Crazy in Love (22 page)

“Well, I’d better go,” Mark said. I thanked my powers of suggestion.

“No, don’t hurry away. I don’t mean to interrupt something. . . .” Nick’s voice rose with a little question, curious rather than accusatory. He looked at me for an explanation.

“Mark stopped by on his way from Boston to New York,” I said, growing flustered as I remembered everything: the kiss, my expression in the balcony photos, Mark saying he was in love with me. Both men watched me intensely. Mark’s mouth was open slightly; I wondered whether he was fantasizing that I would renounce Nick, say I was leaving with Mark. Nick appeared puzzled. “Uh, he had to deliver some clippings, and I invited him to stay for dinner.”

“And it was delicious, but now I’ve got to go,” Mark said, alert again, wakened from whatever reverie had held him spellbound as I spoke.

“Come on, stay awhile,” Nick said. “Have a cup of coffee—it’s a long drive to New York.”

Mark shook his head vigorously. “No, thanks. Let me just grab my briefcase—” He dashed inside, and we followed. In a few seconds he was back in the kitchen, shaking our hands. His face looked redder than I had seen it. The personification of guilt, I thought, wondering whether I was so transparent.

“I hate to chase you away,” Nick said, looking from Mark to me and back to Mark. “I mean, it feels weird coming home and having a guest run off like this.”

“No, I mean it—” Mark said, giving a final wave and hurrying out the door.

14

NICK AND I STOOD ALONE IN HONORA’S
kitchen. A gallery of finger-painted pictures covered the wall behind his head. Honora had saved and framed early works of art by me, Clare, Eugene, and Casey. Staring at the bright lines and splashes had a calming effect; I forced myself to look into Nick’s black eyes. They were asking me a question.

“Strange, the way he ran off like that,” Nick said.

“I think it was quite considerate, giving us time alone together. One minute before you arrived I was telling him how much I missed you.” As I preceded him into the dining room, I examined the table for evidence. No candles—that was a good sign. Plates full of untouched food—an incriminating sign, as if we had been torn away from the table by raging passion.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Nick said. “I know you, and you’re upset about something.”

I turned to face him, searching his lean face, still ruddy and weathered in spite of weeks spent in fluorescent-lit boardrooms. His black hair curled endearingly, but his eyes were unrelenting. I felt frantic with frustration; this was not the way this night should happen. There were so many wonderful things: his surprising me, my news about the baby, the simple fact of being together. Mark’s presence had spoiled everything.

“It seems ridiculous, wasting our first night together by talking about Mark Constable,” I said. The smell of bluefish sitting in the sauce made me dizzy. I pulled a chair to the window and sat in it. “Want to sit down?” I asked. Nick carried another chair from the table to the window, sat beside me.

“If he seemed nervous, it’s because he has a little crush on me and it shook him when you came home.”

“I can’t blame him for having a crush on you,” Nick said. His grin made my heart melt. “I just don’t understand why he ran off. I mean, you’re a married woman, and he knows that. Doesn’t he? What’s so bad about your husband coming home?”

“Well, we both thought you were in London.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, inviting me to go on.

“Maybe it’s more than a little crush. He just told me he’s in love with me.” I watched Nick straighten his spine just slightly.

“In love with you? How long has he known you?”

I waved my hand, wanting to dismiss the whole topic. “It’s not that I mind telling you about it, but it does seem like a waste of time right now. I’m so glad to have you home, Nick. I just met him Monday. I told you, he’s the guy who took my pictures in New York.”

“Have you seen him since then?” Nick asked, his voice definitely full of jealousy.

I realized the only way to get away from the topic of Mark Constable was to tell Nick about the kiss. I’d put it lightly, make it sound funny. I had already begun to consider that day unreal, my one moment in the spotlight. I had succumbed to narcissism; I hadn’t kissed Mark, I had kissed my reflection, a voice that kept telling me “You’re pretty.” Of course I had kissed Mark’s lips, but they were just standing in for his words.

“Until tonight I’d only seen him twice,” I said. “But the photo shoot was a fairly intense day for us. I told you about standing in the street, feeling like a model while he took my picture. It was fun. We were having a pretty wild time, racing around the city.” I didn’t mention the conversations we had had about our work and families, the more serious moments that could have spelled a real relationship. As I got closer to the climax of my story, I felt a line of sweat form along my brow. “So the next day he asked me out for lunch, and I figured, why not? After all, people have lunch together all the time. What’s the harm in a little lunch?”

