This had never happened with Bob, she thought later, as she and Nick, still sweaty and breathing hard, lay intertwined on the bed. Bob had always come first and then Karen, manually, had come afterward. The fact that she and Nick were in sync, had, in fact become one person, reconfirmed her conviction that they belonged together, to one another. This, Karen told herself, was the difference between having sex and making love. She had always had sex with Bob. She had just made love, for the first time in her life, with Nick. He kissed her mouth and then reached over to the table next to his side of the bed, where he filled two crystal glasses with champagne from a bottle in an ice bucket. He handed her a glass and then tapped his against hers. “To our future.”
“Together.”
He took a sip before sliding out of bed to retrieve his boxers. He told Karen to lie back on the pillows. He dug her manicured feet out of the covers and began to massage her toes. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of his fingers touching her travel through her body. Slowly, expertly, he kneaded her calves and thighs. He told her to roll over. He gently caressed her back. He lifted her hair and kissed her neck, and Karen rolled back over to face him. She pulled him down to her and removed the cotton boxers he had put on less than twenty minutes before, and they made love again. “You are insatiable,” he said, smiling, when they were done.
“Me? I know all about the foot-massage trick.”
Nick laughed. They lay side by side, drinking champagne and talking about writing. When they finished their glasses, Nick got off the bed to get the basket that was sitting next to the door. He brought it to the bed and removed its contents: French bread, soft cheeses, nuts, and grapes. He poured her another glass of champagne, then fed her a grape. “Can we stay here all night?” she asked, knowing better.
“Can we stay here for the rest of our lives?”
“I want to be with you, Nick. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”
Nick kissed her lips. “We will be together.”
“How do you know?” asked Karen, feeling anxious for the first time that evening.
“Because we are meant to be together. It’s written somewhere.”
“Like in the stars?” Karen asked skeptically.
“No,” said Nick, hopping out of bed, grabbing a notebook from the pocket of his wool blazer, and scribbling something down.
“What are you doing?” asked Karen, tilting her head in question.
“It’s written here.” Nick showed Karen the notebook with their names written inside a heart.
Karen laughed. “You are ridiculous.”
“Which means you’re in love with a ridiculous man. What does that say about you?”
“That I’m ridiculous, too?”
“That’s my girl,” said Nick, getting back into bed and wrapping his arms around Karen.
Karen looked in the front hall mirror when she got home and could see that her cheeks were red, still burning. She covered them with her hands and felt their warmth. She closed her eyes, picturing Nick kissing her cheeks. She walked into the kitchen, where Jamie was putting books into a backpack. Karen paid her as she heard the report for the evening. Robert had been wonderful. Rebecca had been somewhat less so. She called Karen’s cell phone twice, but Karen didn’t pick up. Karen swallowed hard, then explained that she had silenced her phone so she wouldn’t disturb anyone at the dinner. Was there anything Rebecca needed? Jamie shook her head as she put on her coat and said that Rebecca had just been in a funny mood. She spent most of the night in her room. Karen opened the back door for Jamie, thanked her, and watched her walk across the back lawn to the street, where her dad was waiting for her in their car. When Bob was out of town, Jamie’s father chauffeured his daughter to and from the Parsons’ house. Karen closed the door and walked up the stairs to Rebecca’s room, and found her daughter sleeping in her clothes. Karen gently shook her shoulder. She sat down on her bed. “Hi,” she said, as Rebecca opened her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Where were you tonight?” asked Rebecca, sleepily.
“At the community dinner, honey,” said Karen, stroking her daughter’s hair.
Rebecca looked up at her mother. “I called, but you didn’t answer.”
Karen smiled. “That was my mistake. I silenced my phone, so I didn’t hear it. I should have checked it afterward.”
“I just wanted to know where you were.”
Karen reached down and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “I’m right here now. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“When does Daddy get home?”
Karen stood. “The day after tomorrow.”
“Maybe we can do something as a family this weekend,” said Rebecca, rolling over and facing the wall.
Karen hesitated for a moment, looking at her daughter’s back. Rebecca hadn’t said anything like that in months. Unable to think of anything to say, Karen walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. She walked down the hall to her bedroom and changed into her nightgown. Her skin smelled like the soap she and Nick had used to wash each other with in the shower. She got into bed, sat back against her pillows, and thought about her wonderful night, her future with Nick. She was happy that tomorrow was a work day for her, an opportunity to spend time with the man she loved. She reached over and turned out the light. Just as she lay down, the phone rang.
“Hi,” Nick said.
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Thank you so much for tonight,” he said. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Good.”
“I love you so much, Karen.”
“And I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 19
JANUARY 2005
Bob ran with his travel bag in hand through the sleet, from the driveway, along the slate stepping stones, to the back door. When he got inside, he set the bag down, then took off his raincoat and shook it. He called Karen’s name twice before he saw the note on the table. Karen and the kids had gone to the movies and would be back around six. Nice homecoming, thought Bob. Truthfully, he didn’t care much. He was tired from the negotiations and wanted a very hot shower and a cold beer.
