Together Alone Read online

  “But what if I lose? I’ve been wanting to do this for years.”

  “There’s your answer,” Kay said. “Listen, it’s getting late. I want to finish this book tonight. When do you go in?”

  “Tomorrow night. Emily’s driving me. The surgery is first thing Thursday morning. Will you come see me?”

  “Thursday night. I told you I would.”

  “You won’t laugh if it looks awful, will you?”

  “I won’t laugh. And it will look awful, at first. Then it’ll look gorgeous.”

  Hearing it from Kay, who wasn’t into vanity, made Celeste feel better.

  “Do me a favor, Celeste? Give Emily a call. She’s waiting to hear from Doug. She tried calling him at his usual hotel, but he wasn’t registered there. She’s feeling rattled.”

  “Well, of course, she would,” Celeste said with a measure of disgust. “What’s wrong with the man? Would it have hurt him to give her the right hotel? Doesn’t he know how much he means to her? Is he blind? Or just male. Insensitivity is such a male thing. Same with irresponsibility. And they say we’re flighty. Hah!”

  “Uh, forget calling Emily. You’ll only rile her up.”

  “No, I won’t. You just got me going. Men really are rats. What’s yours doing?”

  “As we speak? Mine is sitting in the other room, thinking about all the dirty little things he did to girls when he was eighteen, and imagining some randy guy doing them to Marilee.”

  Celeste was intrigued. “What dirty little things did John do?”

  “You’d have to ask him that. He never did them to me. Where I was concerned, he went by the book.”

  “If the book was the Kama-sutra—”

  “Celeste. Please.”

  “Okay. I’m calling Emily. Catch you later.”

  Emily had a roll of new wallpaper unwound on the living room floor and was on her hands and knees, measuring off strips, when the phone rang. The paper arced and curled when she jumped up, but she didn’t give it a second thought over the rush of relief she felt. She had been waiting forever for Doug to call.

  “It’s not Doug,” Celeste said without preamble. “Still no word?”

  Emily let out a disappointed breath. “Not yet.” She glanced at her watch. It was after ten. “He may, still. I just wish I knew where he was.”

  “Do you know who he’s with?”

  “No. He has five accounts in Baltimore. He could be with any one of them. I should have asked before he left, but my mind was on Jill. Same thing when he called last night. I should have showed more interest in what he was doing.”

  “Oh no, don’t go blaming yourself, Emily. This isn’t your fault. If Doug had any inkling of what you’re going through this week, he’d have volunteered that information and more. He should be pampering you a little.”

  “I don’t need pampering.”

  “Every woman needs pampering. Every person needs it. I actually think men get it more than we do. Some irony, them being the stronger sex and all, yuk, yuk. But there must be some strong ones out there. Maybe I can ferret out a few. Want one?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll stick with Doug. If he ever calls.”

  “He’ll call.”

  “But I wanted to talk with him tonight.” It was strange, when she thought of it, the urgency she felt. She was the one who didn’t want a tenant. Now she was rushing to cement the deal.

  She guessed it was because of Brian Stasek and his daughter. They were lost souls. If the garage apartment could help them gain their footing, something good would come of renting out the space.

  “I think,” Celeste was saying, “that men have a sixth sense that tells them when we most want something. Then they know not to give it. Jackson always hit it right on the nose.”

  “Doug is not Jackson.”

  “And thank God for that, though I do think you should tell him off, Emily. He should tell you where he’s staying. He should give you a detailed itinerary each time he leaves home. My dream guy will definitely do that. No. I take that back. My dream guy won’t travel. He’ll be here every night.”

  “Mmmm. That does sound nice.” The call-waiting clicked, sending her stomach jangling. “There’s the other line. It must be Doug. Let’s talk in the morning.” She touched the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Emily.”

  “Doug.” She let out a breath. “Doug. Where are you?”

  “In Baltimore. Why?”

