misses her mother. She doesn’t understand what happened to Gayle. She’ll think I’m going for good, too. Maybe I should stay.”
Janice was kneeling beside several children who were playing with oversized plastic bricks. “Look, Julia, see the pretty blocks. What do you think they’re building? What are you making, Adam?”
Julia kept crying, kept frantic eyes on Brian, who was feeling more cruel by the minute. “Should I stay?” he called.
“Definitely not. As soon as you leave, she’ll be fine.”
“I put two changes of clothes in the bag. Is that enough?”
“Plenty.”
“And her rabbit. She can’t sleep without it.”
“We’ll make sure she has it.”
“I’ll be right here in town. You have the number. I can be over in five minutes. Should I come by at noon to see how she’s doing?”
“Not unless you want her to start crying again.”
That was assuming she stopped crying now. Brian wanted to think she would, but she seemed caught up in one of the snowballing fits that made mockery of his street smarts.
She used to smile, used to look up from whatever she was doing and beam at Gayle or him. Now her little face was scrunched up and red. He wondered if she would ever smile again.
“If you can’t reach me at my number, call the police station. They know where I am. They’ll come right out and get me.” He figured the reminder of his connections didn’t hurt.
Janice continued to talk softly to Julia, saying things about the toys and the other children and what they would be doing that morning. Something must have sunk in, because while Julia continued to cry, she dared take her eyes off Brian.
He slipped out the door and walked to the Jeep feeling cowardly, traitorous, and frightened.
It occurred to him that the references might be wrong.
But the other children weren’t crying.
So maybe something was wrong with Julia.
But if so Janice would call him.
Assuming she was on the up and up. But hadn’t Emily had good words for her?
That thought brought him a measure of calm. Emily did that to him, and not only where Julia was concerned. From the minute he had met her, he had felt something peaceful. She was straightforward and honest, settled at a time when his life was anything but. She was the embodiment of the simpler life he needed just then.
By midday, the spot in the apartment over the garage where the arched window would be was halfway to being a gaping hole, and Brian was feeling better. Physical work always satisfied him, all the more so when it required concentration. Breaking through a wall so that the hole fit the window required both brawn and brains.
It took his mind off Julia, for small stretches at least. But he couldn’t forget her for long. She was his responsibility.
Just when he was wondering what she was having for lunch and thinking that he could use some himself, Emily produced a platter of leftover fried chicken and a pitcher of lemonade, set both on the floor along with a pile of napkins, and gestured for him to join her.
“This is above and beyond,” he protested, though the chicken looked more appetizing than anything he had eaten in weeks. It also smelled a damn sight better than he did. Most anything would, he supposed. Emily sure did. “I could’ve gone in town for sandwiches.”
She smiled. “If we don’t eat this, it’ll spoil. I made it for the weekend, but my husband was in and out so fast he couldn’t eat much.”
Her husband was an idiot. “Is he always so busy?”
“It’s worse lately.” Her smile grew sheepish. “I should be grateful. So many people are out of work, and Doug is deluged.”
She passed him a glass of lemonade. He drained it and hunkered down by the chicken. “Gratitude is nice, in theory. I was grateful that Gayle had a career. I had all the pride and respect in the world for her, but I hated it when she wasn’t home when I was.”
“She must have felt the same about your career.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. She was self-sufficient in nearly every respect. She didn’t need me.”
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