Wanted: Wife (20 page)

He set his coffee down and, reaching over, pulled me into his lap. I settled into it, looping my arm around his neck. As always, he showered before dinner, and he smelled of French-milled
savon
and wintergreen shaving soap. I leaned in, taking a heady whiff. He looked up and smiled.

“The nights are starting to get cool,” I opined.

He nodded, looking toward the lake. “One thing I remember about this place is the way it looked in winter, the snow covering the pine trees, the frozen-over lake, the deer coming right up to the house. You see lots of hawks then, too. Once I even saw a bobcat.”

“A bobcat?” I cringed. “Oh, nice. Why didn’t you tell me there were wild animals here?”

He laughed. “Aren’t all animals wild? Well, except for Bucky.” He reached to the dog, lying next to the chair, and scratched his ruff. Bucky whined appreciatively, rubbing his head against my dangling leg. There’s an odd thing: I didn’t even mind.

“Anyway, you hardly ever see them,” he added. “Most scientists believe they’re extinct in the East, that they were killed off a long time ago. But every now and then someone sees one, which actually, isn’t surprising. There’s no shortage of deer to eat. It’s not like they have to go around stealing babies anymore.”

Cue Julie
. I pulled back to look at him. “Andy, there’s something I have to tell you. You might be a bit disappointed.”

With the moon nearly gone and with only a dim light from the kitchen, it was hard to read his expression. “Really? About what?”

No sense mincing words. “I got my period this morning.” I waited a few beats, and when he didn’t say anything, I continued. “I know our agreement is contingent on my getting pregnant, but you have to know, it’s not for lack of trying. Maybe we’ll have better luck next month, so I wouldn’t read too much into this. I’ve had friends who’ve waited much longer to get pregnant, one of them who had to—”

“Julie.” He pressed his finger to my lips. “I’m under no illusion we’re ready for the fertility clinic just yet. It’s only been a month. Calm down.”

I slid his finger away. “I
am
calm.” And I was, too, even mouthing these bald-faced lies. Because even if they were grounded in the inherent logic of our union, I couldn’t help feeling removed. As if there were almost two Julies now, and that one wasn’t logical at all. “It’s just that I know how badly you want children.”

“And I do. And I’m sure they’ll come eventually. But until then . . .” He eased me off his lap and we stood up. “There’s me and you, and that’s all right for now.” He took my hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

Which promised to be odd, to say the least. There hadn’t been a night since we’d been married that we hadn’t had sex. I often wondered whether that was abnormal, but I’d given up caring. I was enjoying myself too much. And because of that . . .

“Andy,” I said, turning to him as we walked into our room, the big bed looming before us. I traced my finger down his jaw and kissed him lightly, brushing my hip against his. “I know we can’t . . .
you know
, tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take . . .”

He stopped me with his kiss, as deeply romantic as any ever attempted cinematically. “You know what I’ve wanted to do ever since we were married?”

“What . . .?” I answered, breathless.

He kissed me again, his fingers kneading the small of my back, and with the monthly ache laying low against it, I nearly purred with contentment. “Just hold you in my arms all night. Do you think we could do that? Would you mind?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you—some kind of everywoman’s dream? Real men just don’t act like you!”

“Because men like that aren’t real men,” he said, lifting my dress over my head. “And they wouldn’t deserve you.”

Though men wanting babies as badly as you said you did would be a lot less cavalier.
And, although I was relieved, why did it give me pause?

Chapter Fourteen

What Lies Beneath

F
ROM
J
ULIE
K
NOTT’S
J
OURNAL
. . .

3 October

Andy’s been working the cranberry harvest at Ray’s farm all week. He took me there Sunday to watch the flooding of the first bog, where I also got my first lesson in the berry’s cultivation. I never knew cranberries grew on vines that could be generations old, and they grow in acre-wide pits that are filled with about eighteen inches of water to harvest. Seems the berries are hollow and float to the top once they’re shaken off the vines with a machine called a beater. It’s a pretty gorgeous site, this sea of red berries, which are then corralled with a boom before being sucked up a tube and into a truck. Looks so easy it’s hard to imagine dozens of workers used to pick them by hand.