  “Where in Baltimore?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I tried calling you.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah,” she said, annoyed. The problem should have been obvious to him. “I couldn’t reach you.”

  “Is there a problem?” he bit out.

  His sharpness took her back. “You mean, with Jill? No.”

  “Then why were you trying to call?”

  Because you’re my husband and I miss you. Because my only child is gone and I need your voice to remind me that I’m not as alone as I feel.

  But she didn’t want to sound like a whiner, or a clinger, so she simply said, “I wanted to talk with you about the garage apartment. I found someone to rent it, a man who’s joining our police department. He was a detective in New York, but his wife just died, and he has a little girl to take care of, so he’s looking for something quiet.” She assumed he was also looking for an escape from memories. Maybe a new start. She envied him that.

  “Isn’t the garage too small for a man with a child?” Doug asked.

  “He says that something small will be easier to take care of. He’s also willing to help get it ready. He doesn’t start with the department for two weeks. He claims he can have it done by then.”

  “How many months’ free rent does he want, in exchange for doing the work?”

  “He didn’t mention anything about that.”

  “I’m sure he had it in mind.”

  Emily wasn’t so sure. She really wasn’t. “He asked how much the rent would be, and I didn’t know. How much do you want?”

  “Nine hundred.”

  “A month? You’re kidding.”

  “There’s no harm shooting high. Besides, we have to go out now and buy a refrigerator, a stove, cabinets.”

  “Nine hundred is too high.” She would choke on the words, before she got them out of her mouth in front of Brian.

  “It’s a one-bedroom apartment.”

  “It’s little more than a studio, Doug, that second room is so small. Grannick isn’t Boston. It isn’t even Worcester.”

  “Eight hundred, then.

  “Five. I can’t gouge the man.” She pictured Brian and Julia, and knew she couldn’t. “If I asked anything more, he’d laugh in my face. He isn’t a hayseed. He’s from Manhattan. He knows what a fair price is, and even if he did agree to it, I’d feel like a piece of dirt every month when he came to hand over the check. We can live nicely with an extra five hundred a month.”

  “We have to pay for appliances.”

  “That’s a capital investment—like taking the proceeds from the sale of the farm and putting them into your business. It pays off. So even if every cent of that rent for the first few months goes for appliances, at the end of the time we’ll have a fully equipped apartment bringing in rent free and clear.”

  “What about utilities?”

  “Okay. He can pay for those himself.” She couldn’t imagine they would amount to much in such a small space. “But the rent should be five.”

  “God, you’re a lousy businesswoman.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not charging a cent more.”

  “Fine. So why did you need to talk with me?”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it, stunned, after the fact, by her boldness. What did she know about setting rent? Only that nine, even eight, was too high. “I, uh, just wanted to verify it, I guess. Before I put it to Brian.”

  “Brian.”

  “Stasek. The detective.” Why did she feel guilty using his first name? Be
cause Doug had a way of making her feel guilty. It was nothing new. “I also wanted to know about a budget for appliances and fixtures and things.”

  “You had the answer to the rent. You must have the answer to that one, too.”

  He was annoyed. She softened her tone. “I haven’t really thought it out. It’s been a long time since I’ve bought major appliances. I have no idea what prices are like.”

  “Well, find out. I can’t. I’m too busy. It’s been one hell of a week, meetings running overtime, people uncooperative. I won’t even make it to Philadelphia until the day after tomorrow. I don’t see how I can get home before late Saturday.”

  Emily was crushed. “Doug.”

  “It’s not like I have control over this.”

  “I’ve been telling myself Thursday night, Thursday night, Thursday night. I’ve been baking. I’ve been planning.”

  “Planning what?”

  “A picnic. A hike up Bee Hill. Antiquing in Great Barrington.”

  “We don’t go antiquing.”

  “We used to go all the time, when we first moved here.”

