Corrie and Bryn walked the four blocks to the restaurant in near silence, enjoying the sun on their backs. As they sat down in a corner booth, however, Bryn blurted out, “I can’t stand it. Aren’t you even going to ask?”
Corrie didn’t pretend ignorance. They’d been friends a long time. Bryn knew her too well. She looked down at the table, arranged her silverware, smoothed her skirt. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Not until you ask.”
“Witch!” Corrie shook her head and laughed. “Okay, was he there?”
“Who?” Bryn asked, removing her dark glasses to stare in wide-eyed innocence.
Corrie didn’t laugh this time, only stared back at her friend.
“Oh, all right,” Bryn sighed. She laid her glasses on the table. “He was there. He asked about you.”
Corrie sat quietly, not looking at Bryn. She felt her cheeks redden, felt hot and awkward. She picked up the napkin in front of her, disarranging the silverware, and began tearing the paper into small pieces. What should she ask next? What could she?
“Can I take your order?” The waitress hovered over their table, pad in hand.
“Umm, Caesar salad, please,” Corrie mumbled. “And a glass of your house blush.”
Bryn looked up, surprised, then smiled and looked back down at her menu. “I’ll have a falafel,” she said. She paused. “And a large glass of milk.”
“Milk?” Corrie asked, grinning, glad of a diversion.
“What?” Bryn replied, reddening. “Why shouldn’t I have a glass of milk now and then?”
“It’s just so healthy, so . . . not you,” Corrie said.
“No more than you having wine on a workday. Which brings us back to the subject,” Bryn responded. “Do you want to know what he said? What he wore? How he looked?”
Corrie nodded. She looked up, cleared her throat, and said clearly, “Tell me.”
“He looks pretty much the same, maybe better groomed. He definitely has a better haircut, although I suppose that could’ve been just for the reunion.” Bryn was in her element now, dishing.
“He came late, spent a lot of time hanging out by the door, just looking around. He always was antisocial. Finally, he sort of sauntered over to me, real casually, you know? And he asked how I was doing, what I had been up to. He never was good at small talk. Fits him like a bad suit.” She paused and eyed Corrie carefully. “I never did understand the attraction.”
“You wouldn’t.” Corrie smiled. “What did he say then?”
“Well.” Bryn leaned across the table. “He asked if I had seen you around. I told him we were still friends, had lunch most days. Then he said, like he didn’t already know, ‘Oh, so she still lives in town?’ ”
Bryn laughed. “Like he didn’t know you live here. Bob talks to him all the time. Anyway, I told him, yes, you did. So he asked if you were coming to the reunion, and I told him you were out of town for the weekend. I didn’t say why. Was that okay?”
Corrie nodded silently.
Bryn continued. “So he hung around a little while longer, maybe half an hour, making chitchat. He’s in Los Angeles now, working for a social services agency in Pasadena. I said I didn’t realize Pasadena needed social services, since it had the Rose Bowl, and he got on his soapbox just like always, started telling me about gangs and drugs and homelessness. He never could take a joke. Anyway, he’s still trying to save the world. But at least he wore a suit. So that’s something, I guess.”
Bryn paused, then added, “He’s just as charming as ever. Anyway, he said he’d be staying at Bob’s for a couple days, and if I saw you, would I tell you that.”
Bryn paused and studied Corrie’s face. “Are you going to call him?”
The waitress arrived with their drinks. Corrie waited until she had left, then took a sip of her wine, grateful for the pause it allowed.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Who else was there?”
Bryn returned home from lunch exhausted. She climbed the stairs to the third-floor apartment she shared with Paul, counting each step, amazed at how hard it was to make her foot reach each one. Usually she had infinite energy. Now she felt drained . . . and nauseated.
Her drowsiness faded as a wave of nausea swept over her. She bounded up the last four steps and fumbled with the key in the door. Running down the hall and into the bathroom, she promptly threw up her lunch.
“Shit,” she said out loud to no one. “Shit.”
