Then she shook her head and smiled. She would never understand Bryn.
10
Bob arrived home after work to find Bryn and Daniel eyeing each other warily across the living room. Bryn’s bags were piled in one corner, and she was curled up on the couch, her face pale, her eyes huge and dark, her mouth set in a tight line.
“Hey,” Bob said softly, bending down to kiss her forehead. “What gives?”
“I’ve left Paul,” she answered, staring up at him defiantly.
Bob smiled and rubbed her shoulders, then looked up at Daniel, who was pretending to read the newspaper.
“How ’bout you? What did you do today?”
“Well.” Daniel folded the paper and laid it on the coffee table. “I was going to head down to the Boys Club and talk with the agency director. I hear they’ve expanded their program in the last couple years, and I’d like to ask him about his funding. But”—he nodded toward Bryn—“I decided I’d better hang out here, make sure the silverware didn’t disappear while you were at work.”
“Jerk,” Bryn said, smiling weakly.
Bob laughed as he headed for the kitchen. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got to eat in here.”
Bryn groaned softly and laid her head down on the arm of the couch, closing her eyes. Daniel followed Bob into the kitchen. As soon as the door closed behind him, he whispered, “What’s wrong with Bryn? She looks like hell. I was afraid to leave her alone. Do you think she’s going through detox or something?”
Bob’s back was to him, so Daniel couldn’t see his smile as he rummaged through the refrigerator. “She’s just upset over leaving Paul. But it’s the best thing she could do for herself right now. We talked about it last night, and I told her she’s nuts to stay with him.”
“I never did like that guy.” Daniel grimaced. “Always spouting his supply-side crap and hitting on all the girls. What a prick.”
“Yeah,” Bob agreed, pulling leftovers from the previous night’s dinner from the fridge. “But Bryn’s invested years in the relationship, and I don’t think she knows what she wants to do, or can do, without him.”
“So does she think she’s going to stay here with you?”
“I guess so.” Bob smiled again. “It’s okay with me.”
“Are you sure, man? What about Wendy? What’ll she say?”
Bob put a casserole dish in the microwave. He didn’t answer Daniel as he set the timer and hit the start button. Finally, he turned and smiled ruefully. “I wish I could say I thought she would care. But she won’t. She won’t even give a damn. And honestly, I hate being alone. So, if Bryn wants to stay for a while, until she gets her life sorted out, it’s fine by me.”
He opened the door to the living room and looked at her small form, huddled on the sofa. She looked twelve years old.
“Hey, Bryn. Dinner’s on in about ten minutes.”
She looked up and shook her head slightly, but he just smiled in return.
“No arguments. You need to eat.”
Bob walked over and sat on the sofa beside her. “You’re not just taking care of you now,” he said softly. “You’ve got another life in your care.”
“I can’t eat anything,” she mumbled. “I’ll just throw it back up.”
“Just some bread or crackers then,” he urged. “You’ll feel better if your stomach’s not completely empty. After dinner I’ll go to the drugstore and get you some vitamin B—is it six or twelve? I’ll ask the pharmacist. Wendy took that while she was pregnant, and it helped with the nausea.”
Bryn looked up, suddenly alarmed. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No,” Bob reassured her, “of course not. Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready. I’ll just tell him I’m picking up some cough syrup for Cody, which I need to do anyway, since the kids will be here this weekend. Will that be okay for you?”
“Sure.” Bryn dropped her head back onto the couch. “I like kids.” She smiled weakly again. “But where am I gonna sleep?”
“We’ll put you in the guest room.” Bob rose. “Daniel’s been in there, but I’ll move him into Micah’s room for tonight. The guest room is kind of apart from the rest of the bedrooms, so it’ll be the quietest.”
“Thanks, Bob. You’re so good.”
“That’s me.” He grinned. “Old Saint Bob.” He laughed as he walked to the kitchen. “Old Saint Bob’s gonna have a drink.”
Bryn smiled as she let her eyelids drop. What a love. What an absolute love. And she wondered again what was wrong with Wendy.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were seated at the kitchen table. Bob and Daniel were making good headway with the leftover lasagna, but Bryn could only push hers around on the plate with her fork. Her stomach churned. She nibbled at some crackers Bob had found in the cupboard and sipped water.
“So how come you’re not staying with Corrie?” Daniel asked abruptly.
Damn him, Bryn thought. When will he ever learn social niceties, like telling little white lies and refraining from embarrassing questions?
She took another sip of water, her mind scrambling for an answer. Then she set the glass down slowly, deliberately, and smiled.
“Oh, you know, it’s Bryn and Mark’s anniversary next week. And she’s got all kinds of romantic things planned. We went shopping last week so she could get some new lingerie . . . stuff I never figured she’d wear. Wow! I don’t think they need me hanging out, in their way. Those two have a hard time keeping their hands off each other anyway, let alone on anniversaries.”
She smiled sweetly and wide-eyed at Daniel, and was delighted to see a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He didn’t answer right away, took a drink of wine, and finally mumbled, “I’m glad she’s happy.”
I’ll bet you are, Bryn thought. I’ll just bet you are.
