Prospect Street (30 page)

“Well done as always, Lydia. I think everyone enjoyed themselves.” Joe had changed out of his suit into pajamas that were nearly as formal. The leather of his slippers was good enough to see duty on the Senate floor, but he was on his way to his study, where he would stay up half the night perusing impending legislation and making phone calls to various members of his staff.

“I'm glad you're happy.” Lydia flicked off the light in the dining room, now completely emptied of silver trays and canapes.

“Are you going to bed now?” When she nodded, he didn't offer to change her mind, merely gave a brief nod himself and left, his thoughts on the work awaiting him.

She flipped off the lights, checked the security alarm and the outdoor floodlights, and called down to the guest house to assure Samuel that all was well and they were turning in for the night.

In her bedroom, Lydia closed the door and stood with her back to it, as if to bar anyone from following her. No one would, of course. She couldn't remember the last time Joe had joined her here. Not since his heart attack. Not since well before it. As a young man, sex had been high on his agenda, but as his career blossomed, his sex drive had waned. Sublimation of some sort, she thought, and lucky for her.

She went through the familiar bedtime rituals. In her nightgown at last, she stood by the window, looking over the woods that protected their house from even the hint of neighbors. Somewhere a dog barked, then was silenced. She thought she heard a plane overhead, and as she concentrated, she heard the whisper of CNN coming from the television in Joe's study. He never worked without the news at full volume, as if listening as he dictated memos on obscure political technicalities would put him squarely in the middle of world events.

Her love affair with Joe Huston had ended almost before it began. A brief honeymoon, mere weeks in their own home together, and she had realized what a terrible error she'd made.
She had mistaken rigidity for strength, craftiness for intelligence, obsession for idealism. She'd had no one to intercede for her, and no one to offer counsel. Too young to know better, she had tried to weather the storms of her marriage, but she had been adrift in gale force winds.

And then Dominik Dubrov had appeared at her front door.

Arms folded over her chest, she watched moonlight gild white pines at the forests' edge. Somewhere beyond their lacy branches lay the life she should have led, the one filled with tenderness and intimacy and shared values. That life was always out of reach, just beyond the trees or clouds or sweep of her fingertips.

But the little piece of it that she'd known was never far from her thoughts.

 

“Dominik, I, well, I'm surprised.” Lydia pushed a silver-blond strand behind the velvet headband that kept her hair out of her eyes when she was working. She hadn't expected to see Dominik today. “Did you tell me you were coming? I thought Sandor was going to work on the wallpaper.”

Dominik Dubrov shifted from one foot to the other, but not uneasily. He was a confident man, properly deferential, yes, but never unsure of himself. He was a poor man, a crudely educated man, but still one who was supremely sure that the homeowners who hired him were getting the best. Dottie Lee Fairbanks had assured her that Dominik was the only man to do the renovation of the Hustons' row house, and Lydia had come to agree.

Today Dominik was holding a wool knit cap at his waist, as if he had removed it just before knocking. Her gaze flicked to it, watching in fascination as his broad hands stretched and kneaded the cream-colored yarn. Gently, as if he were plucking the strings of a lute.

“Sandor had another job, and I finished at Miss Fairbanks' house early.” The words were accented and faintly guttural. His command of English was excellent, but Lydia suspected his
thoughts spun out in some Slavic dialect. At their first meeting she had tried out her college Russian on him, and he'd only smiled.

Dominik's smile was memorable. A little gap-toothed, a little lopsided, and impossible not to respond to.

“You want I should start on the wallpaper in the back today? I can measure and prepare.”

Joe hated the wallpaper in the room he'd chosen as his study. He despised green and insisted that gazing up at the wide stripes made him seasick. She had lugged home book after book of samples, and he had finally, grudgingly, chosen a navy blue with tiny fleur-de-lis marching in symmetrical rows.

Three months into their marriage, and she was already fed up with Joe's insistence on controlling every detail of their lives.

Lydia stepped aside to let Dominik in. “Whatever you can do would be appreciated. I've been painting the trim.”

“This is something you like to do?”

“I like to do it all. I've always wanted to make a home. We moved so much when I was growing up….” She realized she was telling the handyman the story of her life.

“I also moved as a child. I understand.”

