The House (22 page)

“I don't know what's gotten into you,” he said, glaring at her. “You're behaving like a lunatic. You've been acting weird for weeks. You don't just go out and buy a house like that, unless you bought it as an investment, and you're going to sell it for a profit, after you redo it, but even that doesn't make sense. You don't have time to take on a project like that. You work as hard as I do. You're a lawyer, for chrissake, not a contractor or a decorator. What are you thinking?”

“I have more spare time than you do,” she said demurely. She was tired of his being insulting about it, and about her. She wasn't asking him to pay for it. He acted as though she was, which was hardly the case.

“Really? How do you figure you have more spare time? Last I heard, you were working fourteen-hour days.”

“I don't go to the gym. That gives me free evenings five days a week. And I can work on it on weekends.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” he asked, looking outraged. “Twiddle my thumbs while you wash windows and sand floors?”

“You could help. You're never here in the daytime on weekends anyway, Phil. You always end up doing your own thing.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. I just can't believe you would do something this stupid. And you're going to live in a house that size?”

“It's gorgeous. Wait till you see it.” She was offended by everything he'd said, and hurt by the way he said it. If he had bothered to look, he'd have seen it in her eyes. He didn't. He was too busy putting her down. “It even has a ballroom,” she said quietly.

“Great. You can rent it out to Arthur Murray, and maybe pay for the repairs. Sarah, I think you're nuts,” he said, and sat down on the bed again.

“Apparently. Thanks for being so supportive.”

“At this point in our lives, everything is about simplifying things. Going smaller. Having less. Being less involved. Who needs a headache like that? You have no idea what you're getting into.”

“Yes, I do. I spent four hours with the architect on Thursday night.”

“So that's where you were.” He sounded smug, and relieved. He had actually been worried about it for two days. It was why he had taken her out to dinner the night before. “You've already hired an architect? You didn't waste any time, did you? And thanks for asking for my advice.”

“I'm glad I didn't, if this is what you would have said.”

“You must have money to burn. I had no idea your firm was doing that well.” She didn't comment on that. How she had gotten the money was none of his business. She had no intention of explaining it to him.

“Let me tell you something, Phil,” she said, with an edge in her voice. “You may be ‘simplifying,’ as you put it, and ‘going small.’ I'm not. You've been married, you have kids, you've had a big house. You've had all that. I haven't. I haven't done any of it. I've been living in this crappy apartment since I passed the bar, with the same shit furniture I had when I left Harvard. I don't even have a goddamned plant. And maybe I want big, and beautiful, and something exciting to do. I'm not going to sit here for the rest of my life with a bunch of dead plants, waiting for you to show up on weekends.”

“What are you saying?” His voice got louder, and so did hers.

“I'm saying that this is exciting for me. I can't wait to do it. I love it. And if you can't get behind it, or be supportive of me, or even polite, for chrissake, then to hell with you. I'm not asking you to pay for it, or even help me. All you have to do is smile and nod and encourage me a little. Is that so fucking hard for you to do?” He didn't answer her for a long moment, and then got up and stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. She had hated everything about his reaction, and she had no idea why he was doing that to her. Maybe he was jealous, or threatened, or hated change. Whatever it was, it wasn't nice, or even pretty to watch.

When he came out of the bathroom, with his hair wet, wrapped in a towel, she was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. She looked at him sadly. There was nothing gracious or kind about anything he'd said. He'd been just plain mean.

“I'm sorry I wasn't happy for you about your house,” he said grimly. “I just think it's a really bad idea. I'm worried for you.”

“Don't be. If it's too much for me to handle, I'll sell it. But I'd at least like to try. Do you want to see it?”

“Not really,” he said honestly, as she looked at him. It was all about control. He liked the status quo, and didn't want anything to change. Ever. He wanted her here in this apartment, which he was familiar with, at home on weekday nights, so he knew where she was. He wanted her sad, lonely, and bored, while she waited for him to show up two nights a week, just as she had said to him. She had never seen it as clearly. He didn't want her to have any excitement in her life, even if she paid for it herself. That wasn't the point. He wanted his independence and freedom, but he couldn't deal with hers. “I'll just get mad if I see it,” he said honestly. “I've never heard such a stupid thing in my life. I'm playing tennis today anyway.” He glanced at his watch. “I'm late, thanks to you.”

