“Me, too.” I looked up at him with a tentative smile. “I kind of hoped we'd do it again—sometime soon."
“The kids and I fly out to Colorado this evening. But it's only a little over a week before I'm back.” He reached over to touch my cheek. “Of course, you'll probably have found someone else by then. You're a pushover for bed salesmen."
“Oh, I am, am I? And what about you? All I had to do was mention lying on a hill when I was growing up. What if some woman on this whitewater rafting trip decides to discourse on her early years of whitewater rafting, and how they'd all lie on the beach in their bikinis with the sun streaming down on them and ... ?"
He laughed and climbed onto his ten-speed. “If she does, I'll be thinking of you."
I tried to mock him by saying, Nice line, doctor, but the words wouldn't come. In actuality I felt terrific. This warm, erotic man had made love with me last night, after all those years, and there was no way I could scoff at that. “You're a sweetheart, Jack,” was all I said, and rode off ahead of him on my bike.
Chapter Seventeen
If I'd known Jack was bringing his kids to dinner that night, I'd have worn something different, or not been there, or something. It wasn't entirely unusual for one of us to bring a guest—Sherri encouraged it. There was always plenty of food, and I think she and Cliff might have arranged that she got the extra fee.
In any case, when I arrived in the dining room Jack was standing with two of the most attractive teenagers I'd ever seen. And I'm not given to hyperbole. Everything isn't “the best” or “the funniest” or “the saddest” thing I've seen in my life. These kids were really good-looking. Jack saw me come in and waved me over.
“This is my friend Amanda Potter,” he told the two of them. “She's an OB/GYN from England."
They both said how-do-you-do politely and shook hands. The girl asked me if I lived in London and why I was in the United States. When I had answered, the boy asked a more in-depth question about the Effective Care in Pregnancy and Childbirth concept. When other people joined us and the discussion became more wide-ranging, I paid attention as these golden children interacted with the adults.
Sandra (pronounced Sondra by her, but not by Jack) had long blond hair in a sassy ponytail. Even in her sporting clothes she looked elegant. The blue jeans flatteringly hugged her fifteen-year-old figure, and her light cotton shirt highlighted both her tan and her emerging womanhood. Her blue eyes sparkled when she talked. She was gracious with adults, showing no sign of intimidation or nervousness.
Rob Sharpe, our resident sculptor, considered her with a mildly detached, moderately artistic eye, and a severely male manner. Even Sophia Granger seemed impressed with Sandra's intelligent conversation. Crissy Newman watched her from across the room, while Mark Bird approached in the name of congeniality.
Cliff was talking with Luke. At seventeen you could see that Luke would be an extraordinarily handsome man. Though he bore a resemblance to Jack, he had been put together on a different scale. He was taller, fairer, more classically good-looking. Jack's wiry hair had become pleasantly waved on Luke, and his deep blue eyes lightened to an unusual shade of aqua. What was most striking, however, was Luke's poise. When combined with an athletic build, an intelligent mind and a privileged background, the kid looked like a real winner.
I'm not sure how he did it, but Jack managed to seat me between the two of them. Forewarned, I suppose, Sherri served fried chicken and corn on the cob with a lovely salad full of all the greenery so readily available in early July. I worried, momentarily, whether the teenagers would be so sophisticated as to scorn fried chicken for its cholesterol (as most adults did these days), but basically they were still young and certain of their invulnerability. They ate the chicken with gusto.
Rob was seated on Sandra's other side and he drew her attention by discussing his sculpting, but Luke had his father on his right, so he turned to me as we ate, continuing the discussion of ECPC we'd started before sitting down. He sounded so genuinely interested in it that I asked, “Are you thinking of going into the medical field?"
“Oh, no. My dad and my granddad are doctors, so there's some pressure on me, but that's not where my interests lie."
I had a sneaking suspicion where his interests focused from comments Jack had made, and from seeing Luke's room in Oconomowoc, but I was curious to hear Luke talk about them himself. “What would you like to do?"