He stepped past her, careful not to brush her skirt as he passed, although he was a large man, and that wasn't easy. The dress was an old one. She could have told him as much, but she appreciated his consideration. The first few weeks that Dominik had worked for her, she had found his presence hard to get used to. He was a man and a stranger, and being alone with him in the row house begat an intimacy she found disturbing.

Lydia started toward the kitchen. “I was about to get myself a glass of water. Would you like something?”

Dominik followed her. He had stripped the wallpaper there and prepared the surface. She had painted the walls a sunny-yellow and set three hand-thrown Italian plates on an iron display rack in the corner. A majolica rooster perched on the counter beside cobalt-blue canisters. Joe had objected strenuously to the rooster, but so far Lydia had withstood that particular barrage.

“Cock a doodle doo?” Dominik fingered the rooster's wattle as Lydia retrieved ice from the freezer and ran it under the faucet to separate it from the metal tray.

“Do you like him?” Lydia snapped the ice onto a fresh dish towel beside the sink.

“Very much. He's for smiling, yes?”

“I wish you'd tell my husband.”

“A serious man?”

“To a fault.”

Dominik leaned against the counter and watched her fill two glasses with ice, then with tap water. He took up much of the kitchen. He had wide shoulders and long muscular legs. His hair and eyes were black, both a little wild, as if the good manners he displayed in the workplace were the flip side of something darker. He had a ruddy complexion, prominent bones and strong features, particularly his nose, which was curved and beaklike and utterly barbaric.

She could see Dominik Dubrov in a Cossack's saddle, saber at his side, fur hat on his head, sweeping across the frontiers of Mother Russia.

“If a man cannot smile, a man cannot love,” he said.

“An old Soviet proverb?”

“Just another reason to be happy.”

Lydia handed him a glass and a napkin to put under it when he set it down. “As if we should need reasons.”

“Some people, they seem to.”

She thought Joe might be one of those.

“Are you happy?” She wasn't sure where the question had come from. It wasn't a question a woman asked her handyman. But during the weeks Dominik had been coming to work on the house, she'd stopped thinking of him that way. He had a quiet wisdom that was a foil to something else, something she could only term animal magnetism. It was a phrase
Photoplay
or
Silver Screen
might choose for Marlon Brando or the late James Dean, but it fit Dominik, too.

“I have a son. My Pasha makes me happy.”

“A little boy?” She made a cooing noise. “How old is he?”

“Two. A hell raiser? This is how you say it?”

“That's how we say it.” She hadn't known Dominik was married. He wore no ring, but that wasn't uncommon for a man. Joe had chosen to wear one, but only, she suspected, because it made him seem more settled, dependable and worthy of votes.

“He began to talk very much at only one year.”

Lydia's knowledge of children was fuzzy, but since Dominik was proud, she suspected this must be early. “And I bet he chatters all the time now.”

“And I am chattering too much. There is no one in the bedroom?”

“No, you can go up.”

He held up his glass. “Thank you.”

“Dominik, does having a child make a marriage stronger, do you think?”

He didn't seem surprised by the question. “This is what they say.”

“What do
you
say?”

His face sobered. “I say that some marriages, they cannot be made stronger, not by anything.”

She knew he was talking about his own, and, strangely, she was glad. She wasn't one to revel in other people's misfortune, but just knowing that Dominik faced the same problems she did made her feel even closer to him.

“I guess that means having a baby with Joe won't make our marriage better.”

He was silent, as if he was fighting with himself. She wasn't sure whether he had won or lost the battle when he spoke. “You aren't happy, Mrs. Huston?”

“Lydia. We've grown beyond Mrs., don't you think?”

He shrugged, a marvelous shifting of his broad shoulders that spoke volumes.

“I'm not happy.” She wondered what else she would tell him today. First the story of her life. Now this.

“You are young. This is new.”

She shook her head. “I made a mistake. I don't know how to fix it. I don't want a divorce, and I don't want to stay married.” Tears sprang to her eyes. Perhaps it was easier to say these things to a virtual stranger. Perhaps it was simply that Dominik was there when she needed to talk.

Perhaps it was simply that Dominik was Dominik.

“Divorce is not possible?” he asked.

“I don't believe in divorce. I think one makes choices and one sticks by them.”

“I think the same. And my wife is Catholic and would not consider such a thing.”

“What a pair we are.”

“I did not mean to pry.”

