Looking for Laura (31 page)

Everything seemed so normal back at his town house after a day and a night away. So why didn't he
feel
normal?

He tossed his suitcase onto his bed, zipped it open and pulled out his dirty socks and underwear. He carried them to the hamper in the bathroom—a habit for which he had Paul to thank, since Paul had once threatened to shove him through the window of their dorm room because he'd left dirty laundry on the floor. It had been an empty threat, given that Todd had stood four inches taller than Paul and outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, but for the sake of peace and amity, Todd had gotten better at putting things—especially fetid gym socks—where they belonged.

“Paul,” he muttered, staring at the pile of wrinkled clothing in the hamper and remembering the pile of Paul's wrinkled suits on the floor of Sally's bedroom. “Paul, what did you do? Who the hell did you turn into?”

A man who'd cheated his partners out of a few hours of work, that was who. No big deal, Todd told himself. He knew Paul's partners at Wittig, Mott. Paul had probably accomplished twice as much as they did, in half the
time. So he'd developed a network of game players and mooched time from the firm.

But why discuss it with Rosie? And why tell her not to tell a soul?

Paul had gotten weird.

Maybe it was Todd's fault. He'd been the one to lure Paul to Winfield. Paul might have been happier at some high-power eighty-hour-a-week law firm in New York or Boston, where he could have been earning six figures before he made partner, even though he'd have had no time to enjoy all that money and he'd have had to spend an outrageous chunk of it on living expenses. He might have preferred that life, the adrenaline rush of scoring in the big time, the competition, the hustle. The crowds, the noise, the pollution—maybe that was what Paul had wanted.

Instead, he'd agreed to give Winfield a try. And then he'd met a counter girl at a coffee bar, and he'd knocked her up, and he'd felt trapped in this sleepy, cozy Berkshire valley town where the major news stories revolved around sewer bonds and zoning ordinances—and the occasional traffic fatality. Paul's death had been one of the biggest headlines of the winter.

If Todd hadn't lured Paul to Winfield, Paul might not have gotten bored with his job and his wife. He might not have resorted to getting his kicks with little-boy indulgences: computer games and a mistress.

Jesus Christ. It was all Todd's fault.

His phone rang. Sally, he hoped. He could explain to her that he was responsible for Paul's having given away her knife, and—if he was lucky—she'd offer absolution. Or at least an invitation to spend the night. He didn't want to think about her with her face mottled in rage and her eyes shimmering with suppressed tears, the way
she'd looked when he'd found her rampaging through Paul's suits. He wanted to think about her soft and breathless, coming in his arms.

And sure, she'd really forgive him for having been the reason her husband fucked up his life and broke her heart. She'd really be happy to get naked and celebrate Todd's wonderful insight with him.

Swearing under his breath, he dived across the bed to reach the phone on his night table before the third ring. “Hello?”

“Todd.” His mother.

He should have let the machine answer it, but now he was stuck. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It had the texture of cottage cheese. “What?” he said none too graciously.

“We didn't have a chance to talk after we left Sally's. I wanted to know how your trip went.”

“It went fine.”

“You took care of that business for Paul?”

“Yeah.” He knew better than to offer an answer that would give his mother any openings. Like him, she was a well-trained journalist and a formidable interviewer. He didn't want to be interviewed about the thirty or so hours he and Sally had been out of town.

“It all went smoothly?”

“Yeah.”

“For Sally, too?”

“Yeah.”

“I've got to tell you, spending that time with Rosie was very special to me, Todd. I feel like I'm being reborn.”

“From baby-sitting with Rosie?” He knew the girl. She was okay. Borderline-obnoxious, but generally okay
for a kindergartener. Not what he'd consider an inspirer of rebirths.

“She showed me that necklace you gave her. Todd, that rice kernel—I never saw anything like it before. A true marvel.”

“Uh-huh.”
Can we end this conversation now? I'm not in the mood
.

“Rosie's a precious child, I'll tell you. There's a lot of Paul in her.”

Great. Maybe I can ruin her life, too
. “I'm glad you had fun.”

“Even your father didn't mind. He came over with pizza last night. We all ate pizza, and then he watched TV while Rosie and I played DragonKeeper. I'm getting the hang of it, Todd. You'll see—I'm going to be a whiz on the computer at the newspaper.”

“Come on, Mom. You're working at the café now. You don't have to keep coming into the newspaper every day. You're emeritus, remember?”

“I'm just saying. There's a whole wide world out there, Todd. Computers, a new job—which is part-time, so of course I'll still be coming into the newspaper, just to keep my finger in it. I wish I could get your father to try something new.”

“He did. Golfing every day is new for him.”

“He's not as sharp as he used to be. We had a debate over dinner about Canada. He insisted that Cape Breton Island was a part of Nova Scotia. The man gets an idea in his head and he just won't let it go. That's a symptom of Alzheimer's, you know, that stubbornness—”

“Mom. Cape Breton Island
is
a part of Nova Scotia.”

“It is?”

“There's nothing wrong with Dad's mind. He's worked hard all his life, and now he wants to play. He
really wants you to go to Hilton Head with him. A nice relaxing getaway, just the two of you. That seems like a reasonable wish.”

“You think so?”

“More than reasonable, it's romantic. You ought to be flattered.”

“You think?”

“If you're being reborn, why not be reborn as his playmate? I'm not saying you've got to golf all the time with him. You're both figuring out different things to do with your lives. But just because you're not working together on the
Valley News
doesn't mean you should forget about doing other things together.”

“Romantic?” She sighed. “Maybe you're right. I never thought I'd hear you of all people sing the virtues of romance.”

