june
GREEN SALAD WITH WHITE BALSAMIC VINAIGRETTE
STEAMED LOBSTERS WITH MELTED BUTTER
POTATO SALAD
KEY LIME PIE
A WEEK AFTER THE MAY dinner-party, Fran was still jittery with excitement. Something had passed between her and Coop. A charge. A frisson. Whenever Fran thought of it, she felt a shudder of excitement, a delicious sensation she distantly remembered from younger days, when a crush ran his hand down her back or brushed the hair away from her face.
At first, Fran had wondered if the moment had been one-sided. But Coop had been uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the evening, which made sense. If he was having feelings for her—the wife of his oldest friend—of course it would bother him. Just look at what happened that day on the boat, all those years ago.
The question was, what was she going to do now?
I can’t do anything. I’m married. I would never cheat on Will, Fran kept telling herself. But then, a minute later, she’d think, But I have to find out if Coop is having the same feelings that I’m having. I have to see him. And I have to do it alone, not when Will and the girls are around. But when? And what will I say?
These thoughts swirled around and around, refusing to dislodge themselves. Coop hovered in her consciousness while she packed lunches and vacuumed, and even while she was working with one of her physical therapy patients. He was quickly becoming an obsession, which was both exhilarating and exhausting.
What do I do? I can’t do anything. But why can’t I? Will, that’s why. But Will and I barely even touch anymore, much less have sex. Aren’t I too young to already be a celibate, to have all of my life’s passion behind me? Fran wondered, as she chopped tomatoes for the chicken Cobb salad they were having for dinner. She always added extra avocado and blue cheese and dressed it in a tarragon vinaigrette.
“Bye, Mom.”
Fran looked up to see a flash of black pass by the kitchen door.
“Iris?” she called out. “Where are you going?”
“Over to Hannah’s,” Iris called back.
Fran heard the front door open. “Wait! Come back here,” she said.
“I’m going to be late!”
“Then you’ll be late,” Fran said.
Iris huffed, but closed the door and returned slowly, reluctantly to the kitchen. Fran looked at her daughter and recoiled.
“What in God’s name did you do to your hair?” she asked.
Iris rolled her eyes, which were rimmed with thick black kohl liner. Her bangs had been inexpertly cut. They were far too short—ending an inch above her eyebrows—and had been curled under, probably to disguise the uneven ends.
“I cut it,” Iris said, on the defensive, as usual.
“But it’s …” Fran had been about to say it’s awful, but stopped herself. It was hard enough being a teenage girl as it was, and she didn’t want Iris to feel self-conscious. Then again, she had to know it didn’t look good. “Did you cut it yourself?”
“Yes. And I like it like this,” Iris said.
It’s just hair. It will grow back, Fran told herself.
“In the future, let me know when you want to change your style and I’ll take you to the salon,” Fran said.
Iris just shrugged and picked at her dark purple nails. “Can I go?”
“No. Go wash your face first,” Fran said.
“What! Why?”
“Don’t raise your voice, young lady. You’re not going out of the house with that much eye makeup on,” Fran said. She had a flash of déjà vu, and it suddenly occurred to Fran that she’d had nearly the same conversation with her own mother when she was a teenager.
Great, Fran thought. I really have turned into my mother. And suddenly she felt decrepit, and a million miles away from the girl wearing the blue bikini who Coop had come close to kissing all those years ago.
“I’m just going over to Hannah’s. Why does it matter if I’m wearing eye makeup?” Iris said.
She has a point, Fran thought. What harm is there in a little eyeliner—okay, a lot of eyeliner—if she’s just doing her math homework? Sure, Hannah’s mother will judge me for letting her out like that. Then again, Hannah’s mother wears her hair too blond and her shorts too short, so who is she to judge anyone?
“Okay, fine, go,” Fran said.
“Really?” Iris looked unsettled at the easy victory.
“You’re just going to Hannah’s? You two aren’t going to the mall or out anywhere else?”
“No, we’ll be at her house the whole time,” Iris promised.
“Okay, good. Call me if you change locations,” Fran said.
Iris looked like she couldn’t believe her luck. “Okay, bye,” she said, turning and hurrying out of the house before Fran could change her mind.
The phone rang, and Fran picked it up. “Hello?”
“Fran, it’s Jaime.” She sounded half-hysterical, and one of the children was wailing in the background. “Is Iris there?”
“Hey. No, she just left. Why, what’s wrong?”