She didn't say a word. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. She sat down on the toilet and burst into tears. And when she came out twenty minutes later, he was gone. He had left her a note, saying he'd be back at six. “Thanks for a great Saturday,” she said, as she read the note. Things were just getting worse. It was as though he wanted to see how far he could push her. But she wasn't ready to let go yet. She thought of what Jeff Parker had said, as she put the dishes in the sink but didn't wash them. And she didn't make the bed. She didn't care anymore. What was the point? He really was an asshole. Nothing he had said that morning showed any respect for her. Or even kindness. Saying he loved her meant nothing if this was how he behaved. She remembered Jeff asking her the other night what it would take for her to let go, and she had told him she wasn't sure. Whatever it was, Phil was getting close. He was crossing boundaries he never had before.

She drove to the house that afternoon, let herself in, and looked around. She started to wonder if Phil was right. If this was just too insane. It was the first sign of buyer's remorse she'd had, but as she walked through the master suite, she thought of the beautiful young woman who had lived there, and then run off to France and abandoned her husband and children. And the old man she had loved who had lived in the attic, and never had a life. She wanted to make this a happy house now. The house deserved it, and so did she.

She went back to her apartment just before six, and thought about what to say to Phil. She had thought all day about telling him it was over. She didn't want to, but she was beginning to feel she had no other choice. She deserved a lot better than he was giving. But when she got in, she saw that the apartment was clean, the dishes were done, she could smell food cooking, and there were two dozen roses in a vase on her ugly table. Phil walked out of the bedroom and looked at her.

“I thought you were playing tennis,” she said bleakly. She'd been depressed all day, over him, not the house.

“I canceled. I came back to apologize for being an asshole and raining on your parade, but you were gone. I called your cell phone, but it was turned off.” She had turned it off because she didn't want to talk to him. “I'm sorry, Sarah. What you do about the house is none of my business. I just don't want you to get in over your head. But it's up to you.”

“Thank you,” she said sadly, and saw that he had made the bed, too. She'd never seen him do any of that before. And she had no idea now if what she was seeing was manipulation or real. But one thing was clear. He didn't want to lose her, either. He wasn't willing to do it right, and he wasn't willing to let go. He was no different than she was, except that she wanted a real relationship with him, one that actually moved forward and grew, and he didn't want that. He wanted it just as it was, frozen in time, and stagnant. It didn't work for her, but it was hard to say any of that to him with the effort he had just made.

“I started dinner,” he said, as he came to put his arms around her. “I love you, Sarah.”

“I love you too, Phil,” she said, and turned her head away, so he wouldn't see her tears.

Chapter 12

Phil took Sarah to brunch
the next day at Rose's Café on Steiner. They sat outside under the heaters in the winter sunshine. He read the paper and she said nothing. They ate in silence. They hadn't made love the night before. They had watched a movie on TV and gone to bed early. It had been an exhausting day, and she felt drained.

She didn't invite him to see the house again. She didn't want to hear what he had to say about it. It was too painful, and spoiled her fun. She didn't object this time when he said he had work to do after brunch. It depressed her even more to realize that she was relieved when he left. Their relationship was on its last legs, and she knew it, even if he didn't, or wouldn't admit it. There was very little good stuff left, just a lot of resentment and bad feelings, on both sides. That much was clear from the force of his tirade about the house the day before. It wasn't about the house, she realized, it was about them. He was tired of her pulling on him, begging for more, and she was tired of asking. It was a stalemate. And for some reason, her buying the house on Scott Street threatened him. Just as his distance and absences threatened her.

She called Jeff at noon, as she had promised she would. He was in his office, waiting for her call.

“I'll meet you at the house in half an hour,” she said quietly, and he could hear in her voice that the weekend hadn't gone well. She didn't sound like a woman who'd been comforted and loved. She sounded lonely and sad and out of sorts.

