Phil grinned like a child showing his parents a straight-A report card. “Did I tell you my old landlord put the building on the market last year? All the tenants formed an association, and we turned it into a condominium. This place is mine.”
Not noticing my scowl, he strolled into the living room, where two matching moss green couches stood at right angles to the marble-faced fireplace. A hand-blown glass bowl filled with shells sat on the sleek table between the couches. He relaxed into one couch and motioned me to the other.
I sat rigidly, my knees pressing against the table’s edge. “Why did you tell Darla I tricked you into marrying me?”
His jaw dropped open. “I didn’t mean to. It slipped out. But don’t worry, she won’t tell anyone.”
“She was just at my house, and she threatened to.”
“No way. She’s not like that.” He was showing himself to be as naive as I once was.
“She may have already blabbed to Henry.” A tear trickled down my cheek and into the corner of my mouth. I was surprised I had any tears left inside me. “You promised never to tell anyone.”
He got up and moved to my couch. Sitting next to me, he reached for my hand.
I yanked it away. “Don’t touch me, you traitor!”
“I guess I’ve never been good at keeping secrets. Even when I’m sober, I talk too much.” His arm eased over the back of the couch, then around my shoulder. “I’ll call her and tell her to keep quiet.”
That wouldn’t work, I thought. Darla would always hold this information over me. My chest began shaking with my labored breathing. I tried to harden my melting features, but tears seeped out.
“Please don’t cry.” He pulled me closer. “You have nothing to feel bad about.” He wiped my cheek. “I’m not sorry I married you. Marrying you and having Rob were the best things I’ve ever done.”
“But I forced you to. And I almost aborted Rob.” The words strangled me, closing my windpipe. I could never admit to anyone that I had later contemplated giving Rob up for adoption to a complete stranger. “I wasn’t a very good mother.”
He kissed my cheek. “That’s all in the past.” For a long moment, our eyes locked. His lips neared mine. Then he kissed me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be swept into his powerful embrace.
He pulled back a few inches and sighed. “You still taste good.”
His lips brushed mine, but I pushed him away. “We can’t do this,” I said. “It’s wrong.”
“But this feels so right. What could it hurt?”
“Isn’t acting impetuously what got us into trouble in the first place?”
“But we were married once.”
“The key word is were.” It would be like leaping out of an airplane to see if the ground was still hard.
Phil lifted a strand of hair away from my face and carefully tucked it behind my ear. “I’ve never met a woman who could satisfy me like you did.”
My face was bathed in heat. “Not even Darla?”
“We don’t … I mean, she says we have to wait until after we’re married.”
I had to hand it to her this time; she had the right idea.
I found myself humming as I drove past the Seattle Asian Art Museum looking for a place to park. As my voice soared to hit a high note, I realized it was the Mozart piece I’d heard at Henry’s studio. Not wanting to think about him, I turned on the radio, found an oldies station, and began singing along with Elvis: “I can’t help falling in love with you.” That was no good either, I thought. Switching off the radio, I tried to concentrate on my driving.
Circling the brick water tower on the south side of Volunteer Park, I found a spot at the side of the road. As I backed in, I tapped the car behind me, setting off its alarm. Listening to the car’s siren beep and blare, I remembered Dad teaching me how to parallel park, but I’d never been very good at it. He’d taught me many things. I recalled his bringing the family to the park and climbing the water tower. We kids had scrambled up the stairs, our voices echoing as we dashed around madly, while Dad and Mom admired the view of downtown.
I hadn’t spoken to Dad since our discouraging conversation at the restaurant, and I wouldn’t do so until he and Mom reconciled, which could be never. Mom was beginning to worry me. I thought older people tended to suffer from depression, not incredible bursts of energy. But she’d sounded almost manic with her crazy talk about travel, and finding her roots, and signing up for a class called Independent Women and Finance. Was she really happier living as a single woman? Had she given up on reclaiming her marriage? No, I wasn’t going to think about Mom either, I decided. Not for an hour anyway.
Trying to ignore the alarm of the car behind me, I got out, plugged my ears and took off with long strides. My toe hit a crease in the sidewalk, and I started to teeter forward. Flailing out my arms, I regained my equilibrium but felt foolish, even though no one was watching. Which was stupid. Who cared what others thought? I’d spent too much of my life trying to keep up an image, when in reality no one probably noticed. They were likely too busy worrying about themselves.
Up ahead stood the imposing stone-faced museum, with its panels of metal and white glass at the center. I heard running water from the fountains and inhaled the pungent smell of spent marigolds. Glancing toward the other side of the road, I could see Noguchi’s Black Sun, a mammoth doughnut-shaped sculpture. Below it lay the reservoir, a round body of water.
Moving toward the front door, I saw the larger-than-life camel statues reclining on either side of me.