“Logan shut his hand in the door. I need to take him in for X-rays, and I can’t get hold of Mark, and I need to find someone to watch Ava,” Jaime said. The cacophony of screams in the background got louder. Jaime sounded like she was on the verge of tears herself.
“Oh, no, poor Logan. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you so much,” Jaime said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Just give me five minutes,” Fran promised.
WHEN MARK GOT HOME, Jaime was in the middle of reorganizing their closet. It had suddenly occurred to her that she really should organize her clothes so that they hung not just by season and by type—skirts with skirts, jackets with jackets—but also by color. As soon as Ava and Logan had gone to bed—without argument, for once, as they were both too exhausted from the trauma of the day to fight sleep—she’d headed upstairs to tackle the project, and was still in the midst of the reorganization when Mark appeared at the closet door, looking confused.
“What are you doing?”
Jaime, who was sorting her jeans—white to light rinse to dark rinse to black—glanced up at him. His face was flushed with a healthy sheen, as though he’d been out in the fresh air.
She wondered if she looked as tired and hollowed-out as she felt. Her eyes were sore from the steady trickle of tears, her neck was stiff, and her head was buzzing with echoes of Logan’s cries. She supposed she should have put some thought into what she was going to say to her husband.
“I’m reorganizing the closet,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“Work, the tennis club. Why? Is something wrong?”
“You never called me back. I left you a bunch of messages. But you never called me back,” Jaime said.
Mark took a step toward her, concern flickering. “What happened? Is everyone all right? Logan? Ava?”
“They’re both fine. At least, they are now. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“It ran out of power. I didn’t notice until I went to check my messages on the way home from the club.”
“I’ve been trying to call you for six hours. You didn’t notice your phone was out of power that entire time?”
Mark shrugged. “No. I’ve been too busy. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Jaime turned her attention to her shirts. White, white, pink, yellow, blue, pink and blue striped. She hesitated, and then switched the pink and the yellow around, so that it was pink, pink and blue stripe, blue. Much better.
“Jaime?”
“Logan shut his hand in the bedroom door,” Jaime said without turning around.
“Aw, poor guy.”
Jaime looked over her shoulder at her husband, underwhelmed by his reaction. “I had to take him in for X-rays.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Did he break anything?”
“No. But he was really upset. He was in quite a bit of pain,” Jaime said. “And I couldn’t get ahold of you, so Fran had to come over and watch Ava while I took Logan to the doctor.”
“I told you, my phone was out of power.”
“I tried calling you at work, too. April said you were out of the office.”
“I had a client meeting,” Mark said. “And then I was at the club.”
“And I tried calling the tennis club. They said you weren’t there,” Jaime said, turning to look directly at her husband for the first time. She wanted to see how he reacted to this news.
This was as close as she’d ever come to asking him outright if he was having an affair. Mark frowned, and, Jaime thought, looked confused.
“But I was there. Em and I were playing on the back court. Maybe the girl in the office didn’t know we were there. You can’t see that court from where she sits,” Mark said.
“She seemed pretty sure you weren’t. She wouldn’t go check, even when I said it was an emergency.”
Mark shrugged. “She probably just couldn’t be bothered to get up off her ass. I’ll say something to Becky about it.”
“No, don’t. The girl in the tennis club isn’t the problem. The problem is that you were out of touch in the middle of a family crisis,” Jaime said. She folded her arms over her chest.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Mark said. He sighed and rubbed his temples. “It really wasn’t an emergency, was it? Did Logan really need to have X-rays, or were you just overreacting? You tend to do that whenever the kids get even the smallest bump or bruise.”
Jaime was aware that Mark was engaging in what she always liked to call his lawyer arguing tactic. Rather than discussing why he had been out of contact for such an extended period of time—and the effect this had on his family—he wanted to instead go on the attack, challenging her decision to take Logan to the doctor. Rather than defend the indefensible, refocus the argument. But even though Jaime knew what Mark was doing—and knew that she should keep him on point—she was infuriated at this challenge to her judgment. Mark hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen Logan screaming with pain. Not just fear—although, of course, he had certainly been scared—but in actual pain.
“How can you say that I was overreacting, that it wasn’t a crisis, when you weren’t even here?”
“Kids shut their hands in doors all the time. I know Emily did it once or twice when she was little, and we never took her for X-rays.” Mark shrugged out of his sweaty T-shirt and tossed it on top of the laundry hamper.
Jaime’s throat grew thick with anger and tears stung in her eyes. She blinked, willing herself not to cry. It always happened when she was angry, and then Mark would accuse her of trying to manipulate him with tears.
