The Weight of Small Things (4 page)

6

C
orrie paced the living room floor, staring at the cell phone in her hand. She had purposely worked late to avoid this. That way, she thought, she’d get home after Mark did. But he was tied up at the office again, preparing a report that had to be done by tomorrow. And here she was, pacing.

To make matters worse, tomorrow he was flying to New York again.

“Damn it,” Corrie had exploded. “Why does it have to be now?”

“Don’t worry,” Mark said, laughing. “I’ll be home on Thursday. We’ll still have our weekend in Chicago.”

But she was worried. She didn’t want him gone, not this week.

The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She stood, hesitating. On the third ring, she answered.

“Hello? . . . Oh, hi, Sarah. No, I’m up. . . . Just reading manuscripts,” she lied, glancing at the stack she’d brought home from the office sitting untouched on the hall table.

“Are you okay? You’re not having labor pains this early, are you?”

But Sarah was not in labor, just wanting to share the latest tales of Ian and Laurel. Corrie talked with her for a while, then resumed pacing.

Would he call? Should she call? Was it too late to call now? She looked at the clock—9:30, not too late. She stared at the phone for a long minute, then shoved it into the pocket of her sweater. What would she say? “Hi, Daniel. What have you been up to for the last ten years? Miss me?”

“I don’t think so,” she said aloud. “If he wants to talk to me, he knows where I am.”

She walked into the kitchen, poured a second glass of cabernet, and sat down at the table with a manuscript. “The Bridges of Brown County.” She smiled wryly, shaking her head.
Oh well, points for trying,
she thought, laying the article aside.

She sat for a moment, staring vacantly at the blue and white stripes of the wallpaper. Maybe she ought to repaper the kitchen. Mark really didn’t care much for the blue and white, after all. But Corrie loved it. It was clean and crisp and happy. She loved her kitchen.

She stood suddenly, smoothed her skirt, and pulled the phone from her pocket. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed Bob’s number.

“Hello.”

It was Bob’s voice and it calmed her immediately.

“Hi, Bob. It’s Corrie.”

“Hey, stranger. We missed you at the reunion.”

“Yeah, I was doing the good daughter-in-law thing. Did you have fun?”

“It was okay. A little depressing, maybe.”

Corrie could imagine how depressing it had been, explaining over and over why Wendy wasn’t there with him.

“I’ll bet,” she said softly. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Bob replied. “I’ll have the kids this weekend. That’ll help.”

Bob and Wendy had two boys, seven and five. Since Wendy left, the kids had been living with her and her new boyfriend in an old duplex on the outskirts of town.

“You got big plans?” Corrie asked.

“Nope, just gonna hang out here,” he answered. “I figure they get enough excitement with Wendy. I’m going the stability route.”

“Have you seen a lawyer yet?” Corrie asked.

“No,” he answered slowly. “I know I should. I just keep thinking she’ll come to her senses and come home. How long can she stay with that jerk?”

“I don’t know, Bob. But you need to think about what you’re going to do if she doesn’t come back. You need to see a lawyer.”

“I know, I know. I will. If nothing else, I’ve got to make sure I don’t lose the boys.”

Corrie paused, feeling guilty. She loved Bob and she felt awful for him. His life had pretty much been turned upside down in the last couple months, and she hadn’t called often or been much help. Too busy, was her excuse—too lazy, more likely. And now she was calling . . . to talk to Daniel? What kind of friend was she?

She decided she wouldn’t even ask about Daniel. As it turned out, she didn’t have to.

“Hey,” Bob said, “enough about that. Did you know Daniel is here? Well, not here right now. He’s out with Jeff Arvin tonight. But he’s staying with me until Saturday.”

“Yeah, Bryn mentioned that,” Corrie mumbled.

“Why don’t you and Bryn come over tomorrow night?” Bob suggested. “We could cook dinner together, like the old days . . . Mark, too,” he added.

“Mark will be in New York tomorrow,” she answered. “And I really can’t. I’ve got so much to do at work this week. We’re behind deadline and the issue is a mess. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Come on, Corrie. I know Daniel wants to see you. Can’t you come just for a little while? If not for dinner, then come for a drink later.”

“Let me call you tomorrow, Bob, after I see what my schedule looks like. Okay?”

“Sure,” he said. “You let me know, and Bryn, too. Hey, speaking of Bryn, is she okay? We were supposed to have lunch on Thursday, and she never showed.”

“You know Bryn,” Corrie said. “She’s not the most reliable person in the world.”

“I know,” said Bob, “but she didn’t even call. And she didn’t seem like herself Saturday night, either.”

“What do you mean?” Corrie asked.

