“What was with that IM? The ‘Thunder Road’ stuff?”
“My lame attempt at romancing you. I should have stuck to Dylan. Or Leonard Cohen.”
“Did I break up your marriage?”
He shook his head. “No. Lila and I didn’t need any help doing that.”
“Are you sad?”
He nodded. “I’m sad. I’m happy, too. And excited. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay.” Sad. She could work with that. She’d been sad before, too.
Suddenly there was so much to say, things she’d been wanting to tell him for so long that it didn’t seem possible to get them all out fast enough.
“Patsy’s pregnant,” she said. “And that plumber whose number you gave me ripped me off. Oh, and do I need a certificate of occupancy?”
“No. Did you tell Carl I gave you his number?”
“It wasn’t Carl. It was Ray.”
He shook his head. “Ray’s no good. You have to see Carl. It’s not Jacob’s, is it? Patsy’s baby.”
“Jimmy Roy’s. They slept together the night of the opening, apparently. Carl’s in Antibes.”
He whistled. “You’re kidding.”
“Antibes?”
“Jimmy Roy.”
“Did you notice? She’s walking around like Eartha Kitt. All slinky and sexy. She’s practically purring. She’s happy, though. I can see it, she’s really happy.”
It was growing dark. I’m scared, she thought. “Hey,” she said, pointing. “Is that the North Star?”
“Um . . . no. You have to look over there, toward the north. Did you ask to talk to Carl?”
“You didn’t say I had to talk to Carl.”
“I most certainly did.”
“Are we dating now?”
“Well, I think we’re just together. Is that okay? If we just be together?”
In response, she squeezed his hand.
“How is she? Lila?”
“Good. Okay. We got it all figured out. I’ll have to buy her out of the business, but she’s actually being very cool about it. And listen, I want you to know—it was me who asked for the divorce.”
Pru nodded. “I’m glad to know that. Oh! I was going to tell you about these weird-but-good cookies one of our customers makes. Chocolate chip-oatmeal, but get this—salty. She brought some in for us to try one day. You should think about selling them.”
They talked about the new display she was planning for the front window, and what John would have in the pastry case tomorrow morning, and whether or not the water cooler she ordered would finally arrive. While they talked, softly, in the dusk, she thought about how, soon, they would walk back toward Columbia Road holding hands, and she wondered where they would spend the night. She thought about Kate and her new love, and if their new loves would like each other. The dark settled in around them, and she thought about Patsy’s new baby, and Fiona’s new baby, and all the new babies yet to come. Nadine had to come and live with them, now. A little shiver passed through her, and John pulled her closer to him, wrapping her arm around his back.
She couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
Acknowledgments
Thanks first and foremost to my beloved husband, Andrew, for defying all reason and common sense and believing in me every step of the way. Thanks to my families, of origin and in-lawism, for their love and encouragement and for being such damn funny people: Jim, Eileen, Paul, Leslie, Stephie, Gerry, and Lisa. I thank my faithful, whip-smart readers: Jamie, Reetie, Paulette, Anita, and Dana; the Worth Our Salt writing group, in Washington, D.C.: Eliza, Carollyne, Paula, and Anne; and the short-lived writing group in my living room: Marc, Frank, Aaron, and Cynthia, who were there to welcome Pru and Whoop into the world. My writing teachers, Lee K. Abbott, Rosellen Brown, and Jim Robison. Thanks to Art Silverman, Larry Massett, and Barrett Golding for getting my work on NPR. Thanks to the inestimable Gail Hochman, and to the patient, lovely, wise Sarah McGrath, and Sarah Stein, inestimable in her own right, at Riverhead. A hearty, caffeine-fueled thanks to Larry, April, and the rest of the crew at my refuge, the Arcadian Shop. Thanks to the best e-mail support group ever: Blobby, Morty, Jon San, and Ditto. Thanks to Dave and Lori for dinners and cheerleading, and to Cristina and Alisa, for taking over the love and care of my spawn in my absence; and thanks to the darling spawn themselves, the Peach and the Plum, for sharing their mommy with complete, fictitious strangers during their earliest, most formative years.
Without Gil, none of this would have happened.
