On Second Thought
Page 57

“Maybe.” I dug around in the fridge. God, we had a lot of food! It looked like the fridge of a woman in a commercial, full of leafy dark greens and organic yogurt. All my sister’s doing.
I found a beer in the back and took it out, then glanced at the label.
Hurricane Kitty IPA.
Nathan bought this. We’d spent a chilly Sunday afternoon in March at Keegan Ales microbrewery, sipping beers at the tasting bar after the tour, the lush smell of hops seeping into our clothes. Brought a twelve-pack home with us.
For a second, I could picture him so clearly it made me dizzy—Nathan reaching into the fridge, wearing his blue sweater with the four buttons at the neck.
“I’ll have wine. Wine’s good,” someone said.
Right. Daniel the Hot Firefighter.
I put the beer back, grabbed some wine and pulled a Tupperware container of something from the freezer. “Chicken stew,” I read from the label. “Sound good?”
“Sounds great. Hey, I don’t have to stay, Kate. I’ll call a cab and go to my sister’s.”
“No, no, that’s fine. I mean, if you have to go back...”
“I don’t have to. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to entertain me.” He folded his impressive arms. He didn’t have a jacket on, though the night was cool, just a T-shirt. God forbid we should miss those biceps.
The thought brought a smile to my mind, if not my face. “Stay,” I said. “And open this wine.”
After the block of chicken stew had been pried from the Tupperware into a pot on the stove, the gas set on the tiniest flame, Daniel and I went into the living room, where I tried light switches until we could see each other, but not every pore.
I sat in one of the leather chairs; Daniel on the hard gray couch. He looked out of place here, too big for the sofa. Ollie leaped up next to him and put his chin on Daniel’s thigh. Even dogs had a weakness for hot firefighters, apparently. Daniel petted Ollie’s head with a big hand. “Hey, I started the porch swing, by the way.”
“Great. The Coburns will love it, I’m sure.” He’d sent me three designs, and I’d picked one and sent it back. Couldn’t remember now what it looked like.
“How’s your sister?” Daniel asked.
“She’s good. She’s staying with me for a while. How’s Lizzie?”
“Oh, man, she’s great. Those pictures were scary beautiful.” He set his wine down on the coffee table. “I never thanked you for figuring out she had a problem with that little shit-stain boyfriend, by the way.”
“Oh. You’re welcome. A little magic trick of mine. Sometimes you can see things through the camera that you can’t without it.” It sounded stupid, saying it aloud. “So your other sister Jane...she’s doing okay? She seems pretty together.”
“She is. Her husband’s an idiot. We never liked him. I didn’t, anyway.” He shrugged. “Then again, Jane hated Calista, so I guess we’re even.”
Rain began to fall, pinging in the copper gutters. This house was beautiful in the rain—the gutters had releases where the water would flow down in a controlled gush onto piles of white rocks before filtering into the irrigation system. Nothing was by accident with Nathan. Except his death, of course.
Which meant he’d kept those emails for a reason.
“You ever hear from her? From Calista?” I asked.
“No.” He took a sip of wine, grimacing a little. I should’ve given him the beer. “Do you?”
I hesitated. “I get a card at Christmastime.”
“She doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”
“Fine, fine. It’s a winter solstice card.” He gave a rueful smile. “So what happened with you two?” I asked. After all, he’d asked me about my panties today. I could pry a little, too.
“I don’t know,” he grumbled.
“Sure you do.”
He sighed. “She loved me, then she didn’t.” He looked out the window, where the outside lights had magically gone on (still hadn’t found those switches). “People change.”
“She found yoga.”
He snorted. “Yep. That was the beginning of the end for us. All of a sudden, she was talking about balance and mindfulness and inner quiet. I just nodded and smiled, and she got pissier and pissier because I was a dolt who just wanted to work and come home and get laid and have kids and be happy. I don’t really know what being mindful really means.”
“It means—”
“I also don’t care.” He smiled to soften the words. “So she left me not for another man or another woman, but for her journey. Which I wasn’t allowed to be part of.” He paused, shifting his gaze to the window. “If you ever want to make someone feel like they’re nothing, that’s the way to do it.”
The words sat between us, heavy and sincere.
I took a sip of wine. “I always hated her name.” I didn’t; it was a beautiful name, but solidarity was called for. I smiled, and Daniel grinned crookedly, clearly relieved.
“Let’s talk about something other than my ex-wife.”
“Wait, wait, one more question,” I said. “Why do you date all those teenagers?”
“Kate, cut me some slack. I’ve never dated a teenager, not even when I was a teenager. Let’s make that very clear. They’re all over twenty-one.”
“Their IQs, too?”
“Good one.” Ollie shifted his head so it was resting in Daniel’s danger zone. Not that I noticed or anything. “I don’t know. They want bragging rights so they can tell their friends they slept with a firefighter. I oblige, part of my civic duty.”
“You’re a prince.”
“They’re uncomplicated, at least.”
“That does seem to be true.”
“Besides,” he added, “if Calista could gut me the way she did, just imagine what someone like you could do, Kate.” He winked, and I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, please. In your mind, I’m old enough to be your mother. All this flirting is just you on autopilot.”
“It’s a gift, I’ll admit it.” He looked at his wineglass. “So how are you these days?”
“Well, as you could see in the park, I’m doing great. Totally together.”
“You lonely?”
The question jammed the spike through my throat. “Yes.”
Daniel kindly looked outside, where the rainwater rushed down. “You know what I hated?” he asked, still not looking at me. “I mean, not that it’s the same, divorce, but...well, I hated doing laundry after she left. When we were married, it was—God, I sound stupid.”
“No, I know what you mean. It’s like even your clothes are lonely.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“My husband had an ex-wife,” I heard myself say. “And they stayed in touch right up until he died, but I didn’t know about it. He saved all their emails, and I know I shouldn’t read them, but I’m pretty sure I will.”
“Don’t.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Kate. Don’t.”
“Why? Because then I’ll see that I was his runner-up? Because then I might find out that he was going to come home one night and say, ‘On second thought, Kate, I’m still in love with Madeleine. Can you move out this weekend?’” I took a hit of wine. “And no matter what they say or don’t say, he’s still dead. I’m still the widow, and I barely got to be a wife.”