She finished her crackers and water in silence, watching Daniel intently, wondering anew what it was that Corrie had seen in him—apparently still saw in him.
I hope to God she knows what she’s doing. If she gets involved with Daniel again, it’ll kill her.
Bryn remembered vividly the scenes of ten years before, when Daniel left Middlebrook. In the month before graduation, Corrie had spent weeks looking for just the right apartment for the two of them. She’d gone directly from student to employee status at the college, walking into a plum position at the news bureau.
Daniel, on the other hand, had floundered. He’d moved from the dorm into Corrie’s newly rented apartment and spent his days moping at the bookstore or the library, researching job opportunities and drinking coffee. Nights he tended bar.
Bryn smiled, remembering that first apartment of Corrie’s. What a dump it had been, and she’d been so proud of it. Bryn had gone with her to garage sales and thrift shops, and they’d dragged home mismatched chairs and a threadbare couch. Corrie made curtains from old sheets, and they’d painted and scrubbed and scoured until the little rooms didn’t look half bad. Even in those digs, Corrie had created an orderly and pretty little haven.
Bryn remembered how upscale her own apartment had seemed in those days. It was the same one she’d shared off and on with Paul in the ten years since. What a dump, she sighed to herself. She smiled at the irony. Corrie now had a big, expensive, decorator-perfect house in the suburbs. And Bryn had nothing.
Still, in those days Bryn had felt like the world was hers for the asking. She had an exciting, taboo relationship with an older man; she was bright and talented and ambitious. She’d had it all. And Corrie’s world was on the verge of imploding.
Bryn could still see her, huddled on the floor of that tiny apartment, weeping after Daniel left. Bryn had actually worried that Corrie might do something rash and hurt herself.
But, of course, she didn’t. No, Corrie stayed in the dingy little apartment and worked her way from assistant to head of the news bureau, and then to assistant editor of the alumni magazine. After a couple years, she started dating Mark, and t
hen they got married. And when she moved out of the apartment, Bryn had taken possession of it. That had been during one of her “out” times with Paul.
It had taken Corrie almost two years to get over the grief after Daniel left. Bryn had never understood why she loved Daniel so, but she never doubted Corrie’s commitment to him. She’d been like the walking dead for months. She wouldn’t date, or even think about dating anyone else. Once, eight months after Daniel left, Bryn asked Corrie why she didn’t just go to New York and be with him, since she was so miserable without him. And Corrie had cried again and admitted that she didn’t even know where Daniel was. The bastard hadn’t written to her, not even once.
She’s got her life together now. Bryn stared angrily at Daniel, sitting across from her calmly eating lasagna. And you’d better not mess that up, you jerk!
11
“Why do you have to go next week?”
Mark was folding shirts into the suitcase for their weekend in Chicago.
“Because I need to get the story done for the winter issue. We’re already going to be late. I can’t put it off and make us later.”
Corrie stood at the door of the closet, surveying dresses.
“Which one should I take?” she asked, holding up two for his appraisal.
“The green,” he said, without hesitating. “That one looks great on you.”
She smiled and hung the blue dress back in the closet.
“I guess I don’t understand why you have to do this story for the winter issue,” he said, turning back to the suitcase. “Why not just run it in the spring?”
Corrie sat down on the bed beside the suitcase. “Because this center is about to lose its funding,” she explained. “By spring it might be gone.”
“Isn’t there someone out there who can write it?” Mark frowned slightly. “What about the guy who runs the center? Why can’t he just write about it himself?”
Corrie sighed. “Because I don’t know if he can write. Besides”— she smiled and tugged at his tie—“you travel all the time. Why can’t I go someplace?”
He kissed her forehead. “It’s just bad timing, that’s all. Sarah’s shower is coming up. She’ll be upset if you’re not there.”
“I’ll be back before the shower.”
She leaned over the suitcase and smoothed the shirts lying neatly inside, each one paired with a matching tie. Mark was an impeccable dresser. Not like Daniel. She felt her cheeks redden, remembering the flannel shirts Daniel always wore. She’d slept with one for a year after he left. Maybe this trip was a bad idea.
“Besides,” Mark continued, “you have a nice winter issue already. Why do you want to do an article on this place anyway? There are plenty of charity cases a lot closer to home. I bet Bob could take you to several right here in town.”
“I know,” she said, “but it’s good to have stories that aren’t all local, you know? And this center is run by one of our alums, and it’s really touching people’s lives. I think our readers will be interested. That’s all.”
“So who’s the alum who runs it?” Mark asked. “Do you know him?”
Corrie had wondered how she would answer the question. She’d even thought of lying, making up a name. But Mark always read the magazine. And anyway, she couldn’t lie to him.
“His name is Daniel,” she said, her eyes fixed on the suitcase. “Daniel Chapman.”
Neither of them spoke for a long minute. Corrie kept smoothing his shirts, running her palms over and over the soft fabric.
“Daniel Chapman?” Mark’s voice was soft when he finally spoke. “The same Daniel Chapman you lived with after you graduated?”
Corrie nodded, finally raising her head to look at her husband.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh.”
