Wanted: Wife (22 page)

His eyes flared and he yanked me to my feet.
“Mon Dieu—je perds mon temps avec toi!”
All at once Bucky sprung to my flank and growled, surprising Andy so he jerked back. “
Non! Couché
!” he cried to the dog. I wrenched away, falling back to the sofa. The dog leaped into my lap.

Andy’s gaze shot from his hands to me, as if suddenly wondering where I’d gone. “Jesus,” he uttered, looking horrified, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean . . . oh
hell
.” He shook his head and left for the bedroom, slamming the door.

I buried my face in the dog’s ruff, waiting for Andy to quiet before I went to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of burgundy. But as soon as I opened it I knew I hadn’t the stomach for more. Instead I cleaned up, mechanically doing all the things I’d been contracted to do. Truth be told, I was surprised we hadn’t had this argument earlier. Men were all the same; it’s only their
modus operandi
that varied. When I finished I went back to the sofa and lay down. With the windows still opened, an early autumn chill crept over the room. It matched what I felt inside. I grabbed a pillow, hugging it.

Sometime later, I heard the bedroom door open, the floor creaking to the foot of the sofa. From the light of the half-moon I could make out his shape but I felt it more, remembering his weight atop me, a delicious heaviness. I had gotten so used to it, its absence was painful. But the memory wasn’t enough. What he’d said hurt more than I imagined, even more so considering it was true. I shifted around, turning my face into the cushions. Bucky moved with me to settle his head on my thigh. Again the floor creaked and I could hear Andy moving toward the front door and out, his footsteps disappearing into the yard. After that I couldn’t think anymore. I covered my head, falling dreamlessly asleep.

W
HEN
I
WOKE
up Andy was gone, at least from the general vicinity of the house. The truck was still there, so he hadn’t gone far, but before he left, apparently he’d been pretty busy. The eggs were collected, Betsy had been milked, the garden watered, the mushrooms tended, a big basket of yams dug up and on the porch, the hanging latch on the gatepost fixed, and a half-dozen other chores that needed attention were accomplished. I, on the other hand, had spent a fitful night on the sofa and rose two hours later than I usually did at the scandalously late hour of eight
AM
. As I dragged myself around the yard, still dressed in the skirt and t-shirt I had worn the night before, it was a wonder I’d been able to string together two coherent thoughts at all. I’d never felt so wretched.

I wasn’t even sure what we fought about, or why I had gotten so angry. Andy had started out baring his soul, and I had turned it against him. Which was dangerously close to what his mother had done to his father, I’m sure. I dropped to the front porch, contemplating that. Was that how he was seeing it? Was our contract really nothing more than a guarantee against falling in love with me? It’s not that I wanted him to anyway. As a matter of fact, I was counting on that he wouldn’t. So why did it irk me so?

Maybe because an opt-out clause was much easier to take when it was my own idea, and not one of his contracted options. Maybe it hurt to think I was that expendable, even though he had given me no indication I was. Maybe I was beginning to get a bit too comfortable with this whole arrangement, and the reality of a life afterward was getting a little too close. I had already passed the halfway mark; it was all downhill from there.

I shuffled inside and went to the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth, but as I wandered into the kitchen, I hadn’t the barest appetite. The dishes from the night before were still in the drainer, our empty wine bottles still on the counter. And under the table, the sandals Andy had worn to dinner after making love to me so furiously I could still smell him on my skin. I picked them up, holding them out. He was so big, so outsized,
so
. . . well, I wasn’t sure I knew. Which made me feel even worse. I set them by the fireplace. Because now I wanted to know everything.

I fed Bucky, dropping kibble in a dish outside the door. As I watched him eat, his black fur as shiny as a seal’s, I thought of those first few days when he scared the hell out of me. Now he trailed after me and slept at my feet every night. I could hardly imagine what it’d be like without him. But sooner than later, I’d have to. I dropped to the porch steps, my arm slung around him.

Where was Andy? But then, where was I? And where in hell was I going? If this was a precursor to what my life would be like later on, then I’d better get used to it. Damn reckless of me not to see what lay down the road, naïve of me to think it would be easy. And shame on me for thinking I could come out the other end the same.