“I didn't mean to bend your ear.” When he looked perplexed at her slang, she managed a teary smile. “I talked too long about myself.”

One tear refused to be tamed and slid to her cheek. Dominik set down his glass; then he reached out and caught the tear on his fingertip. She closed her eyes as he drew his finger tenderly across her cheekbone, trying to erase her sorrow.

“I'm sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I don't know what's wrong with me this afternoon.”

She felt his arms around her, strong, soothing arms. He pulled her to his chest to comfort her. She slipped her arms around his waist as naturally as if she was married to him and not to a man who would have pushed her away after one impatient pat.

She laid her head against his shoulder, expecting sobs to pour forth. But the tears had dried up now, and what was left was very different.

She felt a shudder run through Dominik's body. It was answered by a wave of excitement in her own. He felt so good against her, and comfort was now only a small portion of that.

She told herself she should move away before she no longer could. She wasn't afraid of Dominik. As strong as he was, she knew he wouldn't force himself on her.

She was more afraid of herself.

Neither of them moved. At last she looked up. He was gazing down at her, his expression hooded. He didn't move away; he didn't move forward. He stood still and waited for her to tell him what to do.

The whole world seemed poised for discovery.

 

Now, as a woman who hadn't been held with that terrible, ferocious longing for thirty-nine years, Lydia held herself instead. She wrapped her arms over her breasts and leaned her forehead against the window.

“C
asual, then, and warm,” Pavel told Faith when they made arrangements for their Saturday date. The children were invited to her mother's for the night, and Faith had no curfew.

She pried a little harder and learned that he didn't mean casual like going for pizza on M Street. That was formal. Faith wasn't able to get anything more out of him, since he insisted that wherever they were going was a secret. But at least as she got ready on Saturday afternoon she wasn't obsessing about what to wear again. She chose jeans that still buttoned comfortably and her favorite kelly-green turtleneck.

She was brushing her hair when Alex came into her bedroom to say goodbye. She gave him a bear hug. “You've got everything you need?”

“Mo-om….” Disgust made it a two syllable word. “I'll bringmy Legos, and Remy can bring her Barbie dolls.”

“Funny guy. I just don't want you to get bored.”

“We're going to the movies tonight, and tomorrow we're going to a horse show in Maryland.”

She wasn't sure why she was fussing. Joe was in Richmond for the weekend, and Alex and Remy would be fine with her
mother. Even Remy seemed resigned to the visit. Of course, in Great Falls she was no longer grounded.

Faith went through a mental checklist. “You closed your bedroom door so Guest won't eat Lefty?”

Alex rolled his eyes in a very good imitation of his sister. Faith bit back a suggestion that he pack his toothbrush and clean underwear. “Don't forget I'll have my cell phone if you need me.”

“I'm going to wait on the steps.”

“Is Remy already out there?”

“I don't know.”

Lately Faith had noticed that Alex became evasive whenever Remy's name was mentioned. Alex, usually incapable of repressing a thought, seemed to be repressing a great many. But now was not the time to probe.

“Have fun, and I'll see you tomorrow.” She gave him another hug, and this time he hugged her back before he disappeared into the hallway and down the steps.

She was fastening gold studs in her earlobes when she realized Remy was standing in the doorway, watching her.

“Need anything before you go?” Faith asked.

“Like what? Clean diapers and a new teddy bear?”

“I'm not sure what time I'm coming home tonight, so this will be easier.”

“Like that had anything to do with me staying alone tonight while you're on your date.” The word “date” was uttered like a particularly offensive profanity.

Faith fastened the second stud. “I want to be able to trust you again.”

Remy turned away. “Have a great time. Don't think about
us.
”

Faith marveled that somehow, without help from the people who loved her most, Remy had become the grandmaster of sarcasm.

In a moment the front door slammed. Faith hoped her mother arrived before her children had a fistfight on the stoop. Her wish was granted when a car stopped out front. Lydia's greeting drifted upstairs, along with the conversation of Georgetown stu
dents biking past. By the time Faith opened the front window to call her last goodbye they were gone, all three of them.

She closed it, turned and leaned against it. She was free. No one expected anything of her tonight. Pavel was taking care of all the arrangements, and she only had to show up. Not even that, since he was coming to pick her up.

She only had to let him in.

