The Way You Look Tonight (4 page)

Deborah awakened to find Brian, Kimberly, and their brown, mixed-breed dog on the bed with her. Kim had named the dog Scarlett after seeing
Gone with the Wind
on television last year. Although she didn't understand most of the movie and had the impression it was about the period of time when Mommy and Daddy were little, she was enchanted with the ladies' gowns and the name Scarlett O'Hara. Brian, who was in favor of naming their new puppy Lassie, had acquiesced after a violent squabble with his sister during which she threatened to tell every bad thing she knew about him. Deborah, amused, doubted that the little boy had too many awful secrets, but the threat worked.

‘Aren't you
ever
gonna get up?' Brian asked.

Deborah shut her eyes against light streaming through the big bedroom window. ‘What time is it?' she mumbled.

‘Noon.'

Kimberly always said noon, no matter what time of day it was. Deborah opened her eyes again to smile at the blonde-haired, green-eyed child who looked so much like Steve. Brian had dark brown hair and her serious blue-gray eyes.

‘It isn't noon,' Brian said solemnly. ‘It's 9.31 a.m.'

Brian was extremely proud of his ability to tell time, an ability Kim did not possess and resented mightily. She stuck out her tongue at him. Scarlett – all fifty-five pounds of her – trampled around the double bed, shook her floppy ears vigorously, then darted up to plant a kiss on Deborah's nose.

‘What a way to wake up,' Deborah moaned. ‘Where's Daddy?'

‘In the kitchen drinkin' coffee,' Brian announced. ‘We want French toast. He said he can't make it right. He tried to feed us cereal.'

‘But we wouldn't eat it,' Kim added staunchly. ‘How come you're in bed so late? Did you get drunk last night?'

Deborah looked at her in astonishment. ‘I certainly didn't. Where did you get that idea?'

‘Terry says her mommy and daddy always get drunk at parties. What's drunk like?'

Deborah gently pushed dog and children aside and struggled to a sitting position. ‘Drunk is when you get all dizzy and silly and usually end up sick.'

‘How come people'd want to get drunk?' Brian asked.

‘Beats me. But neither your daddy nor I got drunk. We were just up until about one o'clock.'

Brian frowned. ‘A.m. or p.m.?'

‘A.m.,' Deborah said, smiling. ‘A.m. comes after midnight.'

Brian stared off as if he were adding this information to some kind of data file. Kim looked disgusted. ‘We want French toast,' she said again.

‘Okay. If everyone will clear out, I'll get straightened up here and be down in about ten minutes to fix French toast.'

‘Can Scarlett have some, too?' Kim asked.

‘She usually manages to have some of whatever we eat, although the veterinarian says she shouldn't.'

Kim wrinkled her nose. ‘I bet
he
wouldn't like to eat dog food all the time.'

Brian looked at her disparagingly. ‘That's 'cause he's not a dog.'

‘Kids, please,' Deborah said. ‘Downstairs. Brian, you get out the carton of eggs and the milk from the refrigerator. Kim, you get the bread and cinnamon and nutmeg. Put everything on the kitchen counter.'

The children scrambled off the bed, happy to have been assigned such important duties. With Scarlett racing after them, they tore out of the room and down the stairs.

‘Don't run on the stairs!' Deborah called, but her words were drowned out by the pounding of small feet and big paws. She sighed. Less than a week until Christmas and the kids were so excited they ran, jumped, and giggled constantly. Deborah wondered if she'd been such a jubilant child at five. She didn't think so.

She climbed from bed, her feet hitting the carpet she'd never wanted. The house she and Steve bought shortly after their marriage was over a hundred years old. The oak floors were in deplorable condition, and she'd wanted to refinish them. Steve had nixed the idea. ‘Too much trouble,' he'd said. ‘I don't know anything about refinishing, anyway.'

‘I do, and I'd love to work on these floors. They'd be so beautiful.'

‘Carpet,' Steve had said in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘I gave in about taking out the wall downstairs, but that's it. I don't want to be tiptoeing around sticky varnish for the next year. Besides, there were hardwood floors in my parents' house. I hated them.'

