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Three Good Things Page 6


  “Not at all,” Rob tried. “I’ve got plenty of friends in your boat,” he lied. “So, you’ve been here before?”

  “Once a month, I treat myself. I’ve got reservations booked for the entire year. Sometimes I bring a date, but usually I’m solo or with my pal, Jim Beam.” He tipped his glass, looked out the window thoughtfully. “It’s a great place,” he gestured to the view, “and you can’t beat the food—or the booze.”

  “Good to know,” Rob said, as he spied Lanie walking into the dining room. She looked glowing, radiant. Her hair was swept up in a loose twist at the back and a few stray strands framed her face. She knew Rob had a weakness for eyeliner, and he smiled to see that tonight her eyes were etched in smoky tints of gray. She was wearing a new dress he’d never seen before, a flimsy pink slip-like silhouette with spaghetti straps. He watched as her eyes scanned the room for him. She looked so pretty, smart, and vulnerable all at once. He thought proudly to himself that he would definitely try to pick her up in a bar.

  “Your lady?” the guy guessed.

  “She’s the one,” Rob confirmed and stood up to get Lanie’s attention.

  “Very pretty.”

  “Thanks.” Rob stepped aside to pull out a chair as she walked toward him.

  “You made it.” He gave her a quick kiss. Her cheek shimmered with a pale pink. “You look amazing.”

  “Sorry I’m so late,” she began. Rob pushed in her chair, then noticed the man at the table next to him, raising his glass.

  “To true love,” he said with a wink and took a swallow.

  “Thanks, man,” Rob tried, then sat down opposite Lanie, his back to the congenial stranger.

  Lanie raised an eyebrow. “A friend?”

  “New friend,” Rob explained with a roll of his eyes.

  “Ah.”

  “I would have ordered you a drink but I wasn’t sure what you’d like . . .” But Lanie had already caught the waitress’s attention.

  “Hi, there. Can I have a glass of Merlot, please?” There was something both friendly and matter-of-fact about the way his wife ordered, and he found it oddly alluring.

  “Of course.” Their waitress turned on her heel perkily, as if she’d been waiting all night for his wife to arrive.

  “Why is it that you always end up with the hot waitress when you’re waiting alone?” Lanie asked, unfolding her napkin in her lap.

  “Do I? Is she?” He genuinely hadn’t noticed, a circumstance that, his wife was right, would have usually warranted his attention. “Come on. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t. It’s our anniversary. I have eyes only for you.”

  It was Lanie’s turn to roll her eyes.

  “Anyway, it took a lot longer than I thought to get home and changed and get Benjamin ready. He was a little bit of a pill tonight. I hope he’s okay for Ellen.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Rob laughed. “He loves it when his aunt spoils him. I’ll bet he wishes we’d go out more often.”

  Lanie sighed, smiled. “You’re probably right. It is nice to be out like real adults, isn’t it?” She took in the view from their table for the first time. “This place is beautiful. No wonder it costs an arm and a leg.”

  He nodded and took her hand, squeezing it tightly just as the waitress delivered Lanie’s drink, a fresh scotch for him beside it.

  She smiled as she lifted the huge wine tumbler from the tray, and he saw now that his wife wasn’t far off: their waitress was a bit of a looker. Tall, blond, bleached-white teeth. He sensed Lanie watching him.

  “See? I told you so.” She hit his knee under the table as their waitress walked away.

  “She’s not that special.” He grinned.

  “Nice try.” She twirled the wine in her glass and took a sip. “Mmm . . . now that’s a French wine.”

  “I wish I knew what that meant.”

  “Expensive and delicious.” She clinked his glass. “Here’s to five wonderful years with my honey. May there be many more in our future together.”

  “Hear, hear,” he chimed in.

  “God, we sound so clichè.”

  “Like an old married couple.” This made her smile.

