Chapter 18
Bogdolf Eric delivered the puppy two days later while Oliver was at work. Emma loved her and vice versa. As soon as Bogdolf’s presence faded, Oliver loved her too. They tried “Jesse’’ for a name, then “Jesse Woofwoof.’’ “Woof’’ was what stuck. She was good—natured and full of energy, forever trying to get Verdi to play. Verdi would tolerate her briefly and then swipe her in the nose. Woof would yelp and jump back, feelings hurt. Verdi would leap to a windowsill and ignore her.
Oliver stayed away from Suzanne, although he badly wanted to talk to her. He could have gotten out of the hospital Christmas party if he had made an effort. He didn’t.
When the day of the party came, Jennifer was happy to stay home with Emma, Woof, and Verdi. Oliver put on a warm jacket and drove to the hospital where he passed a slow two hours exchanging glances with Suzanne. Various employees made speeches, and her uncle presented awards. Dan’s daughters were a hit playing a fiddle and accordion medley of dance tunes and Christmas carols. Suzanne was wearing a caramel–colored cashmere sweater over a tight red skirt. She made an effort to be cheerful, but she seemed tense. Without either of them making an obvious effort, they moved next to each other.
“I’ve got to talk to you,’’ he said quietly.
“Not here,’’ she said.
“O.K.’’
A minute later she turned toward him and said, “Follow me when I leave.’’ Her lips barely moved. He nodded.
When the party ended, she exited the parking lot, turned right, and drove slowly until he came up behind her. She led him seven or eight miles away from the coast and into the country before turning into a narrow driveway. They climbed between pines to the top of a short rise where a small house faced away from the driveway. Suzanne parked in the carport and got out as Oliver stopped. She waved for him to follow her and walked around to the front of the house. A screened porch looked out on a two acre field, a tangle of browns and yellows in the weak December sun. A rectangle of field near the porch had been made into a lawn. A flower border separated the lawn from the field.
“Isn’t this pretty,’’ Oliver said.
“I guess it’d be easier to live in a condo,’’ she said, “but I like it out here.’’ The way she said “I’’ and “out here’’ was instantly familiar to Oliver. She was comfortable with being alone, in the company of the trees and the field. A chickadee flitted to a large bird feeder and flew back toward the woods. The quiet hammered in Oliver’s ears. He took a deep breath. Suzanne was looking at him in a concerned way. She was concerned about him, he realized—not their future, not their work, not their child—him.
His knees began to shake. She felt it and moved closer. “I need to sit down,’’ he said. Suzanne looked at the porch. Oliver went to his knees on the hard ground. She bent over and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I can fix us some tea,’’ she said. Oliver closed his hand on her wrist and pulled her slowly to the ground beside him. She rolled gracefully to her back, her eyes wide open on his. Her other hand was on his arm, lightly holding him to her. Time slowed.
He brought his mouth down on hers. She softened and opened. He pressed harder, flattening her lips against her teeth. He could feel the ground through her head as he rocked in each direction. Her hand went to the back of his head, pulling him closer. Oliver’s mind began to spin from not breathing. He started to pull away. Suzanne’s head came up with his. She made a pleading sound and drew him back to the ground. His hand went to her hip. Heat spread across his upper chest and into his arms. He put one hand on each side of her head and held her down as he raised his body and gasped for air.
Suzanne’s eyes were closed. She was breathing rapidly through her mouth. Oliver got to his knees, took off his jacket, and spread it next to her. She did not resist as he lifted her hips and moved her onto the jacket. He lay next to her and put the fingers of one hand across her mouth. She kissed his fingers. He pushed up her skirt and reached between her legs with his other hand. Her knees fell open, and her mouth opened under his fingers. She tilted her pelvis, pushed against his hand, and helped him to remove her warm underwear.
He took off his pants and put his fingers back on her mouth as he lowered himself over her. As he slid into her, she took the heel of his hand between her teeth. When he withdrew, she bit harder. He came in deeper, and she lifted against him. Her arms were flung out wide, palms up. He was cradled in her hips. With each stroke, he felt the ground beneath her, felt closer and closer to home. Suzanne strained up, jerked twice convulsively, and sent a clear cry across the field. She wrapped him with both arms and urged him, helped him through the door. He fell headfirst, grateful, filling her as he fell, filling her for good and all.
He lay collapsed and quiet while his breathing straightened out. Suzanne giggled. “What?’’ he mumbled.