But with Andy gone all week, I’ve had the farm to myself, which also includes all the work. I’ve become pretty proficient at this milking-thing, and pretty addicted to Betsy’s unpasteurized milk. I’m sorry, but drinking it with the cream intact is my answer to crack—I just can’t get enough. The brie we made should be ready by the weekend, so we can schmear it on my homemade baguettes when we have Ray and Celia over for dinner on Sunday. I have a feeling it’s going to take at least that to impress Celia . . .

I
HAD BECOME
one of the Iron Bog Free Library’s best patrons, taking out at least seven books a week, on anything from the latest fiction to recipes to the care and feeding of chickens. Normally, Andy and I would both go on Saturday mornings, but this being the last day of the berry harvest, I didn’t expect him until dinnertime. I had just renewed Julia Child’s cookbook, picked up a handful of Patrick O’Briens for Andy and the two latest Lisa Scottolines for me. As I slid them into my tote I saw a familiar face: Mrs. DeForest, the town archivist, who had stood up for us at our wedding. She was on her way out of an apparent meeting when I noticed her and waved. Her face lit with recognition and she came right over.

“Mrs. Devine! How are you?” she said, clasping my hand. “As well as a newlywed can be, I’m guessing!”

“I’m just fine.” The woman had quite a grip for an octogenarian. I noted the sign by the room she had just exited. “I see you’re on the Historical Committee.”

“What would a town archivist be without one?” She readjusted an overstuffed folder she held against her. “They just gave me a brand-new batch of documents. I’ll be scanning and cataloguing for a week.”

I tapped the folder. “That’s quite a load. I guess that’s proof enough of what Andy had said—you
must
know everything.”

She laughed, but I could see the truth of it behind those eagle eyes. “How is that husband of yours? Could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I saw it was him.”

“Yes, it’s been quite a few years, hasn’t it? But I guess he had to come back sooner or later.”

“Maybe, but after it happened, there wasn’t anyone here who thought they’d ever see him again.”

I stared at her. “After
what
happened?”

“Oh dear . . .” she sighed, “you must forgive me. I should never assume.”

And neither should I. “I’m missing something here.” I placed my hand on her arm. “I think you’re just the person to clue me in.”

Consternation crossed her face. “Mrs. Devine—”

“—Julie.”

“Julie.” She stiffened almost imperceptibly. “If you need to know something about your husband, you should be asking him, not me.”

There was no way I was letting this woman go. “True, but unfortunately my husband prefers to let the past stay buried, while I’m operating under the impression there’s something about him everyone knows except me. I’m a reporter, Mrs. DeForest. You know I’ll find out whatever it is eventually. But I’d really rather keep it close to home, you know what I mean?”

Her gaze never left mine. “I believe so.”

“Then please, if you could just talk with me for a bit, I’d be so grateful. Is there someplace we can go to for coffee?”

She looked honestly cornered, readjusting the heavy folder again. “There’s the Cranberry Café.”

I glanced at my watch. “Then it looks like I’m buying you lunch.” I slipped the folder from her hands. “Here, let me carry that for you. Our truck’s out front.”

“I’d rather walk. It’s just down the street.”

“Are you sure?”

She squared her shoulders. “Absolutely.”

T
HE
C
RANBERRY
C
AFÉ
was a quaint little place, a country throwback with rustic wood, lace curtains and plenty of antique glass, but nouveau enough to include decadent-looking Italian pastry and Wi-Fi. Turns out this all made sense as some serious business went on this time of year, with the cranberry cooperative’s huge receiving station located just out of town. The place was loaded with farmers and co-op execs, all chattering about the business of berries. We managed to bypass them all to the sunny veranda out back, and an umbrellaed table facing a pond. Mrs. DeForest took a seat across from me, still looking a bit wary.

“Mrs. DeForest, I feel like I’ve strong-armed you into coming, but truly, that wasn’t my intention. It’s not that Andy hiding something from me, but I’m sure you’re well aware how time can color perspective, and he was young when he left. Plus it always helps to get an independent point of view.”

My spin seemed to be working (so relieved I could still work it) until she smiled wryly and said, “All right, Julie, you can stop selling and relax. I’m here. So let’s start by your calling me Lila.”

“Lila—I like that. I have a friend who named her daughter Lila Rose.”

“Not Madison or Peyton or Brooklyn? Nowadays it seems every little girl’s name ought to have a Zip Code attached to it.”