  How he had ended up with Lanie, he couldn’t quite fathom. None of his buddies could make sense of it. She was the whole package: cute, smart, funny, the kind of girl you could bring home to mom—and, as the guys would say, take to a bender. That he’d ended up with her seemed a ringing confirmation that karma did exist in the universe. Meeting Lanie, he liked to think, was his payback for having lost both parents when he was just in high school. In fact, he was certain his parents had played a spiritual hand in the matchmaking. Otherwise how else to explain it?

  “Do you ever think that maybe my folks and your folks are up in heaven playing cards together and having the last laugh?” he asked between sips.

  “What do you mean?” She raised an eyebrow, smoothed the tablecloth by her plate.

  “Like how unlikely it is that we’d ever end up together. It’s like they were playing matchmaker up above, and my dad probably said to yours, ‘Hey, Stan, your daughter’s a real looker. Mind if I match her up with my loser son?’ ”

  This made Lanie laugh, and it made Rob smile. Lately, she seemed so stressed out.

  “Not bad. But my guess is that our moms would have played matchmaker. Harriet McClarety would not let her daughter marry just any old guy.”

  Rob grinned at the thought. He wished his parents could have met Lanie, wished he could have met Lanie’s folks. He knew his mom and dad would have been instantly charmed. It made him sad to think that they’d never be able to bring Benjamin to a big Thanksgiving dinner, all the grandparents gathered around the dining room table, the homemade place cards and centerpiece set out on the white table cloth.

  It didn’t feel like five years since they’d taken off for Paris for their honeymoon, Lanie sick all the way, mumbling, “Welcome to married life.” Thankfully, things had taken a turn for the better once they landed, the vaulted expanse of Notre Dame as breathtaking as promised, the sweep of the Louvre more awe-inspiring than they’d imagined. They’d found a quaint bistro along the Seine one night, not so unlike La Lumière, with a droll French waiter who teased Lanie with her high school French. When she passed on the appetizer but not the dessert, the waiter joked with her: “La soupe, non, mais la crepe, oui?” And they had laughed over Lanie’s sweet tooth, not to be denied even after an enormous French meal.

  Now Rob tipped back in his chair, feeling like a giddy schoolboy. Their meal had arrived, coq au vin for Lanie, filet mignon for him, succulent and rare. Their waitress was doing a fine job of keeping their glasses filled. He took it all in. He and Lanie were due a meal like this, a real date night at last. How tired he’d been of feeling as if, when he got home, Lanie turned off and he turned on. She’d throw in a load of laundry, take a bath, pick up the toys with Rob home to watch Benjamin. He didn’t get a lot of time with the baby, so he didn’t mind the hour he had with him before Lanie swept him up again to rock him to sleep. In fact, he kind of loved the down time. It reminded him of why he was working at a job he didn’t necessarily love. It reminded him of what was important; sometimes, he’d swear he could feel his heart and Benjamin’s beating in unison. He just wished that Lanie wanted to do more than go to sleep at nine o’clock. If the gods were willing, tonight would promise more than a delicious dinner.

  Lanie set down her knife and fork on the edge of her plate, as if readying for an announcement, and wiped a bit of sauce from her chin. She leaned in to grab his hand. “I love you so much. You know that, right?” He could feel her breath on his cheek.

  Unlike a lot of other people he knew, his wife made a good drunk. He remembered being impressed by this fact when he first met her. He’d once heard that alcohol brought out a person’s true colors, and for Lanie, the colors were all vibrant. When she’d had one too many, her tough lawyer façade slipped away to reveal the sweet Midwestern
girl he’d fallen in love with. Like tonight, her words might slur a bit, her eyes turn a little glassy, and she might, as she was now, start caressing his knee under the table, as if the floodgates had opened to drown the drought of touch in their relationship over the past months.

  “I love you, too, babe,” he grabbed at her hand before it reached indiscreet places.

  “And we’re okay, right? You and me?”

  He swallowed his steak. “Of course, we’re okay. Aren’t we? Why do you ask?”

  She twirled her napkin in her hands, shook her head. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just know it’s hard when there’s a baby in the house. And, I know things have been a little crazy at work lately.”

  “Yeah, but that’s called living, right?”

