I wanted numbness; I didn’t want to feel or think about Vivian, but it seemed that the only time I could find oblivion was in the hours that London was in school, when I buried myself in work. On Wednesday, I continued to bury myself in Taglieri’s second commercial before finally sending it off to the editor for polishing and finalizing. After that, I worked on the presentation for the surgeon on Thursday afternoon. I was proposing a different campaign than I’d recommended for Taglieri—a much higher online presence and user-friendly website, a heavy emphasis on patient testimonials on video, direct mail, social media, and billboards—and even though I was far less than a hundred percent during the presentation, I left the meeting the following day with a handshake agreement knowing I’d landed my second client. Like Taglieri, he’d committed to a year of services.
With those two clients, I realized that I’d replaced nearly half of my previous salary, not counting bonuses. It was enough to meet my monthly obligations with a few trims here and there, and made it significantly easier when I picked up the phone and canceled our joint credit cards.
I let Vivian know via text.
Vivian called me later that night. Since my ill-advised adventure in Atlanta on Monday, I’d allowed London to answer the phone as soon as I saw Vivian’s image pop up on the screen. London let me know that Vivian would be calling me back later. As she headed up the stairs to get ready for bed, I wondered whether she’d figured out that things had changed between her mother and me, or that we were no longer going to be a family.
While I waited for her call, I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I couldn’t help it. I would imagine hearing her apologize or say that she was coming home, and yet, like the turbulence of my emotions, those thoughts would be replaced with the memory of what Liz had told me, or that the only reason Vivian was calling was because I’d canceled the credit cards, and she wanted to let me know how angry she was.
The push and pull left me exhausted, and by the time the phone finally did ring, I had little emotional energy to expend, no matter what she might say.
I let the phone ring four times before finally connecting the call.
“Hi,” I said. “London said you’d be calling.”
“Hi, Russ,” she said. Her voice was calm, as if nothing had changed between us at all. “How are you?”
I wondered if she really cared or was simply being polite; I wondered why I felt the need to try to read her, instead of letting the call simply unfold.
“I’m fine,” I forced out. “You?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “London sounds like she might be coming down with a cold.”
“She didn’t say anything to me.”
“She didn’t to me, either. I could hear it in her voice, though. Make sure she’s taking her vitamins and maybe get her some orange juice in the morning. She’ll probably need some children’s cold medicine, too.”
“How can she get a cold? It’s almost ninety degrees outside.”
“She’s in school. New kids, new germs. It happens in every school at the beginning of the year.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll have to run out to get some orange juice and the medicine, but she’s been taking her vitamins.”
“Don’t forget,” she said. “And anyway, I was calling for a couple of reasons. First, I’m coming to Charlotte this weekend. I really miss London and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to spend some uninterrupted time with her.”
But not me.
“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “She’d love that. She misses you, too.”
“Good. Thank you.” I could hear her relief and wondered why she’d anticipated any other reaction. “But here’s the thing. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me stay in a hotel. I think that would be very strange for her.”
I frowned. “Why would you stay at a hotel? You can stay at the house. We have a guest room.”
“I think she’d notice if I slept in the guest room. Even if she doesn’t notice, I don’t think we should put her in the position where she asks the three of us to do things together. I would really like it to be just the two of us, for her sake. So she doesn’t get confused.”
“What are you saying?”
“Would you mind staying with your parents? Or maybe with Marge and Liz? On Friday and Saturday night?”
I could feel my blood pressure spike.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Russ. I’m not. Please. I know I’m asking a lot, but I don’t want to make things any harder on London than they already are.”
Or maybe, I thought, you’d rather it not be any harder on you.
I let the silence crackle between us.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “I guess I can ask Marge. My parents are going to be out of town.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Remember that London has dance on Friday night, and then art class on Saturday morning, so you probably won’t have time to do yoga.”
“I’ve always put my daughter first, Russ. You know that.”
“You’ve been a great mom,” I conceded. “Oh, for art class, you’ll need to bring the vase she made last week. This weekend, she’ll be painting it.”
“Where is it?”
“I put it in the pantry. Top shelf, on the right.”
“Got it,” she said. “Oh, one last thing.”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if you had time for a late lunch tomorrow. Around one thirty? We need to talk before I have to pick up London from school.”
Despite everything, I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought of sitting across the table from her. Of seeing her.
“Of course,” I said. “Where?”
She named a place we both knew, a place we’d eaten many times before. Including, once, on our anniversary.
I hung up the phone, wondering if it was an omen.
“Of course you can stay with us,” Marge said into the receiver. I’d just returned from the grocery store and was putting the orange juice into the refrigerator before calling her. “You’ll have to promise not to walk around in your droopy underwear or drink your coffee at the table without a shirt on, though. In fact, don’t even pack any droopy underwear, okay?”
“Do you even know me?”
“Of course. Why do you think I’m pointing these things out?”
“I promise.”
“We won’t be around on Saturday, though. You’ll be on your own. A friend of ours is having a housewarming party.”
No wife, no London, no parents, and now, no sister to see on the weekend. I wondered when the last time was that I was utterly on my own, figuring it had been years since something like that had happened.
“No worries. I have work.”
“I’ll still call you, just to make sure you’re okay. But back to Vivian. Are you sure lunch is such a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Whenever someone says ‘we need to talk,’ it’s never a good thing.”
“Believe me when I say I’m not expecting much.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “You remember what Liz said, right? She’s not going to tell you that she wants to come back.”
“Liz told you what we talked about?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But I know you, and it’s not too hard to figure out what you might ask her. And because I know her, I also know what she told you. It’s not as though the two of us haven’t had a million discussions about what’s going on. It’s been a hot topic around the old homestead these days.”
“There are better things for the two of you to discuss than my marriage.”
“And you’d be right ninety-nine percent of the time,” she said. “But lately? We’re definitely in that pesky one percent.”
“What else are you saying to each other?”
“We talk about how much you’re hurting, and that we don’t know what to say or do to make it better. You’re such a good man, such a good father. It isn’t fair.”
I couldn’t help but choke up a bit. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Of course I do. Big sister, remember?”