“Okay, pal, I just have to ask: Has anything like this ever happened before?”
“No, absolutely not! I would never intentionally injure my wife.”
When Ray walked through the door of the Randolph home, both he and Debbie froze for a moment.
Grant stood by the doorway and looked at Barbara.
Barbara silently stared at Grant.
The silence for a few moments was deafening. Then, Barbara stood, and Grant rushed toward her.
They hugged and cried. Debbie dabbed away tears from the corners of her eyes.
Ray put his arm around Debbie’s shoulders and whispered, “I think that’s our cue to get the hell out of here.”
Debbie nodded. As they turned to leave, she looked back and saw her two closest friends holding each other, completely unaware of the presence of anyone else in the room.
That afternoon, Grant and Barbara unraveled the mystery of what had happened fourteen hours earlier.
It took Barbara time before she could raise the issue of Kitty. Grant acknowledged that there was sexual tension between the two of them and that Kitty, in her free-spirited way, had made it clear that she was open to both of them following their desires wherever they led.
Having explained that, Grant cuddled in beside Barbara on the couch and said, “Together, you and I have spent a lot of time around artists; we know they can be pretty casual about intimacy. I’d be lying if I told you that I don’t find Kitty attractive and tempting. I think a lot of guys would. But, it’s like this…”
While Grant gathered his thoughts, Barbara kissed him softly on the cheek. Finally, he began: “If you love someone, you have to be invested deeply in your relationship. Temptation comes along one or more times, but if you give into that desire, it’s like cutting a hole in the bottom of your pocket. Everything you are together is because of what you have shared in the past and are hoping to share in the future. If you’re not careful, all of that, just like gold coins, can fall out the bottom of your pocket and be lost. Perhaps, forever. That's not a smart thing to do.”
Barbara nodded, “Is that your way of saying you don’t want to lose what we’ve built together?”
“Absolutely! With all my heart.”
They spent the rest of Sunday afternoon in bed, naked, wrapped tightly around each other.
Moving his head up from where his lips caressed her neck, reaching for her mouth, Grant grazed her bruised jaw and saw Barbara wince. He gently kissed her and told her again how deeply sorry he was.
“Perhaps I should lay off the strength training.”
“Are you kidding? I love your arms, and I love your shoulders! Just don't take a swing in my direction and I'll be happy. You don’t know it, but you can pack one helluva wallop.”
“It’s a deal. And you promise not to crown me with any oversized coffee table art books because I’ve done something stupid.”
They kissed and laughed. Exhausted from two days and one very long night with little if any rest, they both fell into a deep sleep.
For the next few days, the Randolphs happily hid from the rest of the world.
On Wednesday, with home delivery of The Standard, the darker side of life in a town where everyone knows your name found them once again.
Chapter Twelve
Ray was the first to notice the lead in Bradley’s “Heard About Town” column.
He called out, “Oh my God! Debbie, you’ve got to get in here!”
As Debbie read, all the color went out of her face. She became so angry at what Warren had written that she started to shake.
“That malicious little man! This is just disgraceful! Raymond, what are you going to do about this?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know what I mean,” she retorted. “When we were telling Grant and Barbara what a beautiful and peaceful place Sausalito is, we never dreamed of anything like this.”
“What I’d like to do,” Ray said, “is pick up that nasty little troll by the scruff of his neck and slap him senseless.”
“But what you’d like to do, and what you can do, Ray, are two different things.”
They both sat silently for a moment, staring out at a picture book view of the bay.
“Should we call Barbara and Grant?” Debbie asked.
“I’ve never heard them say a word about looking at The Standard, although I guess Grant checks it for coverage of the arts commission if nothing else.”
They toyed with the thought that perhaps their friends would not see the piece but decided that was wishful thinking. One of his fellow commission members was sure to ask Grant about what had happened.
“We have to let them know what this little weasel Bradley put in the paper,” Ray said, regretting there was no other logical thing to do. “Deb, call them and see if they’re home; tell them we have something we need to share with them.”
The Siricas arrived at the Grants to find them blissfully enjoying their day. Barbara made client calls that morning from home. She and Grant decided to spend the afternoon working together on the small garden that hugged their side patio.
Debbie and Ray knew that they would be ruining what appeared to be a peaceful moment, but they resolved it was better for the two of them to hear this news from friends.
Barbara insisted that they sit down at the patio table and she would bring out something to drink. Her guests sat down but waved off the beverages.
The bruising along Barbara’s left jawline was already much improved but remained visible. Grant, still uncomfortable over the embarrassment of what the two of them now called “The mother of all misunderstandings,” pulled off the gardening gloves he had been weeding with and sat down as well.
Debbie smiled and pushed Ray’s knee under the table, as if to say: Please, go first!
Ray pulled the new issue of The Standard from his back pocket. He laid the paper
