seems to break down the minute the warranty expires, so I prefer to play it safe.” She dangles the keys in front of him. “You’re welcome to take it for a drive if you like.”
Part of his brain is telling him to get his ass home and the other part is figuring out how long it would take to circle the block. Just once. Maybe twice. It’s a Porsche, for God’s sake.
Instead he holds the door open and waits for Vivian to get in, choosing to change the subject. “Why don’t you enlighten me as to why you think Lemelin will be a client?”
Vivian slides into the driver’s seat and then pauses, one long leg remaining on the pavement.
“Because,” she says, her eyes locking on his. “Some things are just meant to be.”
She drives away, the most perfect exit in a beautiful piece of well-crafted German automobile machinery. The red glow of the taillights stare back at him, taunting him, daring him to follow.
The upstairs bedroom light is on, the door slightly ajar. Mark stands in the strip of light, briefcase still in hand. He sees Julia sitting on their bed, cross-legged, already dressed in pajamas. She’s reading a magazine. He edges the door open a little wider and clears his throat, worried that he’s interrupting her but wanting her to know that he’s there. “Hey.”
Julia looks up. Her hair is twisted up in a simple knot, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Her face looks shiny and clean, as if she just washed it. “Hi.”
“Sorry I’m late. I had an unexpected dinner meeting and it just got later and later …”
“That’s fine.” Julia looks back down at her magazine. She reaches for a pen, clicking it several times before circling something.
Mark loosens his tie but doesn’t step into the room. His room is down the hall, the room formerly known as the guest room. It wasn’t anything they planned. It came about because Julia was having so much difficulty sleeping after Josh’s death and Gracie’s birth. She couldn’t fall into a deep sleep and Mark’s tossing and turning would wake her up. And then there was his snoring. He tried everything—chin straps, nasal strips, spray, even hypnosis. Nothing helped. Hewould find Julia sleeping on the floor of Gracie’s nursery or on the couch downstairs.
He puts down his briefcase, not ready to leave but unsure of what to say. He opts for something basic. “Did you and Gracie have dinner?”
She gives a small nod. “Leftover meatloaf. Did you eat?”
The question catches him by surprise. It’s been a long time since Julia asked about him or his day, about the business or anything other than Gracie. He decides to confess everything. “I did. I went to Roux, that new restaurant in the valley, with someone from work. The owner wants to talk next week, possibly about getting us involved in his next project.”
“That’s great.” Julia doesn’t look up.
“The food’s amazing,” he continues, encouraged. “Maybe we could go sometime.”
Julia doesn’t say anything, but gives a halfhearted shrug.
Mark wishes he thought to bring home a dessert for her. He used to do that all the time, take one more look at the dessert cart and order something to go. His clients were charmed by this gesture and his colleagues would chide him ceaselessly, but he didn’t care—he wasn’t doing it for them, he was doing it for Julia. It pains him that he didn’t remember to do that. How could he forget?
“That Amish Friendship Bread was really good,” he says instead, determined to keep the conversation going. Gracie and Julia made the bread yesterday and they had it for dessert and then again for breakfast this morning.
“Thanks.” She looks up and smiles.
It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s about to step into the room when she says, “It’s late. I should get some sleep.”
“Oh. Right.”
Julia puts her magazine and pen onto the nightstand and burrows under the covers. She pulls the comforter up to her shoulders
Part of his brain is telling him to get his ass home and the other part is figuring out how long it would take to circle the block. Just once. Maybe twice. It’s a Porsche, for God’s sake.
Instead he holds the door open and waits for Vivian to get in, choosing to change the subject. “Why don’t you enlighten me as to why you think Lemelin will be a client?”
Vivian slides into the driver’s seat and then pauses, one long leg remaining on the pavement.
“Because,” she says, her eyes locking on his. “Some things are just meant to be.”
She drives away, the most perfect exit in a beautiful piece of well-crafted German automobile machinery. The red glow of the taillights stare back at him, taunting him, daring him to follow.
The upstairs bedroom light is on, the door slightly ajar. Mark stands in the strip of light, briefcase still in hand. He sees Julia sitting on their bed, cross-legged, already dressed in pajamas. She’s reading a magazine. He edges the door open a little wider and clears his throat, worried that he’s interrupting her but wanting her to know that he’s there. “Hey.”
Julia looks up. Her hair is twisted up in a simple knot, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Her face looks shiny and clean, as if she just washed it. “Hi.”
“Sorry I’m late. I had an unexpected dinner meeting and it just got later and later …”
“That’s fine.” Julia looks back down at her magazine. She reaches for a pen, clicking it several times before circling something.
Mark loosens his tie but doesn’t step into the room. His room is down the hall, the room formerly known as the guest room. It wasn’t anything they planned. It came about because Julia was having so much difficulty sleeping after Josh’s death and Gracie’s birth. She couldn’t fall into a deep sleep and Mark’s tossing and turning would wake her up. And then there was his snoring. He tried everything—chin straps, nasal strips, spray, even hypnosis. Nothing helped. Hewould find Julia sleeping on the floor of Gracie’s nursery or on the couch downstairs.
He puts down his briefcase, not ready to leave but unsure of what to say. He opts for something basic. “Did you and Gracie have dinner?”
She gives a small nod. “Leftover meatloaf. Did you eat?”
The question catches him by surprise. It’s been a long time since Julia asked about him or his day, about the business or anything other than Gracie. He decides to confess everything. “I did. I went to Roux, that new restaurant in the valley, with someone from work. The owner wants to talk next week, possibly about getting us involved in his next project.”
“That’s great.” Julia doesn’t look up.
“The food’s amazing,” he continues, encouraged. “Maybe we could go sometime.”
Julia doesn’t say anything, but gives a halfhearted shrug.
Mark wishes he thought to bring home a dessert for her. He used to do that all the time, take one more look at the dessert cart and order something to go. His clients were charmed by this gesture and his colleagues would chide him ceaselessly, but he didn’t care—he wasn’t doing it for them, he was doing it for Julia. It pains him that he didn’t remember to do that. How could he forget?
“That Amish Friendship Bread was really good,” he says instead, determined to keep the conversation going. Gracie and Julia made the bread yesterday and they had it for dessert and then again for breakfast this morning.
“Thanks.” She looks up and smiles.
It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s about to step into the room when she says, “It’s late. I should get some sleep.”
“Oh. Right.”
Julia puts her magazine and pen onto the nightstand and burrows under the covers. She pulls the comforter up to her shoulders
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