  “I think so,” said Lanie. “At least I hope so.”

  “That wine’s going straight to your head.”

  “I know. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this drunk!” She said it loudly, and a few people turned to look. Rob smiled. Lanie remained blissfully unaware.

  “So, I have to tell you something . . . a secret,” she began. She leaned over.

  “Really?” He waited. He hoped to hell it was something dirty, maybe something about what she was wearing underneath her dress.

  “I love you so much, but . . .” She paused.

  “But?” What was she trying to tell him? There were no buts allowed in this conversation.

  “But I love Benjamin even more. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone more than I love you. Isn’t it amazing?”

  He stopped a beat. He hadn’t seen that coming. He was relieved, though, that the conversation hadn’t gone in an entirely different direction—the “I-love-you-but-I-need-a-break” direction.

  “I mean couldn’t you just eat him up, he’s so lovable!”

  “Sure, honey. He’s amazing.” He signaled to their waitress to bring the check. It was time to get Lanie home, before she passed out. Of course, he meant it. He loved Benjamin with all his heart. Especially after everything the little guy had been through, hell, after everything they’d all been through together. He had never thought of their family as a love sweepstakes, though, one person being more deserving of love than another. He loved Benjamin completely, but differently from the way he loved Lanie. It wasn’t the same; the two weren’t comparable in his mind.

  “Honey?”

  “Yes?” He was trying to focus on the arithmetic of the bill in front of him, making sure he left the waitress a generous tip. The food, the service, the view, the drinks, everything had been spectacular, as advertised.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “Lanie, for God’s sake. Don’t be so morbid. You’re not going to die.”

  “Someday I am. But I mean now. I really, really don’t want to die. I want to be around for Benjamin. I can’t imagine ever leaving him.” When Rob looked up, her face was turned toward the window. “I don’t know how my mother ever let us go. She made it seem like it could be okay, that it wouldn’t be the worst possible thing for a mother to die before her children. But it is. It would be.”

  Her voice caught, and Rob was unnerved as tears began to run down her cheeks.

  “Honey, stop this. You’ve had too much to drink. Everything’s fine, just fine. Benjamin’s all right; you’re okay; I’m okay. Don’t worry. Don’t do this to yourself, especially on our anniversary night.” He slid his chair over and put his arm around her, squeezed her hard.

  She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, sniffled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.” She laughed and pointed at her empty glass. “Well, except that, of course.”

  “Hon, it’s all good.”

  She nodded, blew her nose into her napkin. “Look at me. I’m a mess.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, black mascara smudges streaking underneath.

  “You look pretty cute, actually.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “Forgive me for being so maudlin?”

  He nodded. “Of course. Let’s get you home, okay?”

  She nodded. “See, this is what happens when you take me out in public,” she joked. He looked around the nearly empty restaurant. Only one other couple, deep in conversation at the far side of the room, remained. Their bachelor neighbor had long since left.

  He helped Lanie pull her wrap around her shoulders and grabbed her purse off the back of her chair, nodding a thank you to their waitress on the way out. He put his hand on the small of his wife’s back and guided her to the car.

  “Watch your step,” he cautioned as she tried to navigate the rocky parking lot that was rustic but not very practical after a few drinks. He realized with some surprise that he wasn’t exactly smooth on his feet either. They laughed as they both almost tumbled, hanging on to each other for balance.

  “Are you okay to drive?” Lanie asked.

  “Of course. I only had a few.”

  “Sure?”

  “Absolutely.” He opened the car door for her and kept his arm around her while she slipped into the seat. She buckled herself in, laughing, saying, “I can buckle myself, you know.”

  He went around to his side, slipped into the supple leather seat, clipped his seatbelt, and turned on the engine. He gave it a few seconds to warm up in the cool night air, and pushed the buttons on the radio, looking for something a little softer than sports radio for the ride home. Before pulling out, he turned and said, “Happy anniversary, honey.”

  But when he leaned over to kiss his wife, she’d already fallen asleep.