  “That was when we dreamed of buying one of the Victorians on LaGrange and furnishing it with antiques, but that dream is dead, Emily. We own a perfectly good house. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Not even antiquing just for the fun of it?” she asked. She didn’t want a new house. All she wanted was to spend time with Doug.

  “If I were doing anything just for the fun of it, I would be playing golf.”

  She nearly laughed. “You don’t play golf.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Golf?”

  “It’s a business tool. There’s many a CEO I’ve brought around to my way of thinking over the span of eighteen holes.”

  Emily was dumbfounded. The image ran counter to the one she had always held of Doug in a borrowed executive office, with papers covering the desk, people running in and out, and secretaries typing up his ideas as quickly as he could spew them out. “But you don’t know how to play golf,” she argued, perhaps stupidly, but she was feeling bewildered.

  “I learned. It’s not hard to pick up.”

  “What about golf shoes, clubs?”

  “I rent, or borrow.”

  “I’m stunned.” It was a whole other side of him that she hadn’t known about. “You never said a word.”

  “I never had cause. It’s something I do for business. Like I said, if I had free time I’d do it for fun, too, but I don’t have free time, and, anyway, Grannick doesn’t have a golf course, so it’s irrelevant.”

  “Not to me,” she cried, hurt enough to say, “I don’t know who you are sometimes, Doug.”

  He sighed. “Look, it’s been a long day. I have to be at work by seven in the morning. Can’t we discuss this when I get home?”

  “When? If you’re not coming home until Saturday night and you’ll be leaving again Sunday afternoon, when do we talk?”

  “Sunday morning. Okay?”

  He sounded more irked than conciliatory, making her feel guilty again, like she was a nag. But it was the first time she had asked. It was the first time she’d had to. Always before he had been around more.

  Well, maybe not much more. But when Jill was home, she hadn’t minded so much.

  It was only one weekend lost. She supposed she shouldn’t panic. Still, the vision came to her of an endless string of months and years, with Doug stopping in to have his laundry done one, maybe two days a week. Not much of a marriage. Not much of a life.

  “Emily?”

  She felt like crying. “Sunday morning. Okay.”

  “I’ll call you when I get to Phillie.”

  “Fine.” She hung up the phone, only then realizing that she still didn’t know where he was, which meant she couldn’t call him back, even if she wanted to, not that she did. He burned her each time they talked.

  She didn’t know what his problem was.

  She did know that he hadn’t asked about Jill. Or about her.

  And she still didn’t know how much to spend on materials for the garage apartment.

  five

  EMILY ATTACKED THE WALLS OF THE DOWNSTAIRS bathroom not to please Doug, since he wouldn’t even be home to see until Saturday night—Saturday night—but to keep herself busy. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to brood, didn’t want to fear. She didn’t want to go out walking, either. So she piped in Thelonius Monk and pushed herself until the last strip was up, squeegied, and wiped clean, and when all that was done, she covered the light switches.

  By then it was three in the morning, and her body was tired. So she took the long, hot bath that she had rarely had time for before, even threw in a capful of the scented bath oil Jill had given her on the occasion of wishful thinking.

  She slept for all of two hours, waking with the sun, needing to be busy again. By seven in the morning, when Doug would be getting to work, she was in the apartment over the garage with pen and paper, making a list of what she was going to need.

  At the top of the list was a cordless phone. Doug had a separate business line with an answering service, so she didn’t worry about his calls. She did worry about calls from Jill. She didn’t want to miss one while she was working on the apartment, and when the work was done, well, she could talk on the phone sitting with Myra under the willow.

  Everyone else had a cordless phone. It was high time the Arkins did, too—and to hell with any protest Doug might make. He had told her to make decisions regarding the apartment. Well, she would.

  She listed cleaning supplies. She listed appliances and kitchen cabinets, and took measurements for each. She listed a sander, which she could rent, and varnish. She listed a ceiling fan, because even this early in the morning, with both windows open, the place was hot. Besides, a ceiling fan mounted high in the center of the large room would be a nice touch.