Under the spray, Bob stood still, letting the water run down his back for several minutes before soaping himself and scrubbing the film of perspiration from his body. He shaved, dressed in jeans and a cotton, button-down shirt, what Karen called his uniform, and went back to the kitchen for the beer that he had been looking forward to since the end of his final meeting. He took it and a small bowl of pretzels to the family room, sat down on the new leather sofa, and turned on the big screen TV. He smiled; the game was only half over. At the first commercial, he muted the sound and reached for the phone in his shirt pocket. He dialed Denise’s number and was surprised and pleased when she answered. “It’s Bob.”
“Hi,” she said warmly. “Are you home?”
“I am.”
“You must be exhausted.”
He smiled at her sweetness. “I’m okay. A hot shower can work wonders.”
“Did you have a good trip?”
“Yes,” said Bob, wondering when Karen had last asked him about a business trip. “They’re going to keep their business with Forester.”
“Because of you.”
“I guess my willingness to fly out there and talk with them helped.”
Denise laughed. “You don’t have to be modest. I know how good you are.”
“You do?”
“You radiate success,” she said.
“Can I see you soon?”
“Yes. I’d love to spend some time with you.”
“Good. How about dinner Tuesday night? I’ll pick you up about seven?”
“That sounds great. I live in the Glen Dale Apartments.”
“I know where you live. I’ll see you Tuesday night.”
When Karen and the kids got home, Bob walked into the kitchen to greet his family. Robert was the o
nly one who seemed glad to see him. Rebecca, who was still upset her mother dragged her to a dumb G movie, glanced at her father’s face and then went directly to her room. Karen gave Bob a peck on the cheek before quickly turning her attention to the basket of take-out menus on the kitchen counter. She’d been having cravings lately, for savory foods, as if she were again in the final stage of her pregnancies, when the food finally stayed put in her stomach and she snacked all day long. She was not pregnant, she knew, because she took birth control pills. Bob had years ago volunteered to get a vasectomy after their last child was born, telling Karen that since she would have to carry and birth the children, this would be his contribution to the effort. After Robert emerged, however, Bob told Karen he’d had second thoughts. Karen flipped through the menus until she found what she was looking for: pizza for Rebecca and Robert, hot wings for her and Bob, and a ready-made Caesar salad. As she called in the order, Robert followed his dad back into the den, where they both plopped down on the couch. Bob offered the last pretzel in the bowl to his son. “Just the guys,” Bob said, as Robert popped the tiny knot into his mouth. “Just the way I like it.”
When the food arrived, they all sat around the kitchen table, the sound of forks scooping up the Caesar salad and slurped milk filling in for conversation. “I want a cell phone,” said Rebecca, breaking the silence as she often did with a request.
“I don’t think so,” said Karen, dipping her wing into the plastic container of blue-cheese dressing the restaurant provided.
“Why not?”
“Because you spend enough time in your room on the phone already.”
“Like you care.”
“Pardon me?” asked Bob, who stopped chewing.
Rebecca put down her fork and looked at her father. “It’s not like either of you want to spend any time with me, or Robert, or each other for that matter. If we’re going to be a dysfunctional family, I might as well have all the accessories.”
“What’s dysfunctional mean?” asked Robert.
“We’re not dysfunctional,” Bob told him.
“Oh no?” asked Rebecca. “Then what do you call this dinner? We have the family gathered here for a meal for the first time in days, and no one has anything to say to each other.”
Karen glanced at Bob, who leaned back in his chair. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’ve had a long week.”
“So what else is new, Dad? When aren’t your weeks long?”
Bob put his fork down. “So what I’m hearing, Rebecca, is that you’d like to spend more time with me? That I’m letting you down?” Rebecca made a face. “Maybe, if you moved on from your sullen, life-is-so-hard-for-an-eleven-year-old-girl phase, we’d be able to exchange pleasantries instead of barbs.” Rebecca’s eyes welled with tears. Bob tore the flesh off a chicken wing with his teeth. “You can dish it out, honey, but you sure can’t take it.”
Rebecca stood. “Most fathers wouldn’t ask their daughters to take it!” she loudly proclaimed as she left the room.
“Robert,” said Karen, “why don’t you take your plate downstairs and finish your dinner in front of the TV. You can use the cool new table.” Robert, who was old and experienced enough to know when his parents wanted him elsewhere, put another slice of pizza on his plate and walked out of the room.
“What is her problem?” Bob asked Karen.
“She’s hormonal.”
“She’s a monster, a spoiled brat. She needs some discipline.”
Karen took a sip of wine. “You’re saying I don’t discipline her?”
“Well, do you? Do you ever say no?”
“Look around you, Bob. Does it look like we live in a house full of nos?”
Bob finished his beer. “I can think of a number of nos that I’ve heard recently.”
Karen shook her head slowly. “That’s what we need right now, to turn this conversation into an argument about sex. You’ve got a daughter who can’t stand you, and all you can think about is sex.”
