Staring into the nubbly carpet, I searched for a witty answer to placate his hunger, but found none.
“We’ll do it your way,” he said with a sigh. “Good things are worth waiting for.” He massaged the back of my neck, then my shoulder. “But first I want to show you the rest of my abode.” He guided me through to the kitchen, then his bedroom. With its brocade quilt, accent pillows, and matching Roman shades, it looked as though a decorator had picked out every item in one fell swoop, giving the rooms a sterile feel.
“Someday you could watch the sunset from my waterbed,” he said, then gave the bed a push, sending an undulating wave across its surface.
I didn’t enter beyond a step or two.
At eleven thirty, we said our final good nights at my front door. When he left, I wandered into my kitchen to check for phone messages.
“This is Henry Marsh,” I heard. “It’s seven o’clock. I’ll call back tomorrow.”
As I listened to my morning coffee spatter in the coffeemaker, I contemplated not walking with the Mom’s Brigade. I might just stay at home, but what would I do? Wait for Henry’s call? No, I refused to sit by the phone like a high-school sophomore hoping the senior jock would ask her to the prom.
I found my walking shoes, snapped on Charlie’s leash, and headed out the door. The silver clouds looked tissue-paper thin and would probably burn off into a sunny afternoon, but a cool wind tickled my face, making my ears tingle. I spotted Laurie at the corner wearing a fleece jacket I hadn’t seen since last winter.
“It’s freezing out here,” she said, and rubbed her hands together. “I hope those other two get here soon so we can get moving.”
At that moment Erika, her hair tucked under a knit cap, rounded the corner. Five minutes later Susan drove up in her minivan and jumped out, panting. “I’m sorry, but the telephone rang as I was going out the door.” The others rolled their eyes.
It was too chilly for dawdling; I noticed the group was moving faster than our summer speed. Even Charlie acted friskier, standing on his back feet and straining at the leash.
“I can’t believe how fat I’m getting,” Susan said once she’d regained her breath. “That’s one reason I was late. I couldn’t find anything to wear. I was five pounds lighter when I weighed myself last week. Where did it come from?”
With the greatest diplomacy, and without mentioning that Susan’s sweatpants had been fitting snugly for months, we each recounted our various diets and exercise routines.
“I tried that already, and it didn’t work for me,” was Susan’s answer to every suggestion.
“Hey, everyone, did I tell you about our trip to Kauai in December?” Erika asked, slowing down and giving her hips a hula swish. “Picture me and Jonathan strolling barefoot on the beach after a day of snorkeling. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”
“Don’t get near me when you come home,” Susan shot back with a laugh. “I avoid suntanned people all winter.”
“Hey, I deserve it.”
“Dave’s been promising me a vacation for a year,” Laurie said, sounding like a pouting child about to throw a tantrum. “But I’ve given up. Unless work’s involved, he’s not interested.”
“He’s a hardworking man,” I said. I remembered our discussion about Christian men at Barnes and Noble and added, “There are worse things. He could get his nose pierced and dye his hair orange.”
“Not Dave,” she said. “He’s too uptight. He wears the exact same thing every day. Boring.”
I was growing weary of Laurie’s bellyaching. “Boring beats unpredictable or reckless.”
“I agree,” Erika said.
“Ooh. Look at that guy,” Laurie said, as a lanky runner sprinted by.
I glared at her and arched an eyebrow.
“I’m only looking,” she said.
The phone was ringing as I opened my door. Charging in, my limbs seemed to move in slow motion. I nabbed the receiver and brought it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Marguerite?” I recognized Henry’s voice.
My tongue felt too large for my mouth, but I managed to say, “Henry, how’s it going?” in an offhand manner.
“The truth is, not well.” His voice sounded mechanical, like a computer-generated message. “I’ve acted very badly. Please, forgive me.”
“For what?”
“Teachers should never get involved with their students on a personal level. This is the first time I’ve crossed that line.”
“I’m hardly a schoolgirl.” I didn’t know whether I was annoyed or hurt.
“I realize that, and some might find me old-fashioned, but I believe it’s for the best.”
“You didn’t come on to me. I invited you to my parents’ house.”
“As I recall, I invited myself.”
“I didn’t mind.” I remembered how happy I’d been when he admired my painting. “And my parents liked you.”
“I liked them, too. Very much. The problem’s not with you.” He paused long enough for me to wonder if we’d been disconnected. Then he said, “Truth is, I’m choosing not to date anyone.”
Not dating anyone, or not dating me? “Don’t worry, it was no big deal,” I said. “If you like, we can pretend the whole thing never happened.” Although I couldn’t imagine how I would accomplish that feat.
“Thank you.” He sounded more at ease. “I would like to talk to you about your work sometime. How long since you last painted?”
With an affected laugh I said, “I can’t remember,” which wasn’t true. I could well recall my final unfinished painting, a self-portrait. I’d depicted myself sitting in the window seat of the apartment Phil and I shared. I wore a peasant blouse, its soft neckline shirred by a ribbon that tied in the front. My long hair, which hung almost to my waist, had been braided on top of my head and was intertwined with daisies. With most of the larger areas of the painting finished, I’d one day lost interest and never completed it. I’d left the work sitting on my easel for several months. Then, to make room for a new piece of furniture—was