“Logan’s hand turned red and began swelling. I called the pediatrician’s office and spoke to Dr. Hung’s nurse. She was the one who told me to take Logan in for X-rays. She said that kids his age have soft bones that are easily damaged,” Jaime said.
“But she hadn’t seen Logan at that point, right? She was basically just giving you the worst case scenario. Look, I’m not criticizing you,” Mark said.
The hell you’re not, Jaime thought.
“I know you did what you thought was right. But if Logan’s fine—and he is fine, right?—well, then, you just got yourself worked up over nothing,” Mark said.
“I am not worked up over nothing! I’m upset because you weren’t there when I needed you,” Jaime said.
“I told you, my phone was out of power. It’s not like I was deliberately avoiding you. I was at work,” Mark said.
“And at the tennis club,” Jaime said.
Mark’s face hardened. “Is that what this is about? You don’t like me spending time at the club with my daughter, so you manufacture a crisis so you have something to be angry at me about?”
“Manufacture a crisis?” Jaime echoed, staring at her husband in disbelief. “Do you think I wanted Logan to shut his hand in the door?”
“No. But you might work what’s basically a minor household incident up into a major drama just to try to make me feel guilty. I mean, how bad could it have been if you’re now cleaning out the closet?” Mark asked.
Jaime could feel her grip slipping. Tears brimmed in her eyes, causing her vision to go blurry. “I’m not cleaning, I’m organizing. Because it makes me feel better. Calmer. And you weren’t here, so you don’t know how bad it was. But I’ll tell you—it was horrible. Logan was screaming in pain, and I didn’t know what to do.”
Mark’s expression softened. “That must have been very scary.”
“It was.” Jaime drew in a ragged breath. “And I kept trying to call you, and you wouldn’t pick up.”
“Because my phone was out of power.”
“But I didn’t know that. I just couldn’t get you, and I needed you. We needed you,” Jaime said.
Mark leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry my phone was out of power.”
This was nothing short of a major victory. Mark never apologized for anything. Jaime could feel her anger ebbing, soothed by his admission that he had let her down. Or, at least, he’d come as close to admitting that as he ever would.
“And now you think I’m being some sort of a drama queen,” Jaime said, sniffling. It occurred to her that sobbing uncontrollably tended to reinforce Mark’s view of her as a drama queen, but she couldn’t seem to stem the flow of tears. It had been such a long and difficult day.
“No, I don’t. I just said that because I felt like you were attacking me,” Mark said. Jaime leaned against him, too tired to stay angry.
“I didn’t mean to attack you. I was just so scared. What if Logan had been seriously hurt? I couldn’t bear it,” Jaime said. A shudder went through her as she remembered Logan’s wails of pain. Just the idea of him being seriously injured made her sick to her stomach.
“I couldn’t, either. Thank God he’s fine.” Mark kissed the top of her head. “Is there any wine?”
“Yes. I opened a bottle earlier.”
“Great, I could use a glass. Can I get you one?”
“Sure, thanks,” Jaime said, giving him a watery smile.
It wasn’t until after he’d walked out of the closet, whistling softly, that Jaime realized he’d never explained why he—the man who was practically surgically attached to his phone—had failed to notice it had been out of power for hours.
AUDREY LAY ON HER back with the sheet pulled up to cover her breasts and stared up at the ceiling fan, which was turning so slowly she could count each rotation. One, two, three, four, five. It was oddly hypnotizing. She could almost forget that she had, yet again, ended up in bed with Coop on her lunch hour. And this time, they hadn’t even gotten to the lunch part of the date.
“You’re being very quiet. What are you thinking about?” Coop asked.
Audrey turned toward him. Coop was lying on his stomach, his head resting on folded arms.
“What am I thinking about?” Audrey snorted. “Please.”
“What?”
“Your entire gender lives in terror of what the response to that question might be,” Audrey said.
Coop grinned at her. He has an annoyingly sexy grin, Audrey thought. I really need to stop letting it have such an effect on me.
“I think I just disproved your thesis. I am a man, this is real life, and I am interested in hearing what you’re thinking about. Especially if it’s along the lines of, ‘Wow, Coop is a beast in the bedroom. I never knew sex could be so damn good.’ ”
Audrey giggled and then thought, Did I really just giggle? I’m lying naked in bed, with a man I hardly know and now I’m giggling. Nothing good can come of this.
“Not even close,” Audrey said.
“No? Damn. Well, I know it’s not anything along the lines of, ‘I’m not the sort of woman who does this.’ Right?”
“Why’s that?”