“I don’t know, just not herself. Kind of bitchy. And she looked bad—pale and tired and . . . just not like herself. I just wondered if she’s all right.”

“Well, I had lunch with her today and she seemed fine. No more bitchy than usual.” Corrie laughed. “She was giving me all the dirt.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Bob said.

“I’m sure you don’t. You’re too nice,” Corrie replied.

“So you think she’s okay?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, I think she’s okay.”

“Well, I’ll call and ask her to come tomorrow, too. Try to be here, okay? I don’t want to be the only buffer between her and Daniel.”

“Hey, that’s a pretty picture,” Corrie said. “All right, I’ll try to come after work.”

She hung up and smiled. Bob was such a good guy. She wondered, not for the first time, why he had married Wendy, after she’d cheated on him before they were even married. And why Wendy would leave him. And what she saw in the loser she was living with now. She shook her head, frowning slightly.
Life can be so screwed up.

She was glad to have talked to Bob. Glad Daniel hadn’t been there, after all.
Now all I have to do is think of a reason to miss dinner tomorrow, and by the weekend, life will be back to normal.

She heard Mark’s car pull into the driveway. She walked back into the kitchen to see what they had in the fridge. He never ate supper when he worked late, and he would be hungry.

7

A
t four o’clock the next afternoon, Corrie called and left a message on Bob’s answering machine. She was so sorry, but she was going to have to beg off. They had missed the deadline on the fall issue, and she was going to have to stay and finish it up. Then she left the office and drove to the mall. She spent the next three hours wandering from store to store, halfheartedly looking at baby clothes for Sarah’s shower. At a quarter till nine, she bought an ice cream cone for dinner and headed home, exhausted but pleased with herself for making it through the day and avoiding dinner at Bob’s.

She’d nearly finished the ice cream when she pulled into her driveway and jerked to a stop, dropping the last of the cone into her lap. There in her spot was a jeep she recognized as Bob’s. Leaning against it was the driver. Corrie would recognize that shock of red hair anywhere. Daniel looked up as she pulled in next to him, then he smiled at her.

He walked over to open her car door, as she frantically scrubbed ice cream from her lap with a napkin.

“Hey, you,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her from the car.

Corrie stood before him, not looking up, still concentrating on her skirt.

“I spilled ice cream,” she said lamely.

“They have soft serve at your office?” he asked softly.

She looked up at him finally and saw his blue eyes smiling at her. She couldn’t help smiling back.

“I didn’t think I wanted to spend the evening with you and Bryn,” she said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to see you.”

“So you left poor Bob to referee?” he teased her. “I’m sure he spent the whole dinner thanking you for that.”

“Why, was Bryn on a bender?”

“Let’s just say Bryn was her usual charming self.” He leaned forward to look her squarely in the face. “Maybe I was just grumpy because you stood me up.”

Corrie leaned against her car, away from his gaze. She looked away, then stared back at his face. “Maybe I thought it would be easier not to see you.”

“Well, I wanted to see you. I came all this way, and I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

They stood a moment, then Corrie laughed softly. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”

He reached out for her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Her face was pressed against his shoulder; his lips brushed her hair. He held her for a long moment, then released her awkwardly, letting his arms drop to his sides.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I had to see you. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Direct as ever,
Corrie thought.
Daniel always cut right to the chase.

“Okay,” she said, walking up the steps to the front door. “Come on in.”

She unlocked the door and set her purse and keys on the small table in the entryway. Daniel stood for a moment, looking around, taking in the huge oak stairway, the high ceilings, the generous proportions of the rooms. Then he spotted the white furniture and gave a low whistle.

“Nice digs,” he said, grinning. “No kids, I guess?”

“What do you want to talk about, Daniel?” she asked abruptly. She could imagine the disdain he felt for her house, her life.

“How about a cup of coffee, for starters?” he asked.

They walked into the kitchen and Corrie started a pot of decaf, resisting the urge to pour herself a glass of wine. She didn’t want her senses dulled right now. She wanted to stay alert. She’d been drinking a lot of wine in the last few weeks.

They sat at the kitchen table with their cups.

“This is a nice room,” Daniel said, by way of making amends. “Feels homey.”

Corrie smiled, accepting his apology. “It’s my favorite room in the house,” she said, “except for the cupola. I’ll have to show you that; you’ll like it, too.”

“It’s a nice house, Corrie. It fits you—all neat and respectable and beautiful.”

“Careful,” she warned, smiling again, “you might offend me.”

It had been a sore point between them, all those years ago. Corrie had longed for stability, respectability, a gracious home—everything Daniel didn’t want.