“I wasn't thinking of virtue,” he joked.

“All right, so maybe I'll go with him. Not for a whole month, but maybe a couple of weeks. If Sally can spare me from the café.”

“She can spare you.” Todd would make sure of it. “Look, I've got to go.”

“Okay. Romantic, huh? Maybe you ought to listen to yourself, Todd. You're a smart boy. A little romance wouldn't kill you, either.”

“Right.” He said goodbye, hung up and returned his gaze to the textured ceiling. Romance wasn't his strong suit—at least not the kind of romance that involved flowers and Kenny G, candlelit dinners and surprise trinkets from the Jewelry Box. Denise had often complained that he was missing the R gene.

To him, romance meant arguing and laughing and worrying if the woman you were thinking of was sad or
suffering. Romance meant wanting to make her feel better.

He reached for the phone, punched in Sally's number and waited for her to answer. “Hi,” he said once she did. “I want to make you feel better.”

 

Todd fixed dinner. On the phone, he'd told Sally he had a craving for real meat, and when he arrived at her house, he brought with him a flank steak, some marinade and a bottle of red wine that, he assured her, the guy at the liquor store had insisted was good. Given what it cost, Todd predicted that it wouldn't taste like rotgut.

In the time between his dropping Sally off and his returning with gifts of food and drink, she had played a game of Dark Thunder with Rosie, then gone back to her bedroom to remove the evidence of her tantrum. She'd folded all of Paul's suits neatly and placed them in a carton. Next week she would take them to Goodwill.

She'd get to his bureau later. She hadn't forgotten her last attempt to go through his drawers. She doubted any more land mines lurked within the folds of his clothing, waiting for her to shake out a garment and detonate them, but she didn't care to test her luck.

If she hadn't gone through his drawers, though, she and Todd would have never made love. That was an unnerving thought.

She was feeling fragile, and fragile wasn't a condition Sally was used to. She'd always been strong and tough. Her mother used to say she was like one of those weighted punching bags with a smiley clown face on it—no matter if she got knocked down, she always bounced back up again, wearing a dopey grin.

Sally didn't think that was true. She could lose her temper, mope, feel wounded and put upon and testy just
like anyone else. But she did tend to bounce back. She saw no point in letting a punch flatten her.

Today, however, she felt raw, exposed and delicate. She kept wondering what else Paul might have told Rosie. What if he'd been entertaining Laura at the house in front of her? What if, while Sally had been at the café in the dawn hours, setting things up for opening, Todd and Laura and Rosie had been eating breakfast together at the table where Sally now sat watching Todd putter around in her kitchen? What if Rosie had grown so comfortable with Laura it hadn't been a hardship for her to obey Paul's command that she not mention the woman to her mother?

The possibility tormented Sally. She'd always believed she and Rosie shared an unbreakable bond, forged in love and trust. Sally was the one who did art projects with Rosie, who helped her plant pansies in the garden, who picked her up from school, conferred with her teachers and hung all her school projects on the refrigerator. She was the one who took Rosie to her doctor appointments and the playground behind the Francis Hopgood Elementary School. She was the one who pushed Rosie on the swing while Rosie screeched, “Higher! Higher!”

She'd bought Rosie her purple hat. Paul never would have bought it for her.

But Paul had done things with Rosie, too. He'd told her about his games and his “gamers.” Just thinking about it brought tears to Sally's eyes.

“This is going to be the best meal you've had in days,” Todd predicted, filling two glasses with wine and carrying one to the table for her.

“I liked the lasagna,” she said.

Setting down the glass, he angled his head and peered
into her downcast face. “Hey,” he murmured, “has anyone ever told you you look ugly when you pout?”

A laugh slipped out. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a woman.”

“You bet I do.” He slid his thumb under her chin, tilted her face up and zeroed in to kiss her.

“Is dinner ready yet?” Rosie bellowed, bursting into the room and scaring them apart. “I'm starving!”

Todd mouthed a curse, but he was grinning as he straightened up. “Five minutes. Think you can wait that long?”

“No,” Rosie said, kneeling on her chair and distributing napkins from the butterfly-shaped dispenser at the center of the table. “I think I'm gonna starve to death. Wanna hear something really weird? Helen's husband eats
anchovies
.”

“He does?” Sally faked a shocked look.

“They're so gross, Mommy. He brought these pizzas, and his had little fish on it. Eeeuw.”

“This, from the kid who wolfed down tempura at Quincy Market,” Todd teased as he sliced the steak into strips.

“That's different. It's shrimp.”

“You're a shrimp, too. Do me a favor, shrimp, and carry that bowl of salad over to the table.”

Sally leaned back in her chair. She couldn't remember anyone ever making dinner for her in her own kitchen. Paul never had. All those casseroles her neighbors had sent her after he'd died hadn't been made in her kitchen, not with her sitting idly and being waited on.

It was enough to make her fall in love with Todd. Not only did he apologize, but he cooked dinner for her. Even if this was the only time he ever cooked dinner, and even if his primary reason for doing it was to ensure
that it wasn't a vegetarian meal…If making love with him, and laughing with him, and arguing with him, and knowing he believed she'd been wronged in her marriage hadn't already caused her to fall in love with him, having him cook for her would have done the trick.

She was in love. With Todd Sloane, of all people. The very thought made her want to giggle.

While they ate, Todd grilled both Sally and Rosie about their opinions concerning a Sunday edition of the
Valley News
. Rosie was all for it, as long as it included color comics. “I can read, you know,” she said. “Not the newspaper part, because they print everything too small. You should make bigger print. But the comics have big print, most of them.”