“None at all.”

I swallowed. “I ordered the sole meunière,” I said. “It was very fresh. Maybe a little too much butter.”

“Too bad. You hate buttery sole.” Nick sounded amused, as though he knew this story was a difficult one for me to tell, and he was enjoying my discomfort. Of course he didn’t know the zinger, the kiss, and I knew I was about to dash that amusement right out of his voice.

“Nick. After lunch we went outside. We were standing on the sidewalk. And then, Nick, we kissed.” I closed my eyes, to avoid seeing his hurt expression.

“Really? You kissed him?”

“No, he kissed me. But I wasn’t totally unwilling.” My voice started to quiver. “I swear I would never, never do it again. If only you knew how terrible I felt, still do. Will you forgive me?” I reached for him. His color was deeper than it had been.

“I can’t believe you kissed that guy. I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, Nick. Say you’ll forgive me.”

Nick stood; he pulled me to my feet and hugged me close. “You don’t care for him? Are you sure? Because I couldn’t stand it if you did.”

“I don’t care for him, Nick. Will you forgive me?”

“God, I feel bad that you kissed someone else, but there’s nothing to forgive.” He laughed, but it may have been a sob. “I’m glad he beat it to New York, because otherwise I’d kill him.”

I couldn’t help it; I made mental notes for the Swift Observatory. Nick was my first example of a male’s desire for vengeance. And I had inspired it. I lay my head against his chest. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you,” he said.

“Will you look what the cat dragged in?” Pem asked, standing beside us, beaming up at Nick.

Nick swung one arm around her and pulled her close. “How are you, Pem?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said. Then, to me, “Do you think the boy will make us a drink?”

“I bet he will,” I said, relieved.

“Three martinis?” he asked.

“Make mine a cranberry juice,” I said. He gave me a funny look, and I smiled, but of course that was not the moment to tell him. I felt like taking a long walk alone with him, but Pem seemed so happy to see him.

Pem and I sat on the sofa, I in Honora’s spot. It was the first time since I had moved in with her that I had dared sit there. Although it was easy to feel jealous of their love, I respected it.

Nick mixed drinks in the kitchen; I heard ice tinkling in the shaker, and I thought how amazing he was. The news I had given him could have ruined our short time together, but he wasn’t letting it.

“Are you hungry?” I asked when he entered bearing a tray of drinks.

“No, I ate on the plane.” He sat between me and Pem, his arm around my shoulders.

“Many happy returns of the day,” Pem said, moving closer to clink glasses.

“How’s Honora?” he asked.

“Much better. She’s doing very well now. But you should have seen her that first night. Clare said she looked like death, and she did. Her skin was gray; she was attached to so many machines. Now they say she can come home next week.”

“Poor Honora,” Nick said to Pem, turning to face her. Pem shrugged and looked away.

“Very sore subject,” I said quietly.

The rhythm of breaking waves and the joy of being together lulled us into silence. Nick’s fingers drummed my shoulder. I pressed closer to him, wild about the secret I was about to tell him. The fact that Pem already knew made it no less intimate. I thought of the expression “in one ear and out the other,” of how aptly it applied to Pem’s reception of my news. His legs outstretched, Nick eased off one shoe, then the other. Occasionally he sipped his drink. Once I leaned forward to look at Pem. She was sitting upright, her eyes closed, a gentle smile on her lips.

“She’s so happy to have the family together,” I whispered. “Honora’s being gone has been terrible for her.”

“That’s no surprise,” Nick whispered back.

“Maybe we can go out for a little while,” I said. “I have something to tell you.”

We crept away from the sofa, to avoid waking Pem. Grabbing big sweaters, we walked onto the front porch. Nick sat in a wicker rocking chair; he pulled me down on his lap. Ever since we had married, I had fantasized telling him that I was pregnant. Even during the years when I doubted that I would ever want children, I recognized what a pleasure it would be for a woman to tell the man she loved that she was going to have his baby. We rocked back and forth, Nick’s arms securely around my waist.

“Lots of revelations tonight,” he said.

“This one may make you quite happy.”

