Goddess (8 page)

“A reception, for work,” I said.

“Work,” she echoed, turning the word over on her tongue as if she couldn’t quite comprehend its meaning. She stepped into the room, squeezing between my wardrobe and me without apology. She ran a hand across my dresses, pulled several out, then returned them, frowning. “You really need some new clothes,” she announced.

“When do I have time to go shopping?” I retorted.

“You need to find time.” She made it sound so easy.

Without a word, Lily turned and walked out of the bedroom. Perhaps she had given up on me. But she returned a minute later, holding up a simple black dress on its hanger. “This would look great on you,” she announced. I recognized it immediately as one she had worn to a friend’s birthday party last year. I had felt a little unsure about buying it for her. She looked beautiful but I thought it was a little too revealing for a sixteen-year-old.

“That looked a lot better on you than it would on me,” I told her.

“Just try it,” she said.

Lily drifted out of the room while I took off my bathrobe and slipped the dress over my head. Not surprisingly, it was a little tighter on me than it was on her. I opened the closet door and looked in the mirror. The dress clung to my hips and accentuated my ass, and not in a good way, at least in my opinion. The neckline plunged lower than I was comfortable with. It was too much.

“What did I tell you?” Lily had returned to the doorway and was watching me with a teenager’s delight in being right.

“I don’t know…”

“Wear it. You look fantastic.”

And so it was settled.

That is until I came downstairs and Mackenzie looked up from the iPad, inquiring incredulously, “Are you going on a date?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just a work party.”

“Can I go with you?” she begged.

“It’s a grownup party.”

“Will there be a bouncy house?”

I smiled, imagining a bunch of stiff professors and their dowdy spouses jumping with abandon inside a sweaty plastic enclosure.

“You’re so stupid,” Anna shouted from the living room sofa.

“You’re blocking my feeling train,” Mackenzie shot back.

“Not every party has a bouncy house,” I informed her.

She considered this for a moment. “Why not?”

~*~

If status was measured by how close one lived to the lake, then Dr. TJ Reiniger was on the upper rung. His Italianate mansion sat at the end of a private road. Rising up against the dark water behind it, the tall house reminded me of a Gothic soap opera. The circular drive was lined with Volvos and Saabs. I found a spot for the Prius and made my way up the brick walk to a front door adorned with an oversized knocker.

I had been expecting a snooty, white-gloved butler to answer the door, so I was pleasantly surprised to see a short, balding man with a pleasant face and a crooked tie smiling at me. “You must be Mrs. Nelson,” he said.

“Julia, please. How did you know?” I asked as he held the door open wide to usher me inside.

“The university’s very insular, for better and worse. I know almost every professor by name, except for someone in the philosophy department whom I’ve twice managed to call Philip even though I’m sure that’s not right.”

“Maybe you need to stay away from the philosophy department.”

“Believe me, I do,” he said, holding out his small palm. “I’m Mr. Mary Albright, but you can call me Larry. My wife is president of the university.”

Larry took my coat and hung it on an antique coatrack in the hallway. “Did anyone explain the purpose of this party?”

“No,” I said. “I know Dr. Reiniger’s ill.”

Larry nodded as he led me towards the murmur of conversation and laughter. “This is his last hurrah. He wanted to say goodbye to all his friends now to avoid any emotional deathbed scenes. But knowing TJ, he’ll stick around so long that we’ll have to say goodbye to him three or four more times.”

Larry led me into a large sitting room that featured wide doorways and magnificent wainscoting bordering the twelve-foot high ceiling. It was tastefully decorated with antiques. A grand piano dominated one corner of the room.

Middle aged to doddering men in coats and ties and women who looked like they had just come from a Junior League meeting stood or sat in small clusters. I immediately spotted Dr. Reiniger, perched on a straight-backed chair, gripping a tumbler of what appeared to be whiskey in a shaky hand. His face was sallow and tired, his body so thin that he appeared in danger of becoming two-dimensional. But his eyes were bright as they danced among the guests who surrounded him.

And standing next to the chair, one strong hand resting protectively on its back, was Ashland Stewart. He didn’t notice me at first, standing in the doorway with Larry. He was turned away, bending over to say something to his friend. But Dr. Reiniger immediately spotted me. He smiled broadly and his eyes lit up as if I were a wonderful package that had just been delivered. He turned and whispered something to Dr. Stewart.

There are memories that are indelibly imprinted on my brain—the first time I glimpsed the Rocky Mountains, my grandmother’s funeral, the smell of my babies when I first held them against my breasts. Dr. Stewart’s expression when he looked up at me, my heels sinking into the thick rug, my hair up, wearing Lily’s black party dress, has etched itself alongside those other unforgettable events.

Awestruck
was the only word that could describe his face. Time stopped for a moment. I was frozen in the amber of his gaze.

“You’ve certainly made an impression on the Howard Carter Chair in Archeology,” Larry commented from somewhere that seemed eons distant. I had forgotten he was standing next to me. I felt disoriented, as if time had shifted suddenly under my feet.

Then Ashland Stewart was stepping forward, smiling in that wry way of his, and I was sucked back again into the present moment. “I’m so glad you could come, Mrs. Nelson,” he said, wrapping his strong hand around mine.

It bothered me that he didn’t call me by my first name. Was he subtly reminding us that I was married?

“It’s good to see you, Dr. Stewart,” I replied. His touch made me feel dizzy.

“Let me introduce you to our host.” I didn’t move, so he gently guided me by the hand.

He led me to a spot directly in front of Dr. Reiniger’s chair. “Forgive me for not getting up,” Dr. Reiniger said in a hushed but steady voice. “It’s embarrassing for both parties when I suddenly topple over.”

