“About what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She has everything a woman could want. A nice house. A couple of good kids and I’m not so bad.”
“She wants a kiln,” I said. He laughed and shook his head. “You’re a great husband, Charlie. I’m sure she just isn’t feeling well.”
“She’s never feeling well. I have married the greatest hypochondriac who ever lived.” He smiled, then laughed again. It wasn’t exactly a happy laugh.
When we got home, the table was set and ready for us, as if Winnie knew just how far to push Charlie without pushing him over the edge. The boys were in their pajamas and sitting in front of the television in the family room watching a cartoon about a big yellow sponge.
It was the picture of domestic happiness.
Chapter 13
On Tuesday morning, I drove into the city from the suburbs to close the office for the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Tad was leaving to spend time with his family in Colorado.
Jack Reilly’s story was sitting on my desk, even though everything else had been tucked away by Tad’s organized hand. I fingered the pages.
“Jane,” Tad asked, “what are you really looking for? Is it Jack Reilly or is it something else?”
“Jack Reilly, of course,” I said. “What’s so hard to understand about that?”
“I think you’re looking for something else,” Tad said. I tapped my nails on the desk.
“You did a nice job of cleaning up the place,” I said. “The office has never looked so good.” Tad ignored me.
“You’re looking for the feeling you had when you were just starting out, when you thought the world was full of possibility.”
“I still think the world is full of possibility,” I said. I could feel my whole body tense, from my teeth to my toes. He was right. There was something I still wanted, some level of success, some public acknowledgment. Even me, with my shy ways. I wanted a new discovery and, ideally, a new love.
Max might show up at the Maples’ for Thanksgiving and I needed him to think that I had done something important with my life. In my head, I knew that I had. I had evidence of it. But in my heart, I felt unimportant, unpolished, and somehow lacking. A woman who doesn’t leave home until it is absolutely forced upon her could hardly have something to offer a man who catapulted early into a world of fame and glamour.
“Well, we can’t find Jack Reilly,” Tad said.
“You can find anyone these days.”
“Maybe you should hire someone,” Tad said.
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. A private detective.”
“A private detective? That sounds so silly. It sounds like something you’d do if you were a character on TV.”
“People do it. If they didn’t, there wouldn’t be all these names in the yellow pages.” He took the telephone book from the table behind his desk. He’d marked a page with a Post-it. He opened the book and put it in front of me. “I checked it out,” he said. His smile was shy, as if he wasn’t sure how I would take this. He ran his forefinger over the listings. “This is my favorite,” he said. “Hope Bliss Investigations.”
There couldn’t be too many people with that name. Could this be my childhood friend? We had fallen out of touch years ago, though I couldn’t remember why.
Maybe Hope Bliss was a sign.
“Let’s think about it over the holidays,” I said, ever the girl to grab the bull by the horns. This was something I really wanted and still I held back. Maybe I just had to drag it out a little longer, let the fantasy linger. Besides, I planned to go up to Vermont during the holidays to check out the address that was tucked in my wallet. Wouldn’t it be more fun to come face-to-face with Jack Reilly and offer him the fellowship than to let someone else find him?
I pulled an envelope out of my canvas tote and gave it to Tad. Inside was a very large check, a Christmas present.
“We could call now,” Tad pressed, without opening the envelope.
“Let’s wait. Maybe he’ll turn up.”
“Not likely.”
I shrugged. “Come on. We’re finished. Get out of here. Start your vacation.”
“Are you sure?” He held the envelope but still didn’t open it.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I guess I won’t see you, then, until after Christmas.” He reached under his desk and pulled out a box. It was wrapped in Christmas paper and had a lopsided bow perched at the corner. “I wrapped it myself,” he said.
I smiled. “You didn’t have to get me a present.”
“I know.”
I looked at it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Now?”
“Of course now,” he said.
I picked at the tape with what was left of my chewed fingernails.
“Rip it,” he said. I looked up. “Come on. I know you can do it.”
I made a special point of shredding the wrapping paper with gusto. I opened the box and separated the tissue paper. Inside was a brown leather tote. The leather was so buttery I could have used it as a pillow.
“This is elegant,” I said, which was the highest praise I knew how to give any type of clothing or accessory.
“My mother helped me pick it out when she came to visit,” he said. “We thought it was perfect for you.”
I stood up and put it on my shoulder. “I wish we had a mirror.” I thought for a second. “Wait, I do have one.” I dug around in my old bag and found a small compact with a cracked mirror. I opened it and tried to hold it away from me so I could see myself holding Tad’s present. It didn’t work. In the end, I held the bag to my face and rested my cheek on the soft leather. “I’m overwhelmed.”
“It’s only a bag,” he said, but he looked pleased.
He was wrong. It was so much more than a bag. It was a gesture. I felt a little teary but turned away so Tad wouldn’t see it. I think he knew, though, because he smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
When he walked out the door, I realized I’d miss him. Funny that it never occurred to me to miss Teddy, Miranda, or even Priscilla.
Winnie’s mother-in-law, Marion, came over to the house that afternoon. She bustled over with a basket of homemade cookies like an ancient Red Riding Hood. While she was there, Winnie let the boys eat all the cookies, except for the few we managed to hold back for the adults. Trey spilled a bottle of cranberry juice on the kitchen floor and Theo kept walking through the room like a soldier, saying, “I want a scooter for Christmas. I want a scooter for Christmas.”
When Winnie went in to clean up the juice, which I was afraid she wouldn’t do—she sat in the family room sipping tea long after we heard the crash—Marion turned toward me. “The children are wild animals. She doesn’t discipline them at all.”
It was at this moment that Theo came in shouting, “I want a scooter. I want a scooter.”
“Theo, get over here, young man,” his grandmother said. He came toward her with a look of expectation, but she grabbed him by the front of his collar and pulled him toward her with a rough fist. “Stop it. Stop it right now. We
