Claudia was watching his every move from her office window above.
Puzzling out Marcellus’s drab figure as he walked his duties around a bright yellow convertible with his swinging, perfunctory gait was a task fraught with anguish. An ache deep in her jaw, a greasy section of hair that ruined the contours of her face and made her look skinned. Nothing worked. When she came down to it, she had had only two days. That glorious build-up, that promise of heaven, laden with delicious dreams of her deep, eternal union with Garth—she would weep if she thought about it. It had ended. Her life now, her every waking moment, was spiked with fear. Like spending the night in a sumptuous room where you knew a huge tarantula was creeping around, or walking alone in beautiful, wild woods and suddenly realizing something behind you was matching their footsteps to yours. Survive without a scratch or meet a violent, excruciating end. Maybe Dana’s craziness was all about something else, maybe it had nothing to do with what Dr. Claudia knew. But the looks, the jabs, the jokes. She and Garth were now unbreakably and intimately bound in marriage, their flesh was one. (How were people capable of divorce, she wondered?) And yet the laborious adjustments she now had to make on a daily, hourly basis wore away her happiness and threw her desperately back on those two perfect days. They were not an illusion. They had happened. All she wanted, all she asked—she would drop all her plans and all the unpleasant things she was being forced to do the moment she got it—was to get back to those two perfect days, pick up where those two days had left off, and fulfill their promise. Give me Day Three. Give me Day Three and I’ll never bother You again.
Mr. Hamlet stepped into the room behind her and peeked over her shoulder. His clean jaw lightly crushed her hairdo.
“You think this is a good idea?” she said.
“Don’t keep second-guessing yourself.” He turned her in his arms.
“Danielle was smarter than me.” She raised a dark eyebrow, one of the little bewitchments he couldn’t resist. Another was that matte berry lipstick against her white teeth.
He kissed her. “Danielle was her mother.”
“I’m learning the hard way, I underestimated motherhood.”
“Their relationship wasn’t magical, Claudia. Danielle loved her to death, but the kid got away from her. Teenagers do.”
Dr. Claudia nodded, unconvinced.
“I don’t mean to change the subject,” said Mr. Hamlet, “but speaking of your favorite people, Polly’s got the auditors.”
She gave him a cagey smile. “I like auditors.”
Mr. Hamlet smiled back. “He wants to talk to us afterwards.”
“Can he talk to you?”
“That he can. Only, when he talks, I never think of this, or this, or this,” Mr. Hamlet said as he bit her ear over and over.
“You con artist. Hey, don’t stop.”
A medley of approaching footsteps broke them apart. A few moments later, Perla brought in Rosie and Gale, presenting in their usual perfection. Mr. Hamlet let Dr. Claudia handle the salaams. Even though he had seen the girls twice in the past two months, he choked at their adult-like appearance. Couldn’t tickle them and tell them silly jokes now, not even in the spirit of the old days—it was a qualitative change. Odd, because he still felt like the boy he’d always been, but he had no clue what was in these girls’ heads anymore. They should have been poker players with those flat, flawless faces.
The greetings and seatings dispensed with, Dr. Claudia spread her flowery palms. “It was nice of you and your families to come to our wedding reception. I meant to have you over sooner, but we’ve been so busy. Your mothers were perfect angels when I called them.”
Marble cheeks, glass eyes.
“We need some help with Dana. You know she’s changed since her own mother passed away.” A glance at Mr. Hamlet, who supplied a somber nod. “I understand you two girls have been
Puzzling out Marcellus’s drab figure as he walked his duties around a bright yellow convertible with his swinging, perfunctory gait was a task fraught with anguish. An ache deep in her jaw, a greasy section of hair that ruined the contours of her face and made her look skinned. Nothing worked. When she came down to it, she had had only two days. That glorious build-up, that promise of heaven, laden with delicious dreams of her deep, eternal union with Garth—she would weep if she thought about it. It had ended. Her life now, her every waking moment, was spiked with fear. Like spending the night in a sumptuous room where you knew a huge tarantula was creeping around, or walking alone in beautiful, wild woods and suddenly realizing something behind you was matching their footsteps to yours. Survive without a scratch or meet a violent, excruciating end. Maybe Dana’s craziness was all about something else, maybe it had nothing to do with what Dr. Claudia knew. But the looks, the jabs, the jokes. She and Garth were now unbreakably and intimately bound in marriage, their flesh was one. (How were people capable of divorce, she wondered?) And yet the laborious adjustments she now had to make on a daily, hourly basis wore away her happiness and threw her desperately back on those two perfect days. They were not an illusion. They had happened. All she wanted, all she asked—she would drop all her plans and all the unpleasant things she was being forced to do the moment she got it—was to get back to those two perfect days, pick up where those two days had left off, and fulfill their promise. Give me Day Three. Give me Day Three and I’ll never bother You again.
Mr. Hamlet stepped into the room behind her and peeked over her shoulder. His clean jaw lightly crushed her hairdo.
“You think this is a good idea?” she said.
“Don’t keep second-guessing yourself.” He turned her in his arms.
“Danielle was smarter than me.” She raised a dark eyebrow, one of the little bewitchments he couldn’t resist. Another was that matte berry lipstick against her white teeth.
He kissed her. “Danielle was her mother.”
“I’m learning the hard way, I underestimated motherhood.”
“Their relationship wasn’t magical, Claudia. Danielle loved her to death, but the kid got away from her. Teenagers do.”
Dr. Claudia nodded, unconvinced.
“I don’t mean to change the subject,” said Mr. Hamlet, “but speaking of your favorite people, Polly’s got the auditors.”
She gave him a cagey smile. “I like auditors.”
Mr. Hamlet smiled back. “He wants to talk to us afterwards.”
“Can he talk to you?”
“That he can. Only, when he talks, I never think of this, or this, or this,” Mr. Hamlet said as he bit her ear over and over.
“You con artist. Hey, don’t stop.”
A medley of approaching footsteps broke them apart. A few moments later, Perla brought in Rosie and Gale, presenting in their usual perfection. Mr. Hamlet let Dr. Claudia handle the salaams. Even though he had seen the girls twice in the past two months, he choked at their adult-like appearance. Couldn’t tickle them and tell them silly jokes now, not even in the spirit of the old days—it was a qualitative change. Odd, because he still felt like the boy he’d always been, but he had no clue what was in these girls’ heads anymore. They should have been poker players with those flat, flawless faces.
The greetings and seatings dispensed with, Dr. Claudia spread her flowery palms. “It was nice of you and your families to come to our wedding reception. I meant to have you over sooner, but we’ve been so busy. Your mothers were perfect angels when I called them.”
Marble cheeks, glass eyes.
“We need some help with Dana. You know she’s changed since her own mother passed away.” A glance at Mr. Hamlet, who supplied a somber nod. “I understand you two girls have been
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