“That’s so true! Well, I’ve always been one for the classics. I thought if I ever had a daughter, I’d like to name her Alice.”

“Really. From
Alice in Wonderland
? Or perhaps
Alice’sRestaurant
? Alice Cooper?” Her eyes raked me. “Alice in Chains?”

I laughed out loud. “I see you’re up on your pop culture references.”

“Because I lived through them.”

There was nothing I could put over this woman. “Actually I was thinking of Alice Roosevelt.”

“Well, now there’s one whose heyday even predates me. But I did always like ‘If you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody come sit next to me.’”

“I’ve always liked her style. And yours, too.” I folded my arms atop the table. “There’s nothing like being honest and forthcoming.”

Just then the server came for our order, and I could sense Lila gauging. We both decided on chicken salad with walnuts, grapes and dried cranberries, as it seemed appropriate, and salad was always easier to talk around. As soon as the server left, she jumped right in.

“I’m going to assume he told you something about his mother,” she said, squeezing lemon into her iced tea.

“That she was French, that she was nineteen when she married his father, and she was—”

“Pregnant? Yes, I knew. I was township clerk at the time, and as in all small towns, well . . .” She shrugged. “Anyway, you should have seen them back then. Andy’s dad was so . . .” She shook her head, smiling in remembrance. “He wasn’t as exotic-looking as his son, but oh boy—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And her! I don’t think one day went by I didn’t see that woman in three-inch heels, even when she was so pregnant you’d think she was ready to burst. Always perfectly put together, hair and make-up like a fashion model.”

“Viviane . . .” I said idly, and I didn’t know why.

“That’s her name,” said Lila. “Is she still living? Do you know?”

“Yes, in France. And still beautiful, Andy says. Remarried to a ship’s captain.”

“To a ship’s captain? Really. The old man never said. But it makes sense.” She seemed to draw into herself a moment. “I was married once in my life, widowed ten years ago, but as the township clerk I’d issued licenses for I can’t tell you how many couples, young and old. And just from that, I could get a pretty good idea whose marriages would last and whose would go bust and, truth be told, I was usually on the mark. Now those two?” She shook her head. “Like dead men walking.”

She laughed. “Oh,
he
was in love, all right. He mooned over her like a teenager, giving her anything she wanted. But to me, she always seemed to be looking for the exit. Didn’t help, either, she was just a kid.”

“And really far from home,” I added. “Plus being in the woods is hardly like living in a bustling port by the sea.”

“Which was why I guess he moved them to the lake house after the fire.”

“Okay,” I said, “this is the part where I’m supposed to say, ‘What fire?’”

“In which I’ll answer, ‘Did you know Andy’s parents lived in another house before he was born?’ in which you’ll say—”

“‘No, tell me about it.’”

We both laughed over that one, though she quickly returned to business. “They first lived closer to the main road in a big, old house that used be a tavern. Back when the trail was a post road to Camden.” She paused, digging into the burgeoning file. “I think I have—ah, here it is. An old photograph from the thirties.”

It was a big clapboarded building with dark shutters, several out buildings and four bricked chimneys. “You mean those old ruins?” I peered closer. “We pass it going in and out of town. Andy mentioned his family owned it, though he never said his parents lived there.”

“Maybe because it wasn’t for very long. I guess they had visions of fixing it up and making it grand again, as they applied to the township to see if they could get it historical status. But a month or so after they arrived, it caught on fire. Now, fires are common in the Pines, they’re even part of their ecosystem. But it’s the woods that usually catch fire and spread to the houses, not the other way around. When they don’t, mostly it’s kitchen fires, but this one started in the bedroom.”

“Well, that’s easy—smoking in bed. They both did smoke, apparently.”

“But the investigation proved the fire had started in the middle of the night in an overstuffed chair. When the fire companies arrived, she was out in the yard, and he was still in bed. They had to bust through the walls to pull him out. He was stone drunk. After the investigation they could’ve fixed the house up, could’ve even gotten those federal funds for a historical site, but they held an auction and sold anything of value, even the cedar shakes on the roof, before they knocked it down. After that they moved to what had been Andy’s grandfather’s house by the lake. After Andy was born she mostly kept to herself. No one thought her very friendly. If there was something going on at Andy’s school, she’d make an appearance, but that was about it.”