  She listed paint for the woodwork and walls, and flooring for the bathroom. She listed light fixtures for each of the rooms, because the bare bulbs that had sufficed up to now were harsh. And she listed new locks.

  She bought the phone and the cleaning supplies on her first trip into Grannick, and on her way home, stopped for coffee. While she waited in line with workmen, most of whom she knew from years of going to Nell’s, she snagged an electrician and a plumber to stop by the garage later in the day.

  Pleased to have already accomplished something, she returned home and, by eight-thirty, was at work.

  Across town, in a small room in the Grannick Lodge, Brian Stasek rummaged through his duffle bag. He was sure he had a clean pair of jeans. He had done the wash two days before—had spent half the goddamned night running back and forth to the laundry room doing four mammoth loads—and was sure he had washed some jeans. He tossed T-shirts, socks, and shorts out of the duffle. He turned to the dresser and rifled through the drawers, then tore into the closet.

  The jeans were on the top shelf. He grabbed them down and swore when the motel’s spare blankets came with them. “Not my day,” he muttered, stuffing the blankets back up. At least Julia was quiet. She was a little lump amid a scattering of Cheerios in front of the television, stoned on a sippy-cup of juice.

  She had fused most of the night. She was beat.

  So was he. He had worried most of the night, convinced in turn that she was sick, in pain, or dying. He had finally fallen asleep to dream that he had left the room to do more laundry and returned to find the place engulfed in flames. He could hear Julia screaming, but he couldn’t get through the fire, couldn’t do anything to save her.

  He had bolted awake in a sweat, heart racing, nerves raw. He didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him that he was feeling helpless about Gayle’s death. When it came to Julia, he was feeling helpless about most everything.

  They needed to be settled. He planned to give Julia a bath and dress her up so that she looked too pretty to resist, then clean himself up so that he wasn’t frightening, then drive over to Emily Arkin’s house and beg f
or mercy.

  Gayle would have said the place was too small, but Gayle wasn’t here—and, besides, Gayle had always gravitated toward sleek leather, chrome, and marble. She wouldn’t understand his desire for wood, or the warmth he had felt in that little, unfinished, over-the-garage space. It was different enough from his previous life to speak to him of new beginnings. He needed things warm and fresh. He needed that apartment.

  When a knock came at the door, he snapped his jeans and drew it open. The manager, a reedy sort, peered nervously past him into the room. “Is your daughter all right?” he asked.

  “She’s fine.”

  “I had reports that she was crying last night.”

  Something of an accusatory nature made Brian wary. “Who did you hear that from?”

  “People in other rooms. We had some calls, but I told the night manager not to disturb you.” He gave a thin laugh. “I have children of my own. They just won’t shut up some times. These are cramped quarters. How is your apartment search coming?”

  “It’s coming.”

  “Have you found anything?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, that’s good. When will you be checking out?”

  Brian’s wariness grew. He didn’t like being rushed. “I’m not sure. Is there a problem with my staying here?”

  “Well, this isn’t a good place for a child so young.”

  “The Grannick Lodge is billed as a family motel.”

  “Most of our children are older.”

  Brian started to burn. He was paying dearly for this room, and in ways other than the green. “I’ve had to listen to their older noise every night for a week. It keeps waking up my daughter. Maybe you ought to be talking with them.”

  “They don’t stay more than two or three days. You’re staying longer than most.” He looked beyond Brian again. “It’s too bad we can’t get in here to give the place a good cleaning, but with clothes and toys all over the place, well—” He shrugged.

  Brian fixed the man with a stare that wiped the smarmy smile from his face. In a low voice, he said, “As long as you take my money, you’ll make my bed, put fresh sheets on my daughter’s crib, clean the bathroom, and vacuum the rugs, and you’ll continue to do it until I check out, or you’ll have a discrimination suit on your hands so big and so fast that you won’t know what hit you.”