Faith realized she was smiling. Not the obedient smile she'd learned as a child, or the untouchable good girl smile of her adolescence. Not even the perfect wife and role model smile she'd mastered during her years with David. Something brighter and more connected to her real hopes and fears. Something so brilliantly genuine it realigned the muscles in her face.

She was ready when Pavel arrived. She opened the door and admired the way a snug pair of jeans outlined his hips and thighs. He wore a red Scavenger sweatshirt with a navy-blue collar and logo. A brand-new one, she guessed, by the absence of spots or wrinkles. He probably owned a hundred.

“New line.” Self-consciously, he pulled the sweatshirt away from his chest with one hand and held up a shopping bag with the other. “More, for you and the kids.”

Faith was touched. Even if Remy used her shirt to mop up spills or polish her shoes, Alex would be in seventh heaven. “That was so thoughtful. I'd wear mine now, but it would look like we're going steady.” She realized she was standing in the doorway. She took the bag from his hand and ushered him inside. “The kids are already gone.”

“Any chance your mother might decide to keep Remy?”

She grinned. “Mother's a lot of things, but never a masochist.”

“Are you close to her?”

“Mother? As close as I'm allowed.”

“I've only met her in passing, but she's nothing like you, is she? You're warm and giving and easy to be with. I'm not sure she's any of those things.”

Faith savored the way he had characterized her. “She's get
ting more like that. It's funny, but she's opened up so much since we moved here. And you'd think the opposite would apply.”

“Maybe everything that happened in this house wasn't bad. This was her first real home with your father, wasn't it?” He seemed to read her thoughts. “Not necessarily a good thing?”

“Maybe not.” She changed the subject. “Anyway, where are we going? What's the surprise?”

“Gotta know what's under the wrapping paper, huh?”

“I've been patient most of my life. I feel that phase coming to an end.”

“Grab a coat, then, and let's see what happens.”

“It's not that cold outside, is it?”

“You never know.”

She snatched a wool jacket on the way out. When she locked the door behind her, she felt the weight of daily life lifting from her shoulders. “I'm ready for anything.”

“I'll hold you to that.” He smiled as he said it, but his eyes flashed something different. She wasn't sure which message to believe, but she suspected she was going to find out.

 

She wasn't ready for West Virginia. Not for Interstate 80, leading to the cottage David had bought for her. Not for the turnoff to Granger's Food and Gas, and particularly not for the stop Pavel made there.

She had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. After they drifted into a comfortable silence, Pavel turned the radio to soft jazz. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again she was horrified to find she had been sleeping and now they weren't far from the place where she'd found her husband in the arms of another man.

As she fumbled for a way to tell Pavel, he pulled off the road and into Granger's parking lot. He glanced at her and saw she was awake. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Stay here and sleep some more.”

She snuggled down in the seat and prayed no one would come out to see if they needed gas. “What are we doing here?”

“Just forgot something.” He opened his door and stepped out, closing it behind him.

Faith wished she could disappear.

He took forever. She sat in the car and wondered if she should tell him the truth, that being here, simply breathing the West Virginia air and gazing at the familiar blue haze of the mountains, made her heart ache. She scooted farther down in her seat and turned her head as a car pulled beside Pavel's. The door slammed, and she heard footsteps. When she risked a glance in that direction, she found Tubby staring at her through the window.

She sat frozen until she realized he was waiting for her to roll it down. She pressed the button, but nothing happened, because the engine was off. Silently cursing the twenty-first century, she opened the door and got out.

“Tubby.” She managed a smile and leaned stiffly against the car.

“Miz Bronson.” Tubby's grin could ignite a bonfire. “You're a sight for sore eyes.”

“You, too.” Silently she asked forgiveness for the lie.

“Those folks that bought your cottage come by here every week or two, but it ain't the same, you know? He won't talk to me like your David did. Don't care what I think about nuthin'.” Tubby hiked one strap of the ubiquitous overalls to punctuate that sentiment.

She didn't know what to say. She fell back on good manners. “We always enjoyed talking to you.”

“You doin' okay?”

“I am, thanks. I'm living in the city now.”

“And the mister?”

“David's okay.” She didn't know how much to say. She was in the heart of conservative America. Certainly he'd heard about their divorce and the story behind it. As much as she liked Tubby, she was fairly sure of his views on homosexuality.

“He got a job yet?”

Her spine was rigid. She was still waiting for Tubby to turn on her. “He's having trouble finding the right job.”