Deborah had felt immediately saddened. Steve seemed to hate anything that had to do with his childhood in Wheeling. But his feelings were understandable considering the way it culminated when he was eighteen. That was when the gardener, Artie Lieber, had raped and beaten Steve's younger sister Emily with a pipe. The sixteen-year-old girl had suffered brain damage and although doctors said the damage was more psychological than organic in nature, Emily was spending the rest of her life in a nursing home. Steve's parents were gone that weekend and Steve had been left in charge, told never to leave his sister Emily unguarded because Lieber had been fired after making advances to the girl just a couple of weeks before.

With teenage carelessness, however, Steve
had
left his sister alone for two hours while he went to his girlfriend's house. When he came back, he saw Lieber bending over Emily, his lips still obscenely pressed against the already unconscious girl's. It was Steve's testimony that put Lieber away for thirty to fifty years for sexual assault with a deadly weapon, but the damage was done. Emily lived in little better than a vegetative state, and Steve's parents were never able to forgive him, although they made an effort and kept in touch with him sporadically. Still, that event had been the turning point in Steve's life. It was responsible for his becoming a prosecuting attorney. It was also responsible for turning him into the good if overly serious man he'd become.

Deborah pushed back her hair and reached for her robe. No sense in going over all that, she thought. Maybe long ago the forgiveness of Steve's parents could have eased his overwhelming sorrow and guilt, but now nothing could – not the children, and certainly not her. She had learned to accept that fact. But she could do her best to make his life as happy as possible, even if the effort was sometimes disappointing. He was a good husband, she loved him dearly as she knew he loved her and the children, and they had a pleasant life, free from infidelities and serious arguments. In fact, compared to the life of shouting and domination her mother endured, Deborah's life was almost perfect.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth and hair, and put on a little lipstick to counteract her morning paleness. Racing outside barefoot in thirty-degree weather hadn't helped her appearance, she thought ruefully. Nor had the fact that she'd been unable to sleep for hours after the incident, puzzling over Steve's strange behavior. But at least the children had been unaware of the activity. They hadn't said a word about it.

When she arrived downstairs, Steve was sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the morning paper while Brian and Kimberly stood by the counter, beaming.

‘We got all the stuff,' Brian said proudly.

‘He almost dropped the eggs,' Kim added.

Brian scowled at her, but Deborah smiled. For all their bickering, the two children were devoted to each other and nearly inseparable. When their kindergarten teacher, Miss Hart, made them sit on opposite sides of the room, Kim had cried and Brian arrived home announcing he was going to quit school.

‘We'd better get started, then.' She looked at Steve. ‘How many pieces do you want, honey?'

He glanced up from his paper with an absent smile. ‘Don't think I'm too hungry today.'

‘Not hungry!' Kim cried. ‘But Daddy, it's
French toast
! And it's almost Christmas.'

Steve opened his mouth and Deborah knew that with his perpetual logic he was about to ask what French toast had to do with Christmas, then thought better of it. ‘You're right, Kimmy. I'll have two pieces.'

‘I want eight,' Brian said.

‘
Eight!
' Deborah exclaimed. ‘How about starting with two and going from there?'

‘Okay, but I can eat eight.'

While Deborah poured milk into a mixing bowl and began stirring in eggs, Brian asked his father, ‘Can we put the train around the tree tonight?'

The tall Christmas tree had been put in place and decorated Friday night, but because they were afraid one of the guests might trip over the model train-set Brian always wanted zipping through a wonderland of cotton and toy villages beneath the limbs, they had delayed setting it up until after the party.

‘Okay, son. I'll have to get it down from the attic this afternoon.'

‘I'll help,' Brian said.

Deborah shook her head. ‘No you won't. Those attic steps are too steep. You're going Christmas shopping with Kim and me this afternoon.'

‘But I always get to help set up the train,' Brian protested.

‘I didn't say you couldn't help set it up. You just can't carry boxes down from the attic. You tried last year and fell.'

Kim giggled and Brian went crimson at the memory of tumbling down the last five stairs and ending up going to the hospital for six stitches in his scalp. ‘Scarlett got in my way,' he said hotly.