“First of all, Rebecca does not hate me; I give her everything she asks for. And second, if we had sex with any regularity, we wouldn’t have to argue about it.”
“Get over it!” Karen said, venom in her voice. “You are not an eighteen-year-old boy! You cannot have everything you want when you want it!”
Bob stood. “Oh yes, I can,” he said calmly. “Having everything I want goes hand in hand with fulfilling my business ambitions. I can, indeed, have it all.”
Karen was shaking. “You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met.”
“And you,” said Bob, throwing his napkin onto the table, “are just like me.”
Karen watched him walk out of the room. She sat for just a minute before eating three more wings, so that Bob would not be able to have them before he went to bed.
Bob called Karen Tuesday afternoon and told her he had a dinner meeting with clients in River City and would not be home until ten. As soon as she hung up the phone, she called Nick. He said he doubted Trisha would be home before nine anyway and that he could ask his caregiver to come back for the evening. That would give them a couple of hours. “Let’s go to the diner,” said Karen, “and then park by the river.”
Nick laughed. “You want to go parking? It’s freezing outside.”
“I think we can find some heat.”
“There goes my concentration for the afternoon.” Karen smiled at the phone. “I’ll meet you in the library parking lot at six.”
“I love you,” she said.
Bob worked until six, then jogged down two flights in the stairwell at the end of the hall to the basement locker room. It was quiet, with just a couple of guys changing into running clothes for their evening workout. He opened his locker and took his shaving kit off the metal shelf. At one of three sinks, he washed his face, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He took off the shirt he had put on that morning and changed into a clean one. He chose a new tie from the several he stored in his locker. Having extra clothes at work was something Bob had found essential in the last couple of years. High-powered meetings were called without warning; a fresh shirt and a washed face gave the right impression. He made it to River City in twenty-three minutes and decided to stop by the restaurant to check the reservation he made that afternoon. As requested, a table in the City Room, overlooking the river, was waiting for them. Bob gave the maître d’ a twenty-dollar bill and told him to take good care of them. Dinner, he said, would take two hours instead of the standard ninety minutes. He would not be rushed.
Bob drove to the Glen Dale Apartments and parked near Denise’s unit. He walked up the outdoor staircase and down the short indoor hallway to the end. A vase of fresh flowers stood on a small table in the corner, next to a powder blue door with the bronze numbers one and six attached to its surface. He checked his watch. It was exactly seven. He rang her doorbell. Seconds later, wearing a short black dress with a pale pink shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Denise opened the door and smiled at him. “You are incredibly punctual.”
“And you are incredibly lovely.”
Denise backed up a few steps, inviting Bob into her apartment. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’ve just got to grab my purse from my bedroom.”
“Take your time.”
Her living area was decorated with inexpensive but tasteful furniture. The sitting area featured a wicker love seat and matching chairs topped with comfortable-looking pastel-print cushions. Beyond that, next to a bay window, stood a wood dining table, surrounded by four ladder-back chairs. Remembering what Denise said about her view, Bob crossed the room. It had been dark outside for a couple of hours, but he could see by the streetlights that she had a decent winter view of the river. His thoughts jumped for a moment to the tree service that had raked and bagged their leaves while he was away. He made a mental note to ask Karen if she had paid them in cash or with a check. Denise walked out of the bedroom with a small black purse and a fresh coat of pink lipstick on her full, soft-looking lips. “Ready?” asked
Bob, resisting the urge to kiss those lips.
“I am,” she said, wrapping her shawl tightly around her.
Bob put his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her out the door. He watched as she took a set of keys attached to a silver D from her purse and locked her door. They walked through the door at the end of the hall and down the staircase.
“Oh, it’s colder than I thought,” she said.
Bob wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. They walked briskly to the car. Bob opened the door for her, then walked around the back to the driver’s side. Inside, Bob started the car and flipped the switch to heat the seats. He could feel the warmth on his legs immediately. “Better?”
“Wonderful. You have a beautiful car. I love BMWs.”
“It gets me from A to B,” said Bob, pulling out of the parking space.
Denise laughed. “I’d guess it does a lot more than that. My Buick gets me from A to B.”
“You have a Buick?”
“My father is a safety freak.” She buckled her seat belt. “He doesn’t want me driving a tin can no matter what people say about gas mileage.”
“Safety is important. At Forester, we are always thinking about how we can improve our record,” said Bob, turning the corner onto the main road.
On their way to the restaurant, Bob asked Denise about her family. She was the oldest of three girls. Her sisters were both still in high school, and the juvenile arguments over clothes and curling irons started at six in the morning. Diane, the middle daughter, who would graduate from high school in June, swore she was going to move to Texas, just to get as far away from Nancy, the baby, as possible. Denise’s father was an accountant, which Denise said she knew sounded boring, but he wasn’t as bad as what those who made snap judgments about accountants thought. Sure, he liked reliable cars, but he also liked skydiving. Denise’s parents tried it for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary several years before and had been doing it a couple times a year since.
A Changing Marriage Page 31