W
HEREVER
A
NDY HAD
gone, I hoped he’d be back soon as we still had Ray and Celia coming over for dinner, and I had no way to cancel. What would I say if I did? So I went about the preparations for the dinner party as if nothing had happened, making dough for Quiche Lorraine and baguettes, gathering herbs, salad greens and beans from the garden, mixing a vinaigrette dressing, and stopping at Jinks’ to pick up fresh scallops, just dug from of Barnegat Bay that morning. As I pulled into the gas station without Andy, Uncle Jinks’ radar immediately switched on.

“Oh no,” he said, eyeing me flying solo, “Where’s Andy?”

“He’s busy,” I said, trying to sound chipper. “So much going on now.”

“Okay.” One bushy-gray brow shot up. “Now tell me what really happened.”

“Nothing,” I said, reaching for my purse. “He just had some fence to fix or whatever. How much do I owe you for those scallops? Hope they’re big.”

He swiped his hands on a rag. “As big as the whopper I’m sure you’re telling me. Be right back.” He left for inside.

I felt awful lying, but then again, I just plain felt awful, which I was sure was how I looked, and that had to have been his first clue. My mood matched the day, which was growing steadily more oppressive, an unseasonal humidity hovering in the air like a blanket. A minute or so later Jinks returned, a plastic bag of shucked scallops dangling from his hand.

“Andy owes me apples,” he said, passing me the bag. “Let me have them and we’ll call it even.” He craned his neck toward the truck’s bay. “Are they in the back?”

“No,” I said, “I guess he forgot. But you can get them when you come to dinner tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even toss in a pie.”

“No, don’t bother. I’m sure you have better things to do than make pies. Oh—one more thing.” He reached in his back pocket, handing me a brown envelope. “Lila DeForest dropped this off for you. Said she would’ve given it to you the other day if she’d known she’d run into you.”

I ripped into it, then swallowed hard. It was the snapshot she’d taken of Andy and me on our wedding day. “Look,” I said, showing it to him.

“Ha!” he laughed. “You both look ready to shit your pants.”

I stared at it. Jinks was right, yet in a way, Andy never looked more beautiful. I shoved it in my purse. “Thanks, Jinks. See you soon.” He waved me off as I pulled out.

I turned down the road to the farm, barely out of first gear, letting the woods swallow me. Here and there the pines oaks were browning, the Scarlets going their monikered red as other deciduous trees showed bits of orange and yellow. Already the drying undergrowth was littered with acorns, and I knew in the next few weeks the forest would explode with color. I don’t think I realized until then how much I longed for it. Or as I drove the wooden bridge across a cedar marsh, how much I’d like to see it frozen over, deer tracks pocking the snow. In fact, all the things Andy had told me about—harvest moon hikes, tundra swans, gathering pinecones and holly for Christmas wreathes—I prematurely mourned, knowing his stories would always be just that.

I pulled over when I reached the site of the old tavern, its ruins more visible as the summer vines and ferns withered away. I wondered what it would’ve been like had Andy grown up there, if he had taken me home to it instead of the farm. I wondered if the lack of the familiar would’ve weighed as heavily as it did his mother, her gentility smothered between the branches and undergrowth. With a new husband in a strange country, bursting with baby and closed in by these woods, she must have been suffocating, and maybe right then I understood, if only a little, before I drove on.

I
FOUND
A
NDY
sitting on the front steps when I returned, unshaven and wearing the same clothes from the night before. He looked to me, droopy-eyed and miserable, as I parked the truck and came up to him.

“Where’ve you been?” I said.

He didn’t answer, just extended his hand, and when I took it he guided me to a spot beside him. After I sat, he pulled my fist to his mouth and kissed it, then, unfurling my fingers, pressed his lips to the soft pad of my hand.

“I don’t care why you married me,” he whispered into my palm. “If it was only for the story, then you did what you had to do.” He looked up, his eyes bright and blue. “I’m just happy you did.”

“Oh, Andy . . .” I choked out, the night, the morning, the reality of the afternoon and what would follow all descending. “I’m glad I did, too.”

Andy cradled my face.
“Je t’adore . . . Mais tu me fais craquer, tu sais?”
He kissed me, a kiss so beautifully consuming I was breathless. I curled my arm around his neck and pulled him in.