  “Notion for the day: If everyone had kringle for breakfast, the world would be a happier place.”

  —The Book of Kringle

  Before Henry came over for supper, Ellen set the table with the wedding china she’d never had the heart to give away. She rinsed the ivory plates in the sink, admiring the way the delicate pink flowers twirled around the borders. She had always loved the pattern, if not the marriage it represented. Next to the plates she laid a full set of silverware and couldn’t recall the last time she’d had to use it. It seemed lately she needed only a spare spoon for her tea, an extra fork for a rare treat when Lanie stopped by. Had it really been that long since she’d had anything close to a date?

  She wiped the edges of two wine glasses that had been languishing in her top cupboard and gently set them on the placemats. She wondered if Henry would prefer beer, but no matter, she didn’t have it. Wine would have to do.

  She had warned him that her culinary expertise stopped at the bakery door, but Henry laughed and said anything other than franks and beans would be a cut above what he was accustomed to.

  So she’d decided to go with something easy, penne pasta and a salad. While she contemplated making her own sauce, she bet in the end that Henry wouldn’t notice if she used a store-bought brand. To it she added red peppers, celery, a touch of onion, and a sprinkle of oregano. It certainly smelled delicious. She hoped it would simulate the homemade thing.

  She wondered if Gretchen, the woman her Fowler’s first edition was inscribed to, had cooked pasta for Anthony. Surely, her sauce would have been the authentic stuff—no Ragu or Prego for her suitor. Then again, theirs had probably been a clandestine affair, of the Romeo and Juliet variety. What was the equivalent of a pool boy in the early 1900s? she wondered. Anthony would have been intimidated by Gretchen’s wealth and intellect, and short of writing his own prose, he would have given her the book. The stories that must lurk between its pages! She was sure Gretchen didn’t have to deal with an immature ex-husband who wanted her back.

  When the doorbell rang, Ellen quickly straightened the pillows on the couch and took one last look at herself in the entryway mirror. Her powder blue cashmere sweater (her only cashmere) seemed tasteful enough. Not overtly revealing and yet cut enough at the neckline to suggest a hint of something underneath. She’d pulled out her favorite jeans last night, retired in her bottom drawer for months, and was secretly delighted to see that she could still slid
e them over her hips. And heels. Lanie had insisted she wear some kind of heels, dropping off multiple strappy sandals for her to choose from.

  “It’s too cold for sandals,” she’d protested, but Lanie said, “It’s never too cold for a strappy sandal with jeans. Just like it’s never too cold for something else.”

  “Oh please,” Ellen had rolled her eyes, but she chose the black two-inch-heeled sandals for good measure. Lanie smiled triumphantly.

  Now when she opened the door she felt the rewards of her sister’s influence immediately. Henry stood on the front stoop, looking slightly stunned to see her in something other than an apron. She was happy to see that he was dressed in a dapper red golf shirt and faded jeans with a belt that had small boats sailing across it. He held out a bottle of wine and flowers.

  “Ellen,” he said and stepped forward, her name lingering in the air. “For you.” He handed her the bouquet of soft pink tulips and the wine. “I hope white is okay.”

  She was confused for a moment. “Oh, the wine, yes, perfect. Come on in.” She took the gifts from him. “And the flowers are absolutely beautiful, Henry. Thank you.”

  “Flowers are words which even a baby can understand. That’s Bishop Arthur Cleveland Coxe,” he said when she raised an eyebrow. He stepped into the foyer and noticed the wide staircase winding around at the back. “Nice place.”

  “Thank you.” She gestured for him to follow her down the foyer to the living room.

  Ellen loved the house’s wide, open spaces. It was an old Victorian that had been up for foreclosure and she’d gotten it for a song, shortly after she and Max had parted ways. She’d seen it through a lover’s eyes, imagining what could be, how with a little paint it could become the house she’d always dreamed of. She’d hung a swing on the wide wraparound porch, painted the rooms in muted earth tones, and polished the ornate wooden banister on the staircase till it gleamed in the sun from the skylight above.