Patsy looked at her, resentfully. “Thank you, Voice of Reason,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” said Pru, and left the room.
Twenty-one
A few days later, she was sitting behind the counter at peach. The morning sun was coming in the tall front window of the shop, making the blue-gray walls glow like deep ocean water, and she was watching John fix a giant hole she’d made while trying to screw in a wall anchor with her new most prized possession, an eighteen-volt Black & Decker FireStorm cordless drill.
It was the first time he’d been there since the opening. She’d run into him at the café that morning, where she’d stopped for a coffee before work. It had been a foolish impulse. She had come to the conclusion that the only thing she could do now was to avoid seeing him altogether. She wasn’t any closer to controlling her feelings now than she’d been five months ago, the night they’d spent together. It was also foolish to agree to let him come back with her and look around the shop, but she hadn’t been able to think of any kind of rational reason why he couldn’t.
She was gazing at him absently, admiring the way men seemed to know how to fix all sorts of little problems, when his shirt came untucked from the waistband of his jeans to expose the tiniest little grab of skin. Pru’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t what you’d call a roll, in any way, but it was the kind of extra flesh forty-year-old men get, even those who spend most of the day on their feet and don’t shy away from physical labor. The sight of this skin—warm, she was sure—made her palms itchy. She remembered running her hands there. Before she knew what she was doing, her mouth opened and she said, “John.”
He turned around and came down off the ladder, concern instantly splashed across his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She must have sounded as if she was having a heart attack and, really, it almost felt that way.
She wanted to say, “Nothing,” but she knew this was a moment that might never come again. Here she’d introduced the possibility of something serious. If Jimmy Roy can do it, she thought, so can I. She heard Patsy’s voice in her ear saying: “Breathe!”
She looked at her hands. They were as familiar and as reassuring as anything in the world.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
It was as if she’d opened her mouth and a hundred birds had flown out. She was shocked, and so was he. It wasn’t exactly what she’d intended to say. Rather, it was exactly what she’d intended to say. She just hoped it would have come out a shade more nuanced. She squeezed her eyes shut. No matter what he said, she figured, it had to be better than shlumping around, pretending everything was just fine. Fine! Great! Friends. Inside there was a huge sense of relief; indeed, she had been holding a hundred birds there for the last six months. She was about to laugh, she felt so good.
Then she opened her eyes, and saw his face. He looked stern and unhappy. He was looking at his feet, frowning. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t take it back. She didn’t want to. She certainly hadn’t chosen to fall in love with him. Out of nowhere, she thought of Big Whoop. She wished she could go home, scoop him up, and bury her nose in his fur.
Then John said out loud, “I don’t know what to say.” He looked furious, suddenly, and embarrassed.
The door opened and Annali came dashing in with Jenny on her leash, followed by Patsy. As soon as they saw Pru and John, they came to a stop, their laughter dying away.
“Oopsie,” said Patsy, looking from John to Pru and back again. Annali was about to run to her, but Patsy held her by the shoulders.
“Come on, honey, let’s take the dog around the block again.”
“No, Mommy, I want to stay with Prudy . . .”
“Annali.”
“It’s okay,” Pru said. “We’re done.”
John turned and, nodding absently at Patsy, strode straight out the door.
“Hello and good-bye,” Patsy said, looking at Pru. “What the hell happened?”
She couldn’t speak. She only shook her head, and looked up at the ceiling, blinking.
The door opened again and a young woman poked her head inside. “Hi,” she said, “you open yet?”
“Yes,” Pru said. “Come on in.”
“Did you—” Patsy hissed, clutching her arm.
“Not now.”
“Just tell me—”
“Later.”
BUT LATER, IT WAS MC KAY AND BILL SHE TOLD, HAVING accepted a strong Billtini but passing on the cookies. They were in their customary seats, around the TV in the living room. Bill and McKay had decided to postpone buying a place until after the wedding. Thank God, she thought. She wanted them never to move, never to change.
“The funny thing is,” she said, “I don’t feel as humiliated as I thought I would. Being dumped by Rudy was a hell of a lot worse, somehow.”
Bill had put down his computer magazine, and McKay had gone so far as to mute the TV. Even Oxo came in and sat quietly at her feet, as if she were listening, too.
“Look,” said McKay. “Good for you.”
“I agree,” said Bill.
“What’s his kink anyway, that he stays with her?” said McKay. “Okay, so he wants to be a good guy—isn’t this going a little far, to prove it?”
“I don’t think he’s trying to prove anything,” Pru said. “She had a miscarriage, just before they broke up. I think that had a lot to do with it. I think it’s one of the reasons she left, and why he felt like he had to give the marriage another chance.”
“Fine,” McKay said, “but enough already. They’ve been back together, what, since Christmas? And I just saw you two mooning over each other at the opening. He certainly didn’t seem like a man in love with his wife.”
She changed her mind