“Be a baseball player,” he said immediately. “I'm on my high school team; I'm a pitcher. People tell me I could go all the way to the majors."
With an effort, I kept my gaze from wandering off to his father's, because I knew the subject distressed Jack. “And how does that work? I mean, where do you start?"
Luke narrowed his aqua eyes. “First, I'll need to get into a college with a good baseball team. My folks won't let me skip college, and that's okay because you get a lot of great experience there. The majors scout you and everything."
“Is it as difficult to become a professional baseball player here as it is to become a professional cricket player in England?"
“Oh, tons harder,” he scoffed. “Cricket doesn't call for as many skills as baseball does. And it's so slow!” Afraid this might have offended me, he hastened to add, “Of course, it might not seem like that to someone who's seen it all his life."
“I think it's a colossal bore,” I admitted, “but I don't know much about your baseball either. It certainly seems to move faster."
“There's no comparison. I've already been to half a dozen Brewers’ games this summer."
“So if you become a professional ball player, how long does that kind of career last?"
He looked at me suspiciously, and I could see Jack grinning behind him, but Luke shrugged and said, “Some guys are still playing when they're forty, but that's pretty old."
“And what do they do afterwards?"
His face took on a stubborn look. “By that time they've made a lot of money. They can pretty much do what they want. They don't have to go to an office every day, or to the hospital,” he added with a touch of disdain. “If they've made a big name for themselves, they endorse products or become sports announcers. That kind of thing. But I think I'd want to become a novelist, like Jim Dodge or Ken Kesey or Po Bronson. You'd have the inside knowledge of baseball to use as a background."
Seventeen, huh? I would have expected a son of Jack's to be more realistic than this and I was sorely tempted to offer Luke a few solid tips about life, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Fortunately, just then Sophia Granger, seated across the table and listening to this conversation, felt an urgent need to inform Luke that Dodge and Kesey were scarcely her idea of literary giants, and she'd never heard of Po Bronson.
After a while Sandra turned her lively face to me and began pelting me with questions about London. “I want to work there the summer after high school. My dad could probably find me something to do at a hospital, don't you think?"
Behind this question I could see the opportunistic mind working that if he couldn't, surely I could. As adults we call this networking, but seeing a fifteen-year-old capitalizing on an advantage rather startled me. Not that Cass didn't know the propitious time to ask Nigel or me for a favor, but we were her parents. I didn't think I'd seen her do it with other adults, but maybe she did.
“I'm sure he could. Jack probably has lots of contacts among his colleagues in England. And of course most of them are in London."
She frowned slightly, but retained the rueful twist Jack often got to his mouth. “I wouldn't want to do anything gross. Like cut open mice in a lab or something.” Her pert nose wrinkled prettily. “But I'd work hard and I catch onto things quickly. I'd work in France but my French isn't nearly good enough. Maybe I'll do my junior year of college abroad there, though. By then I'll have improved."
“That sounds like a good plan. Do you have some idea what you'll major in at university?"
She offered a radiant, fresh-faced smile. “No
t yet. There are lots of things I'm interested in—business and sociology and history. Sometimes I think I'll be a lawyer. You can't get much more powerful than that as a woman."
“And you're interested in power?"
“Oh, not really. I just want to be where it's obvious I'm in charge and that I know what I'm doing. Like Marcia Clark. She's cool."
“So you'd be more interested in criminal law than civil?"
Sandra looked at me a little blankly, and I realized she was young to understand the differences. Law was law, and it was exciting. Somehow both of Jack's children seemed to have adopted the idea that medicine was not an appropriate career for them. Too much work, maybe. Now, Mandy, I warned myself, these are bright, enthusiastic and self-assured youngsters. That's what every family wants to raise. They're naive and a little over-optimistic now, but they'll learn.