She sat down on the bathroom floor and held her head in her hands, moaning. “Why, God? Why me? Why not Corrie? She really wants a baby. Shit.”
After a few minutes she stood, steadying herself on the sink, and walked into the bedroom. She stepped out of her shoes and dropped onto the bed, not bothering to undress or pull back the covers. Her head was spinning.
What would she tell Paul? He didn’t want a baby. He’d never wanted a baby. He didn’t even want a wife.
Bryn had known for almost a week, but she hadn’t yet thought of a way to break the news to Paul.
At first she’d thought she wouldn’t tell him at all. Just get an abortion and be done with it. She’d even called a clinic in Chicago to make an appointment, an appointment that was now just eighteen days away.
He doesn’t need to know, she said to herself. It’ll just upset him. It’s not like he’d be any help anyway.
She rolled onto her back and stared at a crack in the ceiling, slowly put her hand on her stomach, and began rubbing it softly.
“Stop it,” she said out loud. She sat up on the side of the bed. From here she could see down the hall to the kitchen table, where the computer screen beckoned with a half-finished job. She started to rise, felt her head begin to throb and a new wave of nausea, sat down again, and flopped back on the bed.
Think about something else, she commanded herself. She forced her mind back over the past few days, to the reunion, to Corrie and Daniel, to lunch. She wondered, for the hundredth time, what it was that Corrie saw in Daniel. He’s such a self-absorbed jerk, Bryn thought. Nothing to recommend him. He wasn’t well built or even good-looking, with that pale skin and red mop of hair. He was judgmental and had a caustic sense of humor. In college, he had challenged Corrie about everything—her clothes, her friends, her choice of major—always pushing her to justify her choices.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t a good idea.” Bryn could hear his voice now, after Corrie joined a gym. “I just want you to think about your choices. Because every ‘yes’ is a ‘no’ to something else.”
It was exhausting talking to Daniel. He was self-assured and pushy and just . . . exhausting.
Of course, Bryn had not been a huge fan of Mark’s in the beginning, either, and she’d given her friend hell when Corrie decided to marry him. Bryn thought Mark was a little too self-confident, too full of himself.
“I know he’s good-looking and rich,” she had laughed, “but other than that, what’s he got to recommend him?”
Over the years, however, she had come to appreciate that Mark was a good guy—boring maybe and definitely a workaholic, but basically a good guy. And he did love Corrie and was good to her. Bryn could forgive his blandness for that.
Bryn rolled onto her stomach again, trying to ignore the persistent nausea. Why she even gives a damn about Daniel being in town is beyond me. For Christ’s sake, the guy left her ten years ago.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to focus on Corrie and Daniel, on anything but her stomach. Corrie was nervous at lunch, no doubt about that. Bryn knew her habits well, and when she started shredding paper, it was a sure sign.
Lunch. Milk? Bryn shook her head. Why did I order milk?
The nausea was too much, and she ran to the bathroom to throw up again.
6
Corrie paced the living room floor, staring at the cell phone in her hand. She had purposely worked late to avoid this. That way, she thought, she’d get home after Mark did. But he was tied up at the office again, preparing a report that had to be done
by tomorrow. And here she was, pacing.
To make matters worse, tomorrow he was flying to New York again.
“Damn it,” Corrie had exploded. “Why does it have to be now?”
“Don’t worry,” Mark said, laughing. “I’ll be home on Thursday. We’ll still have our weekend in Chicago.”
But she was worried. She didn’t want him gone, not this week.
The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She stood, hesitating. On the third ring, she answered.
“Hello? . . . Oh, hi, Sarah. No, I’m up. . . . Just reading manuscripts,” she lied, glancing at the stack she’d brought home from the office sitting untouched on the hall table.
“Are you okay? You’re not having labor pains this early, are you?”
But Sarah was not in labor, just wanting to share the latest tales of Ian and Laurel. Corrie talked with her for a while, then resumed pacing.