Andy trailed his lips to my temple. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I just lay there, so cold without you. I thought of all the work you’ve done on the farm, your cleaning, your cooking and putting up with me and never complaining . . .” He held my face in his hands. “Then to see you lying in the dark on the sofa, not wanting to be with me, well . . .” He buried his face in my neck. “I couldn’t stand it. I did what work I had to do and then I started to walk, trying to get you out of my head, but nothing worked because all I could think of,
chérie
. . .” I pulled away, looking up at him, “was holding you again.” He brushed his finger down my face. “I’m an idiot, right?”

“Of course,” I said, feeling so much better. “Idiotic to worry about an idiot like me. I don’t deserve
you
.”

“Maybe,” he said, and I poked him. “But I’m what you have, so get used to it.”

“I’ll certainly try.” We sat there in companionable silence for a few moments, the weight of so much unsaid between us. But neither did we want to ruffle the delicate détente of the last few minutes. So I diverted to the mundane, reaching into my purse. “Look what Mrs. DeForest left for us at Uncle Jinks.”

He slid the photo from the envelope. “Oh, look at that.”

I laughed. “I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

He kissed my cheek. “No. You look lovely.”

“I wouldn’t a few minutes from then, would I?”

“Ha! After you jumped in the lake!” He shrugged. “Ah, well. At least she captured the moment.”

We laughed again, Andy flapping his shirt. He looked to the clouds thickening in the east. “Man, it’s humid. It’s getting hard to breathe out here.”

“I know. Like the air’s made of wool or something.”

“Leave it to a writer to think of that.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll be in the barn.”

And I’d be in the house. I smiled, rising toward it. All was right with the world.

“O
H MY
G
OD,
Julie—this brie is
incredible
,” Celia gushed, spreading her fourth smear atop a hunk of baguette. She looked to Andy. “Now, how would you say that in French?”

“Incroyable,”
he said, taking a bite of salad. He winked at me, clearly amused.

“Imagine that,” Ray opined. “It’s almost like you’re speaking the same language.”

“Ray! Tell Andy he simply must teach us how to make brie. If anything, we’re taking some of that milk home.” She turned to me. “It’s the hottest thing now, unpasteurized milk. You know how hard it is to get? At some Philly stores they sell it in the back alley.” She took another bite, rolling her eyes in bliss. “Oh Jesus . . . I believe you’ve outdone yourself, Julie. I’m having a food orgasm . . .”

“Shall we have dessert and coffee on the porch?” I said. “It’s so warm out; we’re probably not going to get many more like this.” As I gathered up the cheese plate I nodded to Celia. “Why don’t you and Ray go on out? We’ll join you in just a bit.”

A few minutes later, Andy held the tray as I piled on the dessert and coffee. He leaned in to kiss me. “Everything was fabulous, Julie—the food, the table, the wines. You did an incredible job.” His mouth crooked.
“Incroyable.”

“Either one will do,” I said, kissing him back. Suddenly a rumble shook the room. “Andy, did you just make the earth move, or was that—”

“Thunder. Maybe it’s finally going to rain.” He thought a moment, leaving for the porch. “You know, I can’t think of the last time it did.”

“Not in a week, at least,” I said, holding out the door.

“Eleven days,” said Ray on his feet, peering out over the lake as the clouds rumbled and flashed. “We’ve been on high alert for two days now.”

I gripped Andy’s shoulder as he set down the tray. “What’s that mean, Ray?”

“Means if there’s a fire, he gets to play cowboy,” Celia said, taking the baked apple and whipped cream I offered. “He lives for these things.”

“I’d rather live without them,” he said. “But what’re you going to do?” He took a cup of coffee, turning back to the yard.

As the sky flashed again, I asked, “Do you think there’s a chance of a fire, Ray?”

He shrugged. “There’s always a chance when the Pines are dry for this long, but you’re pretty far from the tree line. You should be fine.”

“I’ll tell you what’s fine,” Celia said. “These apples.” She pointed her spoon in my direction. “Julie, darling, I’ll be doing eight hour days at the gym for the next month thanks to you.” She took another bite and nearly swooned. “My God . . .”

Andy had joined Ray at the door, the screens rattling with each rainless boom. It was getting closer, or maybe just more powerful, and that had me sipping more wine than coffee. Then Ray’s phone rang.