Someone else had caught Sandra's attention, and I listened to her eager explanation of what would happen on their whitewater trip. She sounded like a kid now, with none of the pseudo-sophistication she'd shown earlier. When Luke joined in, he sounded just as young and artless as Sandra.
Obviously Jack knew his children very well. Though he thoroughly loved them, he wasn't blind to their faults. Not every parent could manage that. I wasn't sure I could always be objective, even when I needed to be, with Cass. Which made me wonder if Karen could, and whether indeed Jack's ex-wife would see certain things as faults in her children. All very interesting, but, as Jack would no doubt tell me, none of my business.
When dinner was finished, there was a general shuffle toward the front door. The three travelers had already stowed away their luggage in Jack's car, which he was leaving at the Milwaukee Airport while they were away. Everyone wished them a good trip and commented on how good it had been to see the kids, and then the travelers were out the door.
Not wishing to get caught in another discussion with Cliff, or with my fellow guests on how extraordinary Jack's kids were, I hurried up the stairs and into my room. Not two minutes later there was a light tap on the door and Jack's voice saying, “It's me, Mandy.”
When I let him in, he caught me in his arms and squeezed me against him. “I couldn't leave without kissing you good-bye,” he said, and proceeded to do so very nicely. After a moment he sighed, drew back and asked, “What did you think of the kids?"
“They're about the most attractive teenagers I've ever seen, they're positively charming, and they have a great deal to learn about the big, bad world."
Jack laughed and kissed the tip of my nose. “I knew you'd see it. Yeah, they're great, and I do my best to keep them reality-based."
“I bet you do. Now go, they're waiting. Have a wonderful trip."
He pressed my hand. “Thanks. I'll miss you."
“Me, too,” I said, and hoped I didn't sound as forlorn as I felt.
* * * *
Saturday was my regular day to call Nigel. Though I dropped notes to him now and again, the phone call was my major method of keeping in touch. By now he had to know that I would call him Saturday afternoon his time, but it never seemed to occur to him to call me first if he wasn't going to be at the house or at his lab. Generally I persisted until I reached him.
This Saturday I sat for a long time on the window seat, looking out into the wildly growing garden, debating what I would say to him. I could say nothing about Jack, or I could tell Nigel the bare bones of the truth. It wouldn't be exactly lying if I said nothing at all, but it certainly wouldn't be particularly open of me, either.
Actually, I don't think I ever really considered not telling Nigel. For years, we had never gotten further in our discussions about our marriage than my saying, “I don't want to live this way indefinitely, Nigel,” and his saying, “Mandy, if you want to divorce me, that's your decision. I'd like to keep our family together for Cass's sake.”
If Nigel had thought at twenty-two that what he wanted was a family, over the years I think he'd changed his mind. Not that he didn't love Cass. But given his druthers, he would have lived alone, so he could have come and gone as he wished, and not had to spend so much time accommodating other people. I had found it sad beyond words to be the person he had to accommodate the most, as though I were an enormous drain on his energies, when all I wanted was to be his partner.
Down below in the garden sunlight dappled the bench where Jack had been sitting when I'd first run into him. His depression had lifted considerably since then, no doubt because of the medication. And, maybe, a little, because of our relationship. He wasn't a lone wolf like Nigel. Jack thrived on having someone to talk with, to spend time with, even, I suppose, to make love with. Though he also treasured time alone, he seemed as refreshed by interaction as by reflection.
Pulling the phone over to me, I dialed the London house number first. Nigel didn't bother to put on the answering machine anymore; that would only mean he'd have to return calls. When I got no answer at Netherhall Gardens, I tried the lab, where I let the phone ring and ring. Sometimes he was there, but wandering around, or caught up in his own thoughts. Just as I was about to give up, with something of a sense of relief, he answered.
“Hi, Nigel. It's Mandy."
“Hi, dear. How are things going? Any more trouble from the department head?"