“Because that would be a cliché.”
“But people think in clichés all the time,” Audrey argued. “That’s what makes them clichés.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Audrey shrugged, then grabbed the sheet before it fell away. “I’m not the sort of woman who does this.”
Coop groaned and buried his face in his pillow.
“But I’m not,” Audrey said. “This feels … I don’t know. Weird.”
Coop looked back up at her, shaking his head. “Weird. Great. That’s just the review I was hoping for. ‘How’s Coop in bed?’ ‘Well, actually, he makes me feel weird.’ It’s what every guy wants to hear.”
“Who am I supposedly having this conversation about your sexual prowess with?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that what women talk to each other about?”
“Not in my experience.”
“Really? I thought there was an entire television show about four chicks sitting in a coffee shop talking about their sex lives.”
“Sex and the City. Which is, by the way, a fictional show. And what I meant by the weirdness is that this”—she waved an arm around, encompassing the bed, the room, the sunshine streaming in through the tilted blinds—“is out of my comfort zone. I normally spend my lunch hour eating a turkey sandwich at my desk.”
Coop kissed her shoulder. “I think we can do better than that,” he murmured.
“Seriously? I thought men your age needed a longer rest period.”
“Ouch. Just for that …”
Coop pushed himself up on his arms and loomed over Audrey who shrieked and said, “Wait, no, you’re going to have to feed me first. I’m starving. And then I really do have to get back to work. I have a business to run. I can’t spend all day lolling around in bed with you.”
“Pity,” Coop said, but he got out of bed and pulled on first a pair of blue striped boxer shorts and then his faded blue Levi’s. He glanced at Audrey, who was admiring the effect of a tanned male torso. “Come on, lazybones. Let’s go rustle up some lunch.”
“Are we going out?” Audrey asked, sliding out of bed. She felt suddenly shy of her nudity, and turned her back to him as she dressed.
“No, I’ll cook.”
“Can you cook?”
“I sure hope so. I have the whole dinner party club coming over in three days.”
“What are you making, anyway? You haven’t emailed out your menu.”
“Am I supposed to do that?”
Audrey, now fully dressed, turned to face Coop. “Everyone usually does. But it’s not like we have club bylaws or anything. Aren’t you going to put on a shirt?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Coop said. He grinned. “Why? Does the sight of my bare chest distract you?”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “What are we having for lunch?”
“I’m going to make you the best cheeseburger you’ve ever had in your life,” Coop said.
“Big talk. But can he deliver?”
“Watch and learn, sweetheart.”
Coop headed toward the kitchen. Intrigued, Audrey trailed after him. His apartment was small and spartan, and the kitchen was just off the living room. Bear, who had been sleeping on his rectangular hunter green bed in the living room, stood, shook himself, yawned widely, and padded into the kitchen after them.
“Where are you going to put everyone for the dinner party?” Audrey asked. There was a small square table in the living room, which doubled as Coop’s desk, but it wouldn’t seat more than four, and there wasn’t room to extend it.
“You’ll see,” Coop said.
“Why all the mystery?”
“I like to maintain an element of surprise at all times,” Coop said. He rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a package of meat wrapped in white paper. “Here’s my first secret: Butcher Bob’s secret blend.”
“Butcher Bob?” Audrey repeated. “That sounds like a character from a kids’ cartoon.”
“He’s my meat guy.”
“You have a meat guy?” Bear nosed at Audrey’s knee, and she leaned over to rub his head.
“Sure. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“You should. Everyone needs a good meat guy,” Coop said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Audrey said.
She leaned against the counter and watched Coop work. He formed the meat into three round patties, and then seasoned each patty on both sides with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.
“Three?” Audrey asked.
“One’s for Bear,” Coop explained.
Audrey smiled. Bear planted himself at Coop’s feet and stared intently up at the counter, as though willing one of the hamburgers to zoom off of the plate and right into his mouth. He licked his chops and began to pant.
Coop washed his hands, got out a skillet, and set it on the burner to heat up. Audrey could tell by the way he worked in the kitchen—competently, with an economy of movement—that he was comfortable there. It was surprisingly sexy. Ryan had never cooked. He always joked that he was even incapable of making toast. But as soon as this disloyal thought flitted into her head, Audrey felt a twinge of guilt.
Why do I keep comparing the two of them? she wondered.
“And here’s my second secret,” Coop said, reaching into the fridge again. He held up a package of bacon. “Something near and dear to Leland’s heart.”
“Bacon burgers? That sounds—” Audrey began.
“Amazing?” Coop interrupted.