“I’m hot on top and getting cold below,’’ she said.
He pictured them from above. “Ummm,’’ he said, “spy satellites…”
“It’s your ass going to be saved for intelligence,’’ Suzanne said.
Oliver raised himself from her. “Enough to make a man put his pants on.’’
“I’ve got a shower big enough for two,’’ she said.
Minutes later, they were trading places under a stream of hot water, soaping each other and rinsing off bits of grass and dirt. “Great breasts,’’ Oliver said, rubbing each one respectfully.
“The Lord was in a good mood,’’ she said, pushing against him.
“Oh, oh,’’ Oliver remembered. “What about babies?’’
“I’m on the pill,’’ she said. “Have been ever since Donny.’’
“Donny?’’
“He’s the one I ran away with.’’
“Oh. Good about the pill.’’
“I wouldn’t mess you up,’’ she said. “Or me, either. I could never have an abortion. How about that tea?’’
“Yes,’’ Oliver said.
“You’re a much better fuck than Donny,’’ she said. Oliver was embarrassed and pleased. “Well look at you blush! Come on, Lover—here’s a clean towel.’’
He dried himself and dressed. As he waited for tea, he thought about going home. Impossible. “We’re in big trouble,’’ he said.
“I knew that the first time I saw you,’’ she said. “If my uncle finds out, I’m a goner. Milk and honey?’’
“Sounds good.’’
Suzanne handed him a steaming mug. “I just don’t get it,’’ she said. “How can anything that feels that right be wrong?’’
“I don’t know,’’ Oliver said. “How old are you?’’
“Twenty-seven.’’
“I’m thirty-six.’’
“Perfect,’’ Suzanne said. Oliver sipped his tea. The room was comfortable—clean and furnished simply.
“Leaving isn’t going to get any easier,’’ he said, a few minutes later.
Suzanne got to her feet quickly. “I know.’’ Oliver took another swallow of tea and put his mug down slowly. He stood. Suzanne came into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, breathed deeply, and squeezed her. Her hair smelled of mint.
“Don’t worry,’’ she said. “I’ll do whatever you want.’’ He squeezed her again in response and left, not trusting himself to look back.
He couldn’t go home. He drove into the city and had a Guinness at Deweys. He called Jennifer and said that he needed strong drink after the non-alcoholic Christmas party and that he’d be back soon with a pizza.
Richard came in, and Oliver ordered another pint. “What’s your definition of home?’’ Oliver asked him.
“Home is where you’re most yourself,’’ Richard said without hesitating. He looked comfortably around the bar.
“Ah,’’ Oliver said. “Not necessarily where you sleep, then.’’
Richard raised his eyebrows. “Not necessarily. I have two homes—at the lab and right here.’’
“Lu
cky dog,’’ Oliver said. Richard flashed his smile. Be yourself and you are home anywhere. Oliver drank up. “Well, I’ve got to be going.’’
“Have a good holiday, Oliver.’’
“You, too.’’
“You smell like Deweys,’’ Jennifer said, when he walked into the kitchen. She took the pizza from his hands.
“Good old Deweys,’’ Oliver said. “How’s Precious?’’
“Sound asleep. Oooh, it’s getting chilly.’’
“I’ll get some wood,’’ Oliver said quickly. “Come on, Woof.’’ They had a couple of cords stacked in the barn, cut to two foot lengths. He turned on the light and found the maul leaning against the corner where he had left it. He swung the maul and tossed the wood and pretended that Suzanne wasn’t sitting in her quiet living room, pretended that nothing had happened. Woof sat attentively in the doorway. There was only the splitting, the thunk of the maul into the chopping block, the klokking sound of pieces thrown on the pile…
“Pizza’s ready. My goodness, Sweetums, what a pile!’’ Oliver gathered up an armful.
“Should hold us for awhile,’’ he said. Woof bounded into the house, wagging her tail. “You know,’’ Oliver said, “we really ought to get a decent wood stove. More efficient. And if we have furnace trouble, it would be good to have something besides the fireplace.’’
“Maybe we could get the kind with glass doors, so we can see the fire,’’ Jennifer said.
“They make good ones now,’’ Oliver said.
“Let’s go tomorrow.’’
“Solid,’’ he said. Little by little, normality was returning, but he had to work at it. Luckily, he didn’t have to go to the hospital until Monday.
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