Would he call? Should she call? Was it too late to call now? She looked at the clock—9:30, not too late. She stared at the phone for a long minute, then shoved it into the pocket of her sweater. What would she say? “Hi, Daniel. What have you been up to for the last ten years? Miss me?”
“I don’t think so,” she said aloud. “If he wants to talk to me, he knows where I am.”
She walked into the kitchen, poured a second glass of cabernet, and sat down at the table with a manuscript. “The Bridges of Brown County.” She smiled wryly, shaking her head. Oh well, points for trying, she thought, laying the article aside.
She sat for a moment, staring vacantly at the blue and white stripes of the wallpaper. Maybe she ought to repaper the kitchen. Mark really didn’t care much for the blue and white, after all. But Corrie loved it. It was clean and crisp and happy. She loved her kitchen.
She stood suddenly, smoothed her skirt, and pulled the phone from her pocket. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed Bob’s number.
“Hello.”
It was Bob’s voice and it calmed her immediately.
“Hi, Bob. It’s Corrie.”
“Hey, stranger. We missed you at the reunion.”
“Yeah, I was doing the good daughter-in-law thing. Did you have fun?”
“It was okay. A little depressing, maybe.”
Corrie could imagine how depressing it had been, explaining over and over why Wendy wasn’t there with him.
“I’ll bet,” she said softly. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m okay,” Bob replied. “I’ll have the kids this weekend. That’ll help.”
Bob and Wendy had two boys, seven and five. Since Wendy left, the kids had been living with her and her new boyfriend in an old duplex on the outskirts of town.
“You got big plans?” Corrie asked.
“Nope, just gonna hang out here,” he answered. “I figure they get enough excitement with Wendy. I’m going the stability route.”
“Have you seen a lawyer yet?” Corrie asked.
“No,” he answered slowly. “I know I should. I just keep thinking she’ll come to her senses and come home. How long can she stay with that jerk?”
“I don’t know, Bob. But you need to think about what you’re going to do if she doesn’t come back. You need to see a lawyer.”
“I know, I know. I will. If nothing else, I’ve got to make sure I don’t lose the boys.”
Corrie paused, feeling guilty. She loved Bob and she felt awful for him. His life had pretty much been turned upside down in the last couple months, and she hadn’t called often or been much help. Too busy, was her excuse—too lazy, more likely. And now she was calling . . . to talk to Daniel? What kind of friend was she?
She decided she wouldn’t even ask about Daniel. As it turned out, she didn’t have to.
“Hey,” Bob said, “enough about that. Did you know Daniel is here? Well, not here right now. He’s out with Jeff Arvin tonight. But he’s staying with me until Saturday.”
“Yeah, Bryn mentioned that,” Corrie mumbled.
“Why don’t you and Bryn come over tomorrow night?” Bob suggested. “We could cook dinner together, like the old days . . . Mark, too,” he added.
“Mark will be in New York tomorrow,” she answered. “And I really can’t. I’ve got so much to do at work this week. We’re behind deadline and the issue is a mess. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“Come on, Corrie. I know Daniel wants to see you. Can’t you come just for a little while? If not for dinner, then come for a drink later.”
“Let me call you tomorrow, Bob, after I see what my schedule looks like. Okay?”
“Sure,” he said. “You let me know, and Bryn, too. Hey, speaking of Bryn, is she okay? We were supposed to have lunch on Thursday, and she never showed.”
“You know Bryn,” Corrie said. “She’s not the most reliable person in the world.”
“I know,” said Bob, “but she didn’t even call. And she didn’t seem like herself Saturday night, either.”
“What do you mean?” Corrie asked.
“I don’t know, just not herself. Kind of bitchy. And she looked bad—pale and tired and . . . just not like herself. I just wondered if she’s all right.”
“Well, I had lunch with her today and she seemed fine. No more bitchy than usual.” Corrie laughed. “She was giving me all the dirt.”
“I don’t even want to know,” Bob said.