“Well?”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Georgie!” he said, lifting me in his arms. My arms circled his neck, and I pressed my cheek against his. He carried me out the door, down the slatted wood steps, across Honora’s yard. We stood at the edge of the sea.

“We’re having a baby,” he said, surveying the waves. “This reminds me of the night I asked you to marry me. I feel so happy.”

Actually I had asked him to marry me, but he always wanted the credit for it. It had happened on this very spot, after a long dinner with Honora, Pem, Clare, and Donald. Honora had had a date that night, but I couldn’t remember the man’s name. That entire dinner was a blur. I had sat between Nick and Clare, phrasing the question in my mind, much the way I had rehearsed the words I would use to tell him about the baby. In the end I had held his hand and asked if he would be mine forever. He had said yes, then bent to kiss me. Nick was so tall.

“How long have you known?” he asked, still holding me aloft.

“Since this morning. It seems such a miracle, you arriving here tonight. I was calling all over London, trying to find you. I would have hated telling you over the phone, but I wanted you to know right away.”

“I swear it’s destiny. I felt so driven to get here—it seemed absolutely necessary, as if I didn’t hug you by midnight tonight I would die. Really die. I felt this terrible constriction in my throat, like I was choking. That’s never happened to me before.”

“Oh, Nick.”

“It’s fine now.” He lowered me so that I was standing in front of him. “We have to commemorate this,” he said. “What should we do?”

“Let’s swim,” I said.

We undressed each other standing in the middle of Honora’s yard. I undid his silk rep tie, then hung it around my own neck while I unbuttoned his white shirt. He was struggling with the shell buttons on my blouse, and I let him finish before I reached down to unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper. Shivering in the chilly night, we made a pile of clothes, topped it with our underwear, and walked into the bay.

The water was warmer than the air and silky against our skin. Side by side, we swam from Honora’s dock to Clare’s and back. On the return trip we breaststroked, to make conversation possible.

“Do you like the names Bennison for a boy and Letitia for a girl?” I asked.

“Nice names,” Nick said. “Would you like to know the sex before it’s born?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Me too. We’ll want to know as much about the baby as soon as possible. When will you have the baby?”

I smiled, siphoning seawater through my teeth. “Well, the doctor thinks I’m about six weeks pregnant. So the baby should be born in March.”

“That’s a nice month for a birthday. I’ve never wanted a baby to be born too near Christmas.” Nick’s birthday was January 2.

“Maybe it will happen around March 21, the vernal equinox. Spring is a perfect time to come alive.”

Nick stopped swimming and let his feet touch bottom. He held me close. “The baby’s already alive,” he said, touching my stomach. We gave each other a long, salty kiss.

“I could kiss you for an hour,” I said.

“But let’s do it on dry land,” Nick said.

We climbed onto shore. Nick grabbed our clothes; I ran ahead of him toward Honora’s house. We were shivering as we crept around the porch, checking each window for Pem. She hated it when anyone skinny-dipped; she didn’t approve of night swimming at all. She was touring the living room, pulling leaves off the jade plants. We entered through the back door. We stood in the downstairs bathroom, rubbing each other with thick white towels. “I’ll run a bath for you,” Nick offered.

“Not right now,” I said, for I felt a desire so strong that it must have been the accumulation of all the nights I had spent without him. Wrapped in towels, we went through the house, dashing past the living room door, to the room that had been mine as a child.

We held each other tight, and for a while that was all I wanted. I remembered other times we had made love in this room, times when Nick would visit for the weekend and sneak down the corridor from his room to mine. The stealth had made everything more exciting, and I suppose that sneaking past Pem that night reminded us both of earlier times. We began to make love. We knew each other so well. My hands knew the contours of his body by heart: his narrow hips, the scar of his appendectomy, the gentle curve and ridges of his erect penis. This was the man I’d been longing to touch.

“Your hands,” he said, kissing them, and the feeling of his lips against my fingertips drove me crazy. We were pressed against each other the length of our bodies. Nick’s legs wrapped around mine; I felt his bony knees and ankles, his soft calves. I wasn’t sure that making love with Nick could be as good as my memory of it, but, that night, it was.

“I remember this,” I said.

“It’s been a long, long time,” Nick said; there was an expression of pure contentment on his face. He was touching me in ways that were new and familiar. My arms ached and tingled.

“Hold me all night,” I whispered.