“It’s just a story, Mark.” She stood, her hands reaching for his. “Just a good story for the magazine. That’s all.”
“When did you see him?” His eyes searched her face.
“A couple days ago,” she said, still holding his hands. “He came here, to the house, after the reunion, to ask me to do the story.”
“He was here?” His eyes never left hers.
She nodded. “We had coffee, and he told me about the center and asked if I’d write a story about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She stood quietly for a minute, never letting go of his hands. She’d rehearsed telling him, played it out in her mind several times. Now, however, she couldn’t get the words out.
“Corrie?” He leaned down till his eyes were level with hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you might not like it.” She finally forced out the words. “I thought you might think . . .”
“What?” he asked. “What would I think? That you were going to run away with him? God, Corrie, I wouldn’t have thought anything if you’d told me. I would’ve been glad you had a chance to see him, maybe to get some closure. If you’d told me, it would’ve been all right.”
He dropped her hands and walked to the window, running his hand through his hair the way he did when he was agitated.
“But you didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice low and angry. “Why?”
He turned to face her. “Because you found out you still have feelings for him?”
“No, Mark, that’s not—”
“Is that why you’re going to L.A.? To see if you can rekindle the old feelings?”
“No!” Corrie’s voice was louder than she’d expected. “No,” she repeated more softly. “I’m going to L.A. because it’s a good story, and I think our readers will be interested in it, and because it might make a positive impact on some children’s lives. I want to do this story.” She was pleading now. “I want to write something that’s important, Mark. I’m tired of writing fluff!”
“Fluff? Since when is The Current fluff? You’ve never been unhappy with it before. Is that what Daniel thinks of it?”
Her cheeks were red now. She could feel the heat in them.
“So this Daniel, this guy who dumped you, who broke your heart, who never even wrote you a goddamned letter, breezes into town, meets you in my house . . . in our house, and you have to fly off to goddamned L.A. to write about his little charity project?”
“Mark, stop it. Please, just sit down and listen to me, okay? It’s not like that, and you know it. At least you should know it.
“I love you. You’re my husband, and I love you. And this story, this trip, has nothing to do with the fact that Daniel is an old boyfriend.”
“An old boyfriend? Come on, Corrie, he’s more than an old boyfriend. You almost married this guy. It took you years to get over him. You told me he’s the only other man you ever loved. And now you’re flying to L.A. to see him? What am I supposed to think of that?”
“You’re supposed to believe in me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’re supposed to believe in us, and think that . . . and know that I am going out there to write a story about a project that’s in trouble and is worth supporting. You’re supposed to trust me, Mark. Why aren’t you doing that?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was flat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He walked out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Corrie sat down on the bed and cried.
12
Bryn pulled the sheets over her head, trying to block the sunlight streaming through the window onto her pillow. Damn, she thought. If I’m going to stay here, I have to get some blinds for that window.
What time was it? The room had no clock. Judging from the light, it was mid-morning. Bob must have let her sleep in. She smiled and snuggled farther under the sheet. Work can wait a little while.
Moments later, however, she was jolted from her nest by what sounded like a riot. She grabbed her robe and went to see what the commotion was about.
“Hey,” she called as she entered the front room. “What’s all the . . .”
Bob was on
the floor, wrestling with two small, shrieking boys. Their laughter stopped abruptly when they caught sight of Bryn.
“Oh.” Bryn stood uncertainly, clutching her short robe around herself.
“Bob?”
Bryn turned to see Wendy standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a coffee cup. Wendy stared from Bryn to Bob, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set. Bryn could see the mug shaking in her hand.
“Hi, Wendy,” she said brightly. She turned to Bob and said, “I’m going to get dressed.”
She smiled as she walked back to the guest room. Let the witch think what she wants!
“Hey, guys,” Bob said to the boys who were still clinging to him on the floor. “Why don’t you take your stuff to your rooms, and I’ll make some pancakes.”
He smiled, watching them drag their backpacks behind them to their rooms.
“What the hell is Bryn doing here?” Wendy’s voice, sharp and angry, carried down the hall to the room where Bryn was looking through her suitcase for something to wear. Bryn smiled again.
She heard Bob’s voice, low and cajoling, but she couldn’t make out his words. A few minutes later, she heard the front door slam. She buttoned her blouse and went to the kitchen, where Bob was pulling things from the fridge.
“So, that went well.” She laughed and sat at the breakfast bar.
“No, Bryn. That did not go well.” Bob’s voice was low and angry. He turned to stare at her.
“How could you do that?” he asked, slamming a carton of milk onto the counter.
“What?” Bryn asked, shrugging her shoulders. “I just said hello. Besides, it’s not like we’re having an affair. I mean, where does she get off being mad at you? She’s the one shacking up with Grizzly Adams.”
Bob shook his head. “I’m not talking about Wendy. I’m talking about the boys. How do you think they felt, seeing you here in your robe?”
Bryn’s smile faded. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t . . . I guess I didn’t think about that.”
She leaned against the breakfast bar, resting her head in her hands. “God, Bob . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about the boys. Should I go talk to them . . . explain?”
The Weight of Small Things Page 7