She was touched when he arrived at the house with a picnic basket. He had brought pâté, cheese, sourdough bread, fresh fruit, and a bottle of red wine.

“I thought we could have a picnic.” He smiled at her. He didn't ask how the weekend had been. He could see it. They went outside with the basket and sat on a stone wall in the garden. The flowers were long gone, there was nothing out there but weeds. But she looked better after lunch. And then he showed her his new ideas for the kitchen. His whole vision came to life as he described it.

“I love it,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. She looked like a different person than the one who had arrived an hour before. She had felt dead all weekend. Now, looking at the house with Jeff, she felt alive again. She wasn't sure if it was him or the house, or the combination. But in any case, it was a lot better than the abuse she had taken from Phil the day before. It was becoming abusive. A power war no one would win.

They walked through the upper floors again, and he brushed against her, as they tried to figure out what to do with the closets in the dressing room. She said she didn't have that many clothes.

“Maybe you should buy some,” he teased her. Marie-Louise was using nearly all of their closets. She always came back with trunkloads of new things from Paris, and dozens of pairs of new shoes. They had nowhere to put them.

“I'm sorry I was such a downer when I got here,” she apologized, as they walked through what had been her grandmother's room as a child. “I had a shit weekend.”

“I figured. Did he show up?”

“Yeah. He always does on weekends. He had a fit about the house. He thinks I'm nuts.”

“You are.” Jeff smiled at her gently. There was so much he liked about her. “But nice nuts. There's nothing wrong with having a dream, Sarah. We all need that. It's not a sin.”

“No.” She smiled wistfully at him. He felt like her friend now, although she hardly knew him. But she felt as though she had known him for years, and so did he with her. “But you have to admit, it's a pretty big dream.”

“There's nothing wrong with that. Big people have big dreams. Small people have none at all.” He already hated Phil from the look on her face. He could see she'd been hurt. Just from the little she'd said on Thursday night, he thought Phil was a jerk. She didn't like Marie-Louise, either. But she didn't say that to Jeff.

“It's not going well,” she admitted as they walked back downstairs.

They hadn't done as much work today, but they were both relaxing and getting to know the house. They had explored every nook and cranny. He liked being able to do that with her. Marie-Louise had called that morning, and he had said he was having lunch with a client, but he didn't say who. He had never done that before, and he wasn't sure why he had now. Except that Marie-Louise hadn't liked Sarah either when they met. She had made unpleasant comments about her when they drove away, and again in Venice. She was too American for Marie-Louise's taste. And she had hated the house. Jeff wasn't going to ask her to work on it with him. It wouldn't be fair to Sarah to have an architect who disliked the house. Marie-Louise thought it was an impossible job, and thought the place should be torn down, which was a travesty to him.

“I could see it wasn't going well when you arrived,” Jeff said as they put the leftover food back in his basket. He had bought it at the flea market in Paris, and it was very old.

“I don't know why I stay with him. He was such a jerk about the house yesterday, that I was thinking about ending it last night. And then I got home, and he was cooking dinner, cleaned the house, gave me two dozen roses, and apologized. He's never done any of that before. It's hard to end it when he does things like that.”

“Maybe he sensed you were fed up. Some people have remarkable survival instincts in relationships. Maybe that was more about him than about you. He probably isn't ready to give you up, either. Sounds like a panic move to me.” She smiled at the male assessment.

“Damned if I know. I'd rather he had been nice about the house than buy me roses. He said a lot of really ugly stuff. I feel like such a wimp for staying in it.”

“You'll give it up when you're ready, if it's the right thing to do. You'll know,” he said wisely.

“What makes you so smart about these things?” she asked him, and he smiled.

“I'm older than you are, and I've been there before. But I'm no smarter or braver than you are. Marie-Louise called this morning.” He didn't tell Sarah about his lie about her, only about the rest. “All she did was bitch about coming back, and tell me how much she hates it here. I get tired of hearing it, too. If she hates it so much here, maybe she should just stay there. She will one of these days anyway. I know it.” It was the second time he had said it and he sounded depressed. She was always threatening never to come back.