Trust Nigel to finally take an interest in my life here when I'd given up on him. I tried to concentrate on answering the questions. “The early part of the week was distressing, but things seem to have taken a turn for the better now. I've begun a schedule of surgery, and I'm deep into the ECPC research. Dr. Hager has backed off considerably."
“Good. I ran into Lattimore the other day. He was looking rather fit, considering. He asked me how you were enjoying yourself. Don't you keep them informed at the hospital?"
“Oh, yes. I send regular reports. He probably doesn't bother to read them."
Nigel laughed. “No, he wouldn't. He's still really annoyed that he didn't get to go."
“He hasn't written me at all, though I know he's written Hager. How are things going with you?"
He spent some time filling me in on his research work and how the office politics were playing out. Cass had called him during the week to complain about the food at the holiday camp where she was working, which didn't come anywhere near satisfying her vegetarian appetites.
“Well, that's about it,” he said, sounding like he was ready to say goodbye.
“Wait, I have another matter to discuss."
There must have been something in my tone of voice that alerted him. “Oh, what's that? A problem?"
“Sort of. When I left London, I intended to give a lot of thought to our relationship. I've tried over these last years to make you understand that I'm not satisfied with our marriage."
“Mandy, no one's satisfied with their marriage. We do very well together."
“But we haven't had sex for a dozen years, Nigel. In my mind marriage includes sex."
He was silent, so I went on. “The other night I slept with a man here. Had sex, intercourse, whatever. I'd never done that before, Nigel."
“No?” He sounded disbelieving. “I'm sure you've had the opportunity."
His coldness and disbelief put my back up. “Of course I have, but I haven't done it. This time I did."
“You'll have to excuse me if I don't believe you,” he said. “One instance in particular stands out in my mind, Mandy. You offered me no explanation of why you didn't come home Easter a year ago. Remember?"
I remembered. And what I remembered was that I'd offered him the choice between my silence, or my explanation if he would be willing to sit down and discuss our non-existent sex life with me. Since he hadn't chosen the latter, I'd not satisfied his curiosity. “And you suspect that I've had any number of affairs during these years?"
Nigel hesitated, then said, “I suspect you've had a few, not a lot. Since you were discreet, I never said anything."
You didn't say anything because you didn't care, I thought, angry. Aloud, I s
aid, “That was very thoughtful of you, very avant-garde. But there was no need to restrain yourself, because I didn't have any."
“Mandy,” he said sternly, “Lattimore practically gloated over me, he was so obvious about what was going on."
My voice hardened. “Doug Lattimore? Surely you jest."
“Not at all. He's acted this way for years, every time I've seen him at one of your department functions. That's why I won't go anymore."
“Well, I guess old Doug and I will have to take this up between us,” I finally managed to say. My blood was on fire: the hypocrite, the dirty snake. Doug Lattimore, who had made my life a misery for years, had also convinced my husband we were lovers. “But, if you'd been concerned, Nigel, you should have discussed it with me. Then I could have assured you it wasn't true, which it isn't."
“He wouldn't have hinted at it if it weren't true."
“Can you hear yourself, Nigel? You're saying that you believe Doug and not me. You've been married to me for more than twenty years and know me extraordinarily well, yet you're willing to believe that I'm lying to you about this. Why would I? I've just told you I slept with someone this week. If I'd slept with Doug—a disgusting thought—I'd be more than willing to tell you."
There was a long silence on his end of the phone. His voice came stiffly when I was about to say something. “Are you telling me that this is the first time you've made love with someone since ... other than me?"
That was a good catch. Nigel was in fact the first man I'd made love with, some time before we were married. Except for Jack now, he was the only one. “That's what I'm telling you, Nigel."
“I find it hard to believe."
“Why? We've been married all this time."
“But you were insistently sexual, Mandy."
What did that mean, insistently sexual? That I wanted my own husband to make love to me, that I'd tried innumerable times to seduce him? All to no avail. The sadness and anger warred, as they always did. But I said, as coolly as I could, “I've perfected the art of masturbation. It has several advantages over lovers."
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