She looked across the table at him, sitting in her beautiful kitchen with its stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. She wondered what he thought of her choices.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked again, more quietly this time.

“Bryn said you work for the alumni magazine?” Daniel said.

“I’m the editor,” she said, proudly.

“Then you make the decisions about what goes in?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “I have a lot of freedom that way. Of course, I have to report to the university board. I can’t include just anything.”

“Do you ever profile alumni?”

“Almost every issue,” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen
The Current
?”

“I don’t get it,” he answered. “I haven’t kept up to date with the university.”

“Too busy saving the world, Daniel? How noble.” Corrie felt herself getting edgy.
Damn it,
she said to herself.
Calm down
. Daniel could always push her buttons so easily.

“I’m sorry, Corrie. Look, I didn’t come here to insult you or your magazine, or your house or your life.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she answered. “Why did you come?”

“Actually, to ask you to help me with something.”

He put down his coffee cup and leaned across the table.

“I’m working for a community center in Pasadena, and it’s about to go under. We’ve lost our funding from the state, and our federal grant just fell through, and we’re about to lose our building.”

He stood up and began pacing the room.

“The damned Republicans get into office, and everything I’ve worked for in the last eight years is about to go up in smoke.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her. “I was hoping you could profile me in your magazine—you know, a worthy graduate doing something notable? And you could put in the article how the center is going to close without help, and give the address for people to send money. Maybe the college will even do a matching grant.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Daniel.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re the editor, aren’t you? And most MU grads have so much money, they could make a real difference.”

“It’s not that simple,” Corrie answered carefully. “I’d have to run it by the board. We have a policy about soliciting funds through the magazine, even for good causes.”

“But listen, Corrie, this isn’t just a good cause. This is a place that touches people’s lives, real people—kids. Not just causes.”

“And we’ve just put the fall issue to bed,” Corrie continued, forcing her voice to stay flat. “The next issue won’t come out until December, and that one is already planned.”

“Can’t you unplan it?” he asked. “You’re the editor, right? You can just unplan it.”

“Daniel, you don’t understand. It’s not that simple. We’ve signed contracts with writers who are counting on us to print their stuff. We’ve got photos and layout started. We have a format we follow. I can’t just scrap it all because you want me to.”

“I’m not asking you to change the whole magazine,” he said. “Just find room for one more article.” He smiled across the table at her. His eyes were still so blue.

“About you?” she asked.

“Not about me,” he said, “about the center. It’s such a great place, Corrie. We serve so many kids. Without the center, I don’t know what will happen to a lot of them. It’s a pretty rough neighborhood, and we’ve been making a real impact on the community. You could come see it for yourself, if you want. Then you’d understand why I’m asking. Can’t you just think about it?”

Corrie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. What if she moved the alumni profile she’d planned to the next issue? No, she couldn’t do that. She shook her head.

“Look, Daniel,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if I can help you or not. But I’ll check it out. At the earliest, it would be the spring issue.”

“By then the center will be gone,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” she answered, “it’s the best I can do.”

He rose and put his cup in the sink.

“Just think about it, okay? I know I don’t have any right to ask you for help, and if it was just me, I wouldn’t. But the kids we serve, they need it so much. And it would be something new for you, something important to write about, something you could make a real difference with.”

She shook her head again, felt the color rise in her cheeks. “The magazine does cover important things,” she said. “If you read it, you’d know.”

“I’m sorry.” Daniel smiled at her. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“Yeah,” Corrie said, “you did.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, the silence heavy between them.

“I’ll go,” he said finally. “Thanks for at least hearing me.”

She followed him to the door, where he paused. Then he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “It really is good to see you.”

“You too,” she whispered.

She closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and cried, just as she had the day ten years earlier when he’d left. It was September 14, 2001—three days after the terror attacks in New York and Washington. They’d been living together since graduation in a tiny basement apartment, Corrie working for the university’s news bureau, Daniel tending bar at a place on Kendle.

For three days, they’d sat glued to the television, watching the terrible footage from the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, the field in Pennsylvania. Finally, Daniel said he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t just stay in Middlebrook and tend bar. He needed to be there, in New York. He needed to help.

He’d begged Corrie to go with him. “Think of how much you can do there, how much we can help.”

But Corrie couldn’t leave Middlebrook. “My family is here. My mom needs me. And Maya . . .”

“Maya is sixteen,” Daniel said. “In a couple years she’ll leave for college. There’s nothing forcing you to stay, Corrie. You have a choice. Come with me.”

In the end, he had gone and Corrie had stayed, spending the next two weeks curled up in the bed they’d shared, crying, wishing she’d had the courage to go, wishing he’d loved her enough to stay.