“Now that's a shame. He's a good man and a smart one.” He waved away unspoken protests, as if they were zinging around his head like a flock of bees. “Oh, I know what people say, and I know it was a terrible shock for you and all. I was angry at first, you know? Why'd he keep that kind of thing a secret and pretend he was different than he was? But then I got to thinkin'. We don't live in a world where a man can just come out and say what he is, do we? What choice did we give him?”

Faith was surprised. “You've really been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Had to.”

She looked up and saw Pavel coming toward them. She was afraid Tubby was about to get another shock from the Bronson family. “Tubby, this is a friend of mine, Pavel Quinn.”

Tubby turned. “Hey, Pavel. Good to see you again. Just passin' the time with Miz Bronson here. We're old pals.”

Pavel looked genuinely amazed. “You are?”

“She seen that place of yours yet?”

“We're on our way up there now.”

“Well, don't let me keep you.” Tubby turned back to her and winked. “You just keep your eye on him, you hear? He like to have burned down that house of his one night when the wind turned.”

“I was burning trash,” Pavel explained. “Just a little too close to the house.”

“Good thing you didn't set fire to it,” Tubby said. “Prettiest place in these parts.” He stepped away. “You stop by anytime, Miz Bronson. I'll make sure we keep some of those green apples you like, just in case.”

Faith waved as they drove off. She hadn't even turned in her seat before Pavel spoke.

“How do you know Tubby?”

“
Your
house, Pavel? You have a house
here?
”

“That's where we're going.” He put his hand on her knee. Just a quick squeeze, but the message of support was clear. “Okay. Your turn.”

“David and I had a cottage just down the road. This is where I found him in the arms of Abraham Stein.”

“Jeez.” He looked as if he was going to pull over.

She put her hand on his wrist. “Don't you dare turn around.”

“The scenery's pretty familiar, huh?”

“I think that's okay.” She hesitated. “Maybe not okay, but getting there.”

“You don't feel like you're back in a nightmare?”

She didn't. Her first reaction was gone, and in its place she felt relief. “Tubby greeted me like an old friend. He didn't blame me for anything. For that matter, he doesn't even seem to blame David. The mighty fell, but Tubby saw us for what we were. Just human beings with flaws. We weren't nearly as important as I thought. I can't tell you how much I like that.”

“We can still head home.”

“Let's. To
your
home in the mountains.” She paused. “It wouldn't happen to be on Seward Road, would it?”

“I'm two mountaintops away.”

“Good. That would have been more than I could handle.” She laughed. The feel of it was cleansing.

 

Just as he'd predicted, Faith loved the house. Pavel was hopelessly in love with it himself. Technically the land and everything on it belonged to Scavenger, and sometimes the board or employees used it for corporate retreats. But Pavel had first claim on scheduling.

The house itself was gray cedar and glass, with windows looking over the mountains and, at closer hand, a huge pond. A cottage sat five acres away out of sight, a cozier version of this one, housing their jack-of-all-trades caretaker and his wife, who was a gourmet cook. Lolly had plotted with him to have dinner ready when he and Faith arrived, and the smell had greeted them the moment they opened the door.

They ate in front of a massive stone fireplace, sitting cross-legged with their plates on their laps, despite a dining room with a view of forever. Lolly served platters of roast pork, penne
pasta with vegetables and a lemon butter sauce, and for dessert a curried fruit compote so mouthwatering that Faith threatened to chain herself to the front porch unless she got the recipe.

Pavel selected a Hungarian red wine to go with the pork, and after the meal he was pleased to see Faith was on her second glass.

“What did you say this was?” she asked, holding the wine to the firelight.

“Bikavér. Bull's blood.”

“I could get used to this. I'd better remind myself to sip, so it lasts longer.”

“There's more where that came from.”

“Judging by this pleasant buzz in my head, I won't be having another glass.”

“That's a particularly good vintage. Wine making in Hungary suffered during Communism. It's taken some time to get back on track.”

“You know your wines. I'm a babe in the woods.”

He settled more firmly against an ottoman, stretching his legs toward the fire. “I know wines, but only a little about Hungary.”

“You haven't been there?”

“I've made a few hit-and-run business trips to Europe, but none that far east. I'd like to go someday. I've had plans to travel for years, but Scavenger sucked all the life out of that.”