Monday, while Hannah was at school and Leah was napping, I started on the west-facing side of the house, pulling mounds of rotting organic material from the gutters. The April air was brisk, but the waterlogged leaves were held together by thawing ice, making removal easier. I did the same thing to the east side of the house the next day.
I noticed the grass getting long and searched my memory for when Greg usually did the first cut. Sometime in April or May? I’d have to tackle the riding mower at some point when I wasn’t exhausted from gutter cleaning. I realized I hadn’t given Greg the credit he deserved, as most of the husband duties around the house were turning out to be the more physical variety. My arms and back ached, and fleetingly, I thought about how fantastic a massage would feel. Only then did I realize that I had never offered one, in all the years being married, as Greg performed backbreaking labor in our home. Maybe he found someone who would massage out every kink.
Tuesday evening, I made a quick dinner of chicken nuggets and peas—about which Hannah complained—read appropriate bedtime stories, and tucked the girls into bed. I sat in the dimly lit living room, drinking a glass of white wine and staring blankly at the phone. Dreading the call I knew I had to make, I dialed the familiar number.
When Drew picked up, he sounded genuinely happy to hear from me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” I blurted.
He chuckled softly. “I was starting to wonder.”
“No, I’m…” I swirled the wine in my glass, thinking of how to explain. I drew a blank. “Just getting through, I guess. How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m working on another print series.”
“Really? Tell me about it?”
“Are you sure? You might be offended.”
“Of course.”
“It’s… um… businessmen. At lunchtime. In public parks… with women.”
No wonder he had been hesitant. I was speechless. “Really? Isn’t that… wrong or something?”
“No. I have permission to use the images from men and women in the picture. So it’s not actually wrong, but it does look like clandestine affairs. But the weird part is most of the people I approached were husbands and wives meeting for lunch. So, innocent and harmless. But my photographs paint a slightly different picture.”
“And they didn’t mind?”
“Nope. In fact, most of them thought it was pretty cool. There were a few people who weren’t married, and it ended up being… uh, a thing.”
“A thing?” I laughed. “What kind of thing?”
“I got punched in the face once.”
“You did not! Drew, that’s terrible!”
“No, I’ve never been punched before. I felt kind of accomplished. Turns out the guy was cheating on his wife. I wouldn’t delete the picture in front of him, so he demanded my camera. I said, ‘No way.’ So he punched me. Turns out, photography is a contact sport.”
“I miss you!” I blurted.
After a long pause, he said, “I miss you, too, Claire.”
“But…?” I could hear the silent ‘but’ as clear as day. I’d become so accustomed to it.
“But… nothing. Well, I’m seeing someone.”
Of course. What did I want? What did I expect? Did it matter? I hadn’t called him for anything other than friendship. Then why did my chest ache? I didn’t want to think about it. “Good!” I said enthusiastically. “Tell me about her.”
“Maybe another time, okay?” His voice was gentle. I felt the impending dismissal before he said it.
“Well, I should go anyway,” I said. “I think Leah is awake.” Another lie. “Call me soon, okay? I want to hear about the new woman in your life when we both have more time.” I forced a laugh.
“Are you all right? You sound kind of… maniacal, actually.”
“I’m fine. But I’ve gotta go. Leah is crying. Love you. Call me later, okay? Bye.” I hung up. Why is everything so complicated?
Chapter 21
The Saturday before Leah’s first birthday party, Drew is coming for dinner and drinks and will spend the night in the guest room before the big party. Sarah is flying in tomorrow morning, and Drew will pick her up at the airport while Greg and I take care of last minute party things. The girls are at my parents to keep them out of the way. The weather has been warm for early September. Indian summer. I am weeding the garden; sweat is running down my forehead. I wipe my brow and feel a kiss between my shoulder blades. I turn to face Greg, who kisses me on the mouth. We’re both covered in dirt and perspiration.
“Hi!” I laugh. “What was that for?”
“You just looked beautiful.” In the rise and fall of marital tides, we are at a high. He pulls me out of the garden and onto the grass. “I can’t believe Leah is going to be a year old already.”
“I know. It’s crazy. It happened so fast. She’s still a baby.”
“Our last baby, unless…” His hands go to the top of my jeans, slowly unbuttoning. He kisses my stomach. “Unless you want to make another one…”
“Greg,” I hiss. “The neighbors.”
“What neighbors?” He pushes up my shirt.