‘We didn't even have Scarlett then,' Kim argued. ‘You're just clumsy.'

‘Am not!'

‘Are too!'

‘Kids!' Steve said sternly. ‘Remember that Santa's still watching to see who's naughty and nice. Fighting isn't nice.'

They both hushed instantly, terrified they could ruin their chances for all the gifts ‘Santa' always left. Deborah grinned as she sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg into the milk and egg mixture. Steve might have managed to short-circuit the arguments for at least ten minutes with that dire warning.

‘Some guy was hiding in the back yard last night,' Brian suddenly announced, trying to make an airplane out of his paper napkin.

Deborah and Steve glanced at each other apprehensively. ‘What makes you think that?' Steve asked.

‘Scarlett was growling. She left our room and went into the guest room and looked out the window. I got up and looked, but he ran off. Then I saw you, Daddy. You ran out there and you didn't even have your robe on!'

Kim's face creased in concern. ‘Was it a robber gonna steal our Christmas presents?'

‘No, honey, it was just someone playing a joke,' Deborah said.

‘What kind of joke?' Kim asked.

Deborah hesitated. ‘A hiding joke.'

Brian looked perplexed. ‘Do grown-ups play hide-and-seek?'

Steve was trying not to grin as she floundered for an answer. ‘Sometimes. It's a silly thing to do.' She glared at Steve. ‘And Daddy was very silly, too, to go out without his robe. He'll probably catch a cold.'

‘Are you sure it wasn't a robber?' Kim queried again. ‘Mrs Dillman says there's a Tom Peeper around.'

‘A peeping Tom,' Deborah corrected. ‘And Mrs Dillman gets mixed up sometimes. It was nothing to worry about.' Kim still looked troubled. Wanting to change the subject, Deborah turned to Steve and asked quickly, ‘Want to come to the mall with us? It's going to be lots of fun.'

Steve went back to his newspaper with ostentatious casualness. ‘I hate the mall scene. About a million people will be there today.'

‘That's what makes it fun,' Kim said. ‘Lots of people.'

‘Maybe for you, sugar, but not for me. I can't stand crowds.'

‘Oh.' Deborah glanced around to see Kim looking worried before she asked, ‘Did you already buy presents?'

Steve smiled. ‘Relax, Kimmy. I did my shopping early.'

‘That's good,' Kim said, obviously relieved.

‘Will any grandmas and grandpas come this year?' Brian piped up.

Deborah was busy putting dripping pieces of bread into butter sizzling in the skillet, but she could feel Steve stiffen. Sometimes she believed one of the things that had drawn them together was their aloneness – she had no siblings, he had only one who had stopped functioning as a normal person fifteen years ago, and both were almost completely estranged from their parents. The difference was that Deborah had never felt close to her mother and father so she did not suffer over their coldness. Steve, on the other hand, couldn't get over losing the love and respect of his. ‘I don't think any grandmas or grandpas will be here this year,' he said with a mixture of discomfort and regret.

‘That's okay,' Brian returned. ‘Jimmy said his grandma and grandpa always come and cause trouble.'

‘They
complain
,' Kim explained, proud of her new word. ‘Jimmy says they make every Christmas bad.'

Deborah brought the first batch of French toast to the table. ‘Well, we'll have more fun because it'll be just the four of us.'

‘Five,' Brian said. ‘Don't forget Scarlett.'

The dog was standing by the table wearing her most pitiful look as she gazed up at the platter full of fragrant French toast. ‘How could we ever forget Scarlett?' Deborah laughed.

Later that day, when she and the children were bundled up and ready for their trip to the mall, Deborah went into the family room where Steve sat with his eyes fixed on a televised football game. She knew that look, though. He wasn't really watching.

‘Steve, what's bothering you?'

‘Nothing.' After seven years together, he still won't confide in me, Deborah thought. She also knew he grew testy when she pushed, but she couldn't help it. ‘You've been behaving oddly for days. And as for last night, I've never seen you be so reckless.'

‘It was just a dog.'

Deborah tensed. ‘Will you stop this ridiculous insistence that I saw a dog? Don't you think I know the difference between a dog and a man?'

‘It was dark and you're nearsighted.'