Winter
2011
A
thick rind of ice coats the trees and snow glazes the branches. The
leaves on the rhododendrons make small clinking sounds, like distant
wind chimes, in the breeze. The wind whistles around the corners of
the house, making the shingles creak under its pressure. The snow
falls thickly in large flakes. A snowplow rumbles down the street;
its vibrations shiver through the house.
She nestles into the space between his body and the back of the couch,
tucking her lower leg beneath his. She presses her fingers into the
juncture of his jaw and neck and makes him flinch. “Cold hands,”
she says.
“No kidding. Mind taking them off of my neck?” he asks, opening his eyes a little.
“I’m cold,” she says insistently. She wedges an elbow under his ribs and leans more closely on his chest. She rests her chin on him and waits.
His arm reaches around her and pulls a blanket off the back of the couch. It settles down around them with a quiet whoosh. “You could have gotten it yourself,” he points out.
“Easier for you,” she defends herself. “Listen to that wind.” She angles an arm so that she is propped up on her elbow. Her fingers brush at his hair, combing it back from his face. It’s salted with gray now, but she still pictures him with the same dark brown he had when they first met. She hopes that by the time he’s completely gray, she’ll have adjusted and will be able to see the changes. Her own hair would probably have some gray in it, too, if she ever missed an appointment with her hairdresser.
Something falls to floor upstairs and they both look up. “I thought they were asleep,” she frowns at the ceiling. Her head drops on to his shoulder and she sighs.
“I’ll go,” he offers. He moves a hand to her ribcage and pushes a little, trying to slip out from under her. “I think it’s my turn to be the bad guy anyway.”
She kicks the blanket away and untangles their legs. “No, it’s okay.” She kneels over him and pats his chest. “I’ll take care of it. You can take care of the fireplace.” She leans over him and kisses him. “Don’t fall asleep,” she warns.
“Yes’m.” He nods, his eyes already drifting shut again. He hears her sigh as she leaves the room. The treads squeak under her feet and the noises above him stop suddenly. Even though he is downstairs, he knows what the scene will look like upstairs. The children are still too young to think quickly and they will be frozen in place, waiting to see if her shadow passes by the door. It won’t. She’ll open the door and urge them into their own rooms and their own beds. Light kisses on warm cheeks and sleepy goodnights will follow. He rolls to his side and listens to the sounds of the house and falls back to sleep.
Late Spring 2004
Spring was spinning into summer. Sunshine and longer days were weaving a tapestry of yellows and greens. The cherry blossoms had faded and were falling to the ground, forming puddles of pink leaves around the city.
The late afternoon sunshine had turned the bullpen a yellow gold. On his way to his office, he glanced at her door. It was closed, but her blinds were open and he could see her on the phone. Her elbow rested on her desk and her head was cradled in her hand, pressing against the space between her thumb and forefinger. It amazed him how easily they had slipped into their old roles of co-workers and friends. If their relationship lacked the warmth it once had, at least it was closer than it was when he had returned to work. But if he hadn’t been an active participant in their – what should he call it? affair? one night stand? just sex? – he never would have believed it had happened.
He was picking up his messages when he noticed she was off the phone. At first, he thought that she had somehow managed to leave her office without walking by him. Then, he saw the arc of her back over the top of her desk. He knocked on her office door and opened it without waiting for a response. “Mac?”
She jerked upright; her hair settled around her jaw as she tried to focus on him.
“Everything all right?”
“All right?” she echoed, then shook her head a little. “I, uh, yes. Everything’s fine.”
He narrowed his eyes and lowered himself into one of the chairs facing her desk. Her gaze drifted around her office, refusing to settle on him. He followed it as he waited for her to speak to him. When she only twisted a pen in her hands, he commented, “You know, this is nice. Having windows, I mean.”
She sniffled a little and pretended to smile. Her lips curved before dipping down. “It adds to the atmosphere,” she said distantly. She exhaled slowly and realigned a file with the edge of her blotter. “I should probably get to work.”
Instead of picking up her cue, he leaned back against his chair and crossed his legs. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying,” he said bluntly.
“How?” she asked loudly, then quickly lowered her voice. “How can you tell? I fixed that lip thing years ago.”
“Aha,” he pointed a finger at her, “so you are lying.”
“No. Yes,” she sighed. “I don’t know.” She laid her hands on the desk, folding them in front of her, and bit her lip.
“Well, which is it?” he asked confused. He shifted in his seat, edging forward to lean his elbows on his knees.
“We need to talk,” she said at last.
“Uh oh,” he muttered. “That’s never good.” He stood up and walked around her office. Pacing its confines, he paused to straighten a picture on the wall. He eyed the distance to the door and tried to calculate how many steps it would take to leave the small room.
“Um,” she licked her lips and paused, “no, I guess not.” Combing her fingers through her hair, she propped her head in her hand and stared out the window.
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” he asked. He began to think of all the possibilities, creating and rejecting horrible scenarios in his mind. He settled on the most plausible explanation. “Is Webb back in town?”
“No,” she drew the word out, “this has nothing to do with him.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I just got off the phone with my doctor.”
“Oh.” He studied her face and suddenly he knew what she needed to tell him. “Oh.”
“Apparently, your little swimmers have pretty good aim.” She buried her face in her hands as she said this, dragging them down her face and pulling at the skin.
“But you-” he broke off and lowered himself into the chair again. “You – we were protected.”
“We were,” she agreed and shrugged. Shuddering out a slow breath, she tried to keep her tone light as she added, “Well, they do say the only foolproof method is abstinence. We certainly didn’t go that route.”
A corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he snorted lightly. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and tried to think of something to say. “I think,” he stopped his sentence and ran a hand over his head.
“Can you? Because, I’ve got to say, I’m not so sure I can.” She rocked her chair a little and finally looked at him.
“No,” he answered. The sounds from the bullpen were beginning to trickle back into the room. He could hear the telephones ringing and the voices calling to each other. “I need a little time to digest this I think.”
She waved a hand weakly and dropped her sight to her desk. “Go.”
He skirted around her desk. Turning her chair around to face him, he crouched down in front of her. A lock of her hair fell forward and he tucked it behind her ear again, tracing the shell of her ear with his finger. “It’ll be okay.”
Nodding, she sniffled, “I know.”
“Uh,” he wished that he could think of something to say. “Should we have dinner tonight?”
She shrugged and knit her fingers together in her lap. “Maybe.” Freeing her hands, she patted him on the shoulder, dusting her fingers over it. “I really just want to be alone right now. I know this is a shock to you, too, but I just really need to be alone.”
Rising, he nodded and placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I’ll, um, I’ll stop by a little later, okay?”
She grasped his hand and clung to it before letting him go. “I’ll see you later,” she said as he was closing the door. He smiled at her through the glass before hurrying back to his office.
A knock on his office door startled him and Harriet’s head peeked around the door when she heard his enter. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “I just saw the Colonel and she asked me to tell you she’s gone home for the day.” She paused and added, “Is she okay, sir? She looked a little tired.”
He nodded. “She’s fine. Thank you.” When she shut the door, he leaned back into his chair. He picked up his phone and started to dial her cell phone. Hanging up before it could ring, he sighed in disgust. Steepling his fingers together, he wondered how long it would be before he could catch more than a glimpse of her again. This, he thought, was not supposed to happen. He was unprepared for this, had never even considered it. He was going to be a father.