“I’m sure you don’t. You’re too nice,” Corrie replied.
“So you think she’s okay?” Bob asked.
“Yeah, I think she’s okay.”
“Well, I’ll call and ask her to come tomorrow, too. Try to be here, okay? I don’t want to be the only buffer between her and Daniel.”
“Hey, that’s a pretty picture,” Corrie said. “All right, I’ll try to come after work.”
She hung up and smiled. Bob was such a good guy. She wondered, not for the first time, why he had married Wendy, after she’d cheated on him before they were even married. And why Wendy would leave him. And what she saw in the loser she was living with now. She shook her head, frowning slightly. Life can be so screwed up.
She was glad to have talked to Bob. Glad Daniel hadn’t been there, after all. Now all I have to do is think of a reason to miss dinner tomorrow, and by the weekend, life will be back to normal.
She heard Mark’s car pull into the driveway. She walked back into the kitchen to see what they had in the fridge. He never ate supper when he worked late, and he would be hungry.
7
At four o’clock the next afternoon, Corrie called and left a message on Bob’s answering machine. She was so sorry, but she was going to have to beg off. They had missed the deadline on the fall issue, and she was going to have to stay and finish it up. Then she left the office and drove to the mall. She spent the next three hours wandering from store to store, halfheartedly looking at baby clothes for Sarah’s shower. At a quarter till nine, she bought an ice cream cone for dinner and headed home, exhausted but pleased with herself for making it through the day and avoiding dinner at Bob’s.
She’d nearly finished the ice cream when she pulled into her driveway and jerked to a stop, dropping the last of the cone into her lap. There in her spot was a jeep she recognized as Bob’s. Leaning against it was the driver. Corrie would recognize that shock of red hair anywhere. Daniel looked up as she pulled in next to him, then he smiled at her.
He walked over to open her car door, as she frantically scrubbed ice cream from her lap with a napkin.
“Hey, you,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her from the car.
Corrie stood before him, not looking up, still concentrating on her skirt.
“I spilled ice cream,” she said lamely.
“They have soft serve at your office?” he asked softly.
She looked up at him finally and saw his blue eyes smiling at her. She couldn’t help smiling back.
“I didn’t think I wanted to spend the evening with you and Bryn,” she said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to
see you.”
“So you left poor Bob to referee?” he teased her. “I’m sure he spent the whole dinner thanking you for that.”
“Why, was Bryn on a bender?”
“Let’s just say Bryn was her usual charming self.” He leaned forward to look her squarely in the face. “Maybe I was just grumpy because you stood me up.”
Corrie leaned against her car, away from his gaze. She looked away, then stared back at his face. “Maybe I thought it would be easier not to see you.”
“Well, I wanted to see you. I came all this way, and I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”
They stood a moment, then Corrie laughed softly. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”
He reached out for her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Her face was pressed against his shoulder; his lips brushed her hair. He held her for a long moment, then released her awkwardly, letting his arms drop to his sides.
“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I had to see you. I have something I want to talk to you about.”
Direct as ever, Corrie thought. Daniel always cut right to the chase.
“Okay,” she said, walking up the steps to the front door. “Come on in.”
She unlocked the door and set her purse and keys on the small table in the entryway. Daniel stood for a moment, looking around, taking in the huge oak stairway, the high ceilings, the generous proportions of the rooms. Then he spotted the white furniture and gave a low whistle.
“Nice digs,” he said, grinning. “No kids, I guess?”
“What do you want to talk about, Daniel?” she asked abruptly. She could imagine the disdain he felt for her house, her life.
“How about a cup of coffee, for starters?” he asked.
They walked into the kitchen and Corrie started a pot of decaf, resisting the urge to pour herself a glass of wine. She didn’t want her senses dulled right now. She wanted to stay alert. She’d been drinking a lot of wine in the last few weeks.
They sat at the kitchen table with their cups.
“This is a nice room,” Daniel said, by way of making amends. “Feels homey.”
The Weight of Small Things Page 4