“I was going to say completely decadent. But, yeah, it also sounds pretty amazing.”
“It’s going to sound even better when you see what else I’m putting on them,” Coop said, pulling out a triangular package of cheese with the air of a magician pulling off a master trick.
“Blue cheese?”
“And not just any blue cheese. This is Maytag blue cheese. The very best,” Coop said. “What do you think?”
What Audrey thought was that consuming a blue-cheese bacon burger in the middle of the day was about as out of character for her as having a nooner. But as soon as the bacon started to sizzle, her mouth began to water and she realized that she was suddenly craving a hamburger.
Coop cooked the bacon until it was crispy, then drained most of the grease from the pan, leaving behind a tablespoon. He added the meat patties to the pan, letting them sizzle in the fat, and flipped them after a few moments. Coop then added shavings of blue cheese to the patties and tented the pan with tinfoil.
“So the cheese will melt,” he explained helpfully.
“Is there anything I can do? I’m just standing here,” Audrey said.
“You’re being decorative.” Coop ducked from Audrey’s swat. “No, I’ve got it under control.”
Coop used a spatula to move two of the burgers from their pan to freshly sliced Kaiser rolls, garnished with lettuce and thick slices of tomato. He put the third burger in a plastic dog bowl, and set it on the ground for Bear, who attacked the food as though he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Lunch is served,” he said.
“Should I set the table?”
“No, it’s a nice day. Let’s go outside. What would you like to drink? Iced tea? Or would you prefer a beer?”
“Actually, a beer sounds great,” Audrey said.
Coop handed her a bottle of Guinness, got one for himself, and then they headed outside. The patio ran the length of the condo, and had a lovely view of the Intracoastal river. Like the rest of Coop’s apartment, the patio was sparingly decorated. There was a single lounge chair, a round table covered by a striped umbrella, two bistro chairs, and several palm trees in terra-cotta pots. Audrey and Coop sat at the table.
“Cheers,” Coop said, and they clinked their beer bottles together.
“What a great view. I would live out here,” Audrey said.
“I practically do,” Coop said. “I have my coffee out here every morning. Dig in and tell me what you think.”
Audrey had to open her mouth wide to fit the burger in. It was heaven. The meat was perfectly cooked and superbly enhanced by the smoky bacon and creamy blue cheese flavors. Juice dripped down, and Audrey had to lean forward, before it covered her shirt.
“Oh, my God,” she said, when she had swallowed and could finally speak.
Coop grinned. “Told you. Best burger you’ve ever had, right?”
“It seriously is. Amazing.”
“Nothing beats a good burger. If I were on death row, awaiting my execution, a bacon cheeseburger would definitely be on my last meal list,” Coop said.
Audrey had just bitten into her burger, which was inconvenient, as she now started to laugh.
“You could have anything in the world, and you’d choose a burger?” she said. “Not that this isn’t fantastic. But I think if it were me, I’d go for seared foie gras.”
“No, I’m a burger man. Although I’d want it served with deep fried onion rings and a chocolate shake.” Coop sighed with pleasure at the thought. “And a chocolate brownie for dessert. The fudgy kind. Vastly preferable to cakey brownies.”
“Agreed. But the brownie should be à la mode with coffee ice cream.” Audrey was getting into the exercise. “And topped with hot fudge sauce and toasted pecans.”
They grinned at each other. It was one of those practically perfect moments—good conversation, good food, a beautiful view. So, of course, it only made sense that things immediately went downhill.
“I think I’m going to have to disagree with you on the coffee ice cream. I’m a vanilla man myself,” Coop said.
“You wouldn’t feel that way if you’d tasted the coffee ice cream I had when I was in Cape Cod. It was at this place called Four Seas Ice Cream and was seriously the best I’ve ever had,” Audrey said.
“That seems like a long way to go for a cone,” Coop said.
“I don’t know, it was really good. But we went there for—” Audrey began and then stopped abruptly.
Coop looked at her questioningly. “For?”
Audrey swallowed and looked at her half-eaten burger, her appetite suddenly gone.
“Ryan and I spent two weeks on the Cape for our honeymoon,” she said.
“What part of the Cape? I’ve been to Martha’s Vineyard a few times,” Coop said conversationally, clearly oblivious to Audrey’s uneasiness.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Audrey said.
“What did your husband do?” Coop asked.
“I meant, let’s talk about something other than Ryan,” Audrey said.
Coop took a swig of his beer. “Why?”
“Because it makes me uncomfortable,” Audrey said.
“Why?” Coop asked again.
Audrey’s discomfort quickly morphed into irritation. “Because I don’t want to talk about him, that’s why.”
“Don’t you think he’s something we should be able to talk about?” Coop asked.
“No. I don’t.”
“Why are you getting so upset?”
“I’m not upset,” Audrey lied. “I just … look, it just feels weird enough to be here with you. Talking about him with you makes it worse.”
Coop studied her. “You think it’s disloyal to discuss your late husband with me?”
Audrey could feel her shoulders tensing up.
“Maybe. Are you trying to say that I should be over it by now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. People always assume that grief should have a time limit. Like it’s some sort of equation. X amount of time equals no more grief. But it doesn’t work that way.”
“How does it work?” Coop asked.
“It’s a process,” Audrey said.
“A process. Okay.” Coop regarded her. “Is part of that process that you’re going to feel like you’re cheating on him every time you’re with me?”
Audrey opened her mouth, ready to deny this. But instead, she found herself saying, “I don’t know. Maybe. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Coop nodded, taking this in. He took a sip of his beer. “What if I want to talk about it?”
“It’s not up to you.”
“That’s not actually how a relationship works. Even I know that,” Coop said. “We both get a say in what we talk about.”
“This isn’t a relationship. At least, it’s not that sort of a relationship. And my late husband has nothing to do with you,” Audrey said.
“It’s my business that every time we’re together, we seem to be having a great time, and then suddenly a shadow will cross over your face. And I can tell you’re feeling guilty for being happy,” Coop said.
Audrey shook her head.
“That’s not true,” she lied. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, look … I like spending time with you. But this”—she waved a hand between Coop and herself—“this isn’t serious. It’s just a fling.”
Coop sat back in his chair and picked up his beer. “A fling,” he repeated and shook his head.
Audrey hesitated. “Isn’t that what you thought it was?”
“As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t.”
Audrey felt her cheeks flush. I’m being such a jerk, she thought. Further evidence that I’m terrible at this. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she said awkwardly.
“I’ve been asked to go on a shoot that leaves out of the Bahamas,” Coop said.
“Oh.” Audrey blinked. “When?”
“I’d have to leave early next week and then I’d be gone for two months.”
Coop looked at her, clearly waiting to see how she’d react to this news. Strangely enough, considering her insistence a moment earlier that their relationship was nothing more than a fling, Audrey’s temper flared. He was giving her crap about not opening up and sharing with him, and all along, he’d been planning to skip town for two months and was just now telling her about it?
Audrey stared at Coop for a long, level moment. “How long has this plan been in the works?”
“I got the call this morning. The director they had slated to handle the shoot broke his ankle. I told them I’d think about it because I wanted to talk to you about it first.” Coop shot an unfriendly look at Audrey. “But in light of today’s discussion, I guess I’ll just go ahead and take it.”
Does he want me to beg him to stay? Audrey wondered, her own anger swelling. Well, that’s not about to happen.
“Good. I think you should,” Audrey said coolly.
“Okay, then,” Coop said, his tone equally chilly.
“I should get back to work.” Audrey raised her head, squared her shoulders, and turned, preparing to leave with as much of her dignity intact as possible. “And if I don’t see you before you leave, have a nice trip.”
“I’ll see you Saturday,” Coop said.
Audrey turned back. “Saturday?”
“The dinner party club.”
“Right. See you Saturday,” Audrey said. “Thanks for the burger.”
And with that, she turned and strode out of Coop’s apartment, wishing she’d managed to make her exit without tripping over the door jamb and also that she’d been clever enough to come up with a better exit line. The sort of zinger that Katharine Hepburn—wearing a fabulous trouser suit with padded shoulders—would say to Cary Grant, just before sweeping out of a room.
Somehow thanks for the burger didn’t quite cut it, Audrey thought, clutching her car keys so tightly her nails dug into her hand. She’d have to have a better exit line than that ready for Saturday night.
“SHOULD WE BE AFRAID?” Will asked when Coop opened the door to Will, Fran, and Leland.
“Of eating the best meal of your life?” Coop retorted.
“Just so you know, if you give me food poisoning, I will sue,” Will said, swatting Coop on the shoulder in greeting and handing him a bottle of wine. “I have no idea if this is any good, but it cost thirty bucks.”
“Will!” Fran said. “You’re not supposed to tell him how much you paid for the wine!”
“Why? I want to get credit for it,” Will said.
“Hey, Leland,” Coop said, shaking the older man’s hand.
Leland handed him a bottle, too.
“Bourbon,” Leland said succinctly. “The good stuff, to have after dinner. Will and Fran drove me over, so I can indulge.”
“I like the way you think,” Coop said.
He began dispensing drinks—champagne for Fran and Leland, a beer for Will—and just as soon as he was done, the doorbell rang again. This time it was Jaime and Mark.
“Sorry we’re late,” Jaime said.
“It was my fault. I had to try on five outfits before we could leave,” Mark said. “Oh, wait, no—that was Jaime.”
Jaime rolled her eyes. “As if. I was ready ages ago. You were the one who insisted on showering at the last minute.”
“I didn’t want to offend our friends with my post-tennis stinkiness,” Mark said.
“A fact that we are all grateful for,” Coop said. “Come in and get a drink.”
“Is everyone else here?” Jaime asked.
“Everyone but Audrey,” Coop said, hoping he sounded more casual than he felt.
He hated to admit it—even to himself—but he was nervous about seeing Audrey again. Their last meeting had not gone at all as planned. He’d meant to tell her that he was going to turn down the directing job, that he was enjoying their time together too much to leave. But then she’d become defensive and prickly, and suddenly he heard himself announce out of nowhere that he had decided to take the job. It had all gone pear-shaped, he thought, remembering this favorite line of his mother to describe any situation that got mixed up.
Jaime handed over a bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir. “I didn’t know what you’re serving, but the wine store guy said this is versatile and goes with just about everything.”
“Thank you,” Coop said. “What can I get you to drink?”
He went to get wine for the Wexlers while they joined the rest of the small group in Coop’s living room, munching on the cheese and crackers, watched intently by Bear.
“Come here, Bear,” Fran said, and the dog sidled over to her, his whole body wagging. Bear hooked his nose over her knee while she stroked his ears.
“Where are we eating?” Mark asked after Coop had returned with his wine. The small dining table wasn’t set.
“Out on the patio,” Coop said.
He’d moved the patio furniture into his bedroom for the evening and rented a long table and chairs from a party supply company. They’d also supplied linens and dishware, which meant that he wouldn’t have to deal with dirty dishes. He’d actually planned on having the dinner catered, too—that was the reason he hadn’t sent the menu out ahead of time, as he and the caterer had been trading phone calls—but at the last minute, he changed his mind and decided to cook. Having it catered would have been cheating. Why it mattered, he wasn’t sure, but for some reason it did.
The doorbell rang again.
“That must be Audrey,” Fran said.
Coop went to answer the door, trying to ignore the fact that his palms were suddenly sweaty. It didn’t help that Audrey was looking especially lovely. She had on her usual red lipstick and ridiculously high heels, which Coop found both silly and endearing.
“Hi,” Coop said.
“Hi,” Audrey said. She, too, held out a bottle in greeting.
“Thank you,” Coop said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Would you like to come in?”
“Yes, please.”
“Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Yes, thank you. Red, if you have it.”
They both sounded so stiff, and so formal, Coop almost laughed. This was the woman he had been tangled up in bed with a few days earlier, licking the saltiness of the sweat off her neck. She smelled amazing he noticed, as she passed by him into the apartment. He considered kissing her cheek in greeting, as he had with Fran and Jaime, but there was something in the set of her shoulders and the tightness of her mouth that kept him from leaning in.
“Audrey!” Fran called out.
Coop escaped for a moment to get Audrey’s wine, while she headed into the living room to greet everyone. He poured himself a glass of wine, too, reminding himself that he had to keep his head clear if he was actually going to cook dinner.
“Thank you,” Audrey said when he handed her the glass.
“Don’t mention it. Cheers,” Coop said, clinking his glass against hers. “Here’s mud in your eye.”
For a moment, Audrey looked as though she might laugh. But then Will came up—Audrey readily accepted his cheek kiss, Coop noticed resentfully—and said, “Couldn’t you find higher shoes? Those are only, what? Four or five inches tall?”
“Five,” Audrey said.
Will made a face. “That’s no fun. You need to branch out. Go for a pair of those enormous platforms that drag queens wear.”
“How do you know what kind of shoes drag queens wear?” Audrey asked.
“I’m a fountain of knowledge,” Will said.
Coop laughed. “Make that a fountain of bullshit.”
“That, too,” Will said. “Or, better yet, Aud, you could start walking around on stilts.”
“That would be an interesting fashion choice,” Audrey said, turning away to greet Leland, who was sitting on the sofa next to Jaime.
“Why do women wear those things?” Will asked. “They look like torture devices.”
“I don’t know,” Coop said, although as he admired Audrey’s legs, he thought that might be the answer. He glanced at Fran, who was chatting with Mark. She looked over at Coop and gave him a surreptitious wink. Coop smiled back at her.
“Franny looks great,” Coop said.
“Does she?” Will asked, glancing at his wife.
“You hadn’t noticed? Jesus.” Coop laughed. “And that right there is the reason I’m not married. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make some magic in the kitchen.”
“Are you seriously going to cook?” Will asked. “I was hoping you were going to order in and try to pass it off as though you’d cooked it yourself.”
“Like I would do something so devious and underhanded. I’m shocked you’d even think it,” Coop said, shaking his head.
“Do you need any help, Coop?” Fran asked. “I did promise to be your sous chef.”
“No, I’ve got it under control,” Coop said.
He headed back to the kitchen, where he had a huge stockpot full of water already running on a gentle boil. He turned up the heat a bit, and then turned to the Styrofoam cooler that contained seven squirming lobsters. He had never cooked lobster before—much less a live lobster—and had to steel himself.
“Time to cowboy up,” he told himself, picking up the first lobster. It waved its bound claws at him. “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you. Actually, that’s not true. But know that you’re dying for a good cause.”
“Are you talking to our dinner?” a voice said behind him.
Coop turned and saw Audrey at the door. She again looked like she was suppressing a smile.
“That depends on what you heard me say,” he said.
“Something about dying for a good cause. And cowboying up,” Audrey added.
“You may not want to be present for what I’m about to do,” Coop said. “I don’t want to offend your delicate lady sensibilities.”
She took a sip of wine, studying him over the brim of her glass. “I think I can handle it.”
Great, Coop thought. He was already nervous about the lobster slaughter that was about to take place, and now he had to do it in front of an audience.
“Go ahead,” Audrey said, nodding at him.
Coop took a deep breath and took the lid off the enormous stockpot, purchased especially for the evening. Unfortunately, just as he was about to drop the lobster inside, it—perhaps sensing its fate—began to squirm.
“Ack!” Coop said, panicking. He dropped the lobster inside, causing hot water to splash out, and clanged the lid on.
“Good job,” Audrey said dryly. “Way to cowboy up.”
“Like you could do any better,” Coop said.
Audrey set down her glass of wine, headed to the cooler, and, then—with a terrifyingly cold-blooded efficiency—she quickly transferred the six remaining lobsters to the pot, and replaced the lid. The lobsters let out an awful high-pitched screeching sound that made Coop’s stomach turn.
“They’re screaming,” he said, swallowing hard.
Audrey looked at him in disbelief. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of master fisherman? Lobsters can’t scream. They don’t have vocal cords.”
“What’s that noise?”
“I think it’s steam being released from their shells, or something like that,” Audrey said.
Coop contemplated if this was any less gruesome than screaming, and decided that it was. Slightly.
“I think I’m officially scared of you,” Coop said. “You just committed six counts of lobstercide and seem completely unaffected by it.”
This time, Audrey laughed. “You know that ground beef you cooked the other day came from a cow that was, once upon a time, alive and well and unaware of its future as a hamburger.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because I got that meat from Butcher Bob, already dead and wrapped in plastic,” Coop said.
They smiled at each other, and for a moment Coop wondered if everything might be all right between them, after all. But then Fran stuck her head in the kitchen.
“What are you two doing in here? Coop, do you need any help?”
“There’s a salad and a bowl of potato salad in the fridge. You could bring those outside,” Coop suggested, hoping to get rid of her quickly.
But Audrey said, “I’ll help you, Fran.”
“Thanks.” Fran opened the fridge and handed a large green bowl to Audrey. “Here’s the potato salad. Does the green salad need dressing, Coop?”
“Yes. The dressing should be right there next to it,” Coop said, watching Audrey depart with the potato salad.
Fran took out a Pyrex measuring cup that Coop had mixed the vinaigrette in and then covered loosely with Saran wrap. “You made your own dressing? I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” Coop said. “I like to underpromise and over-deliver.”
“Is that your personal creed?” Fran asked, twinkling up at him.
“No, my personal creed is Every Man for Himself,” Coop said.
She whacked him playfully with a dish towel.
By the time the lobsters were steamed, and the melted butter divided into seven mini soufflé dishes, Fran had herded the dinner party club out to the patio. Coop thought the setup looked nice. The table was decorated simply with a row of votive candles—also provided by the party supply company—and you couldn’t beat the view.
“Everything looks wonderful,” Jaime said.