I had to pull myself together or I would be the one losing my footing. “Thank you for inviting me,” I said, taking his frail hand. “Why don’t I sit? Then neither of us will be embarrassed.”

Ashland Stewart immediately found an empty chair and placed it behind me. I was relieved to sink into its support. But my mind was still in a state of confusion.
Did he really look at me that way or was I delirious? Why had it felt as if I had been sucked out of this reality?
When I was younger, I had known what it was like to have a man lust after me and even to look at me with love. But I had never experienced such intensity. Was it really contained entirely in Ashland Stewart’s gaze or had the feeling originated deep within me?

“Are you all right?” Dr. Stewart was looking down at me, his face filled with concern.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“You drive your staff too hard, Ashland, just like you do yourself,” Dr. Reiniger said. “Why don’t you get Julia a drink?”

“I would love a vodka martini.”

Dr. Stewart’s eyes were still focused on me. “Would you like anything, TJ?”

“Another Scotch if you don’t mind.”

Dr. Stewart took his friend’s empty glass and disappeared. Dr. Reiniger introduced me to the other guests standing there. Then they slowly dispersed as if bidden by an unvoiced command.

Now that Dr. Reiniger and I were alone, I felt my body and mind relax a little. “I never invite anyone else from the Archeology Department,” Dr. Reiniger said. “I realize it’s unfair, but after knowing Ashland all these years, his colleagues just don’t seem as interesting.”

“I’m afraid I might disappoint you then. I’m not even an archeologist, just a part-time translator.”

Dr. Reiniger leaned forward and wrapped his warm hands around mine. “You’ve already impressed me,” he said softly. “You seem to have had a profound effect on Ashland.”

I stared at him. I felt like I was observing a distant dream, that someone else was sitting here, not me. “We don’t even know each other very well,” I stammered. I felt queasy, my stomach churning. A quiet voice inside my head was warning me to leave before whatever was happening went any further.

“Even in my considerably weakened state I’ve noticed the change in Ashland since he met you. Of course, he continues to deny it. That’s why I invited you.”

Ashland wasn’t the one who wanted me here.
Maybe I had made too much of what he said by the lake and the way he had just looked at me. I was just letting my imagination run wild.

“I was very surprised to get your invitation,” I told Dr. Reiniger.

He smiled playfully. “I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to meet a real Magoan goddess before I died.”

“Oh, is that what Dr. Stewart told you I was?”

“He didn’t have to.” His face turned serious. “I’ve known Ashland for many years. I went with him to Syria when his wife Adriana disappeared. I was there when they found her body. He wasn’t the same man after that. He threw himself even more into his work. When he started dating again, he only chose younger women who were easier to let go of when they invariably fell in love with him. But I noticed a change in him the day after you met. He had a lightness about him that I hadn’t seen in years. When I dragged the story of your tattoo out of him, I knew there was something much more here than just coincidence.”

I was so flabbergasted that I didn’t even notice Dr. Stewart return to my side. He handed Dr. Reiniger his drink. But when he held out a glass for me, I just stared at it. “Did you change your mind?” he asked.

I came back to reality again and took it from his hand, forcing myself to sip it slowly. “You make an excellent martini.”

“I was taught by the master.”

“Ashland was too cheap to hang out in bars and I was too demanding about my liquor, so I trained him to be a first-rate bar-back. When I’m gone, make sure he doesn’t succumb to cheap gin and dull discussions on stratigraphy.”

“TJ, when you’re gone there will be absolutely nothing more to talk about and we will all fall silent.”

Dr. Reiniger laughed wearily. “I’m sure you and this young lady will find many more interesting topics of conversation than you and I ever did.

~*~

Dr. Reiniger proved to be a charming host. He shared anecdotes from his 25-year friendship with Ashland Stewart that had us laughing. We both relaxed, and I enjoyed seeing a warm, caring side to Ashland in the two men’s obvious affection for one another.

The party’s next hour is still a blur. Ashland left at one point to mix me another drink. Later, I found myself chatting with Larry and his wife, who reminded me of a kinder, gentler Margaret Thatcher. I seem to recall making a third martini for myself. Perhaps it was a double.

The alcohol had its desired effect. It dulled the wild, churning rollercoaster of emotions that buffeted me. Yes, Ashland Stewart was charming, attractive, and erudite, and I enjoyed his company. But even if what Dr. Reiniger said about the affect I had on his friend was true, I was still determined not to take this any further.

I found a thickly upholstered chair in the corner and collapsed into it. I needed to go home but I was too drunk. I could call a cab or ask Van to pick me up. I reached for my phone in my bag.

“Are you all right?”

Startled by Ashland’s voice, I looked up into his deep blue eyes.

“I’m good,” I said. “I just need to get home. Our sitter’s expecting me.”

“Do you have a few minutes to visit Matilda’s Nest?”

“Matilda’s Nest? What’s that?”

“It’s the reason TJ bought this house. He wanted me to show it to you. He thinks you’ll appreciate the story behind it.”

It would be easy to refuse. I didn’t think Ashland would pressure me.

“It is a long climb up. Perhaps it’s too much for you,” Ashland said. I could hear the kindness and concern in his voice.

And it made me want to accept.

“No, really, I’m fine,” I said. “I’d love to see it.”

Offering his hand, he helped me out of the chair. The room was off kilter, but I was determined not to let him know I was intoxicated. I willed myself to walk steadily as I accompanied him to a wide staircase that led to the second floor.

I held tightly to the railing as we ascended the stairs, afraid I would miss a step and end up in his arms.

Upstairs, we traversed a long hallway. I glanced at a framed photo on the wall of Dr. Reiniger at his piano, robust and smiling. A handsome, middle-aged African man sat next to him, holding a violin, his free arm affectionately wrapped around Dr. Reiniger’s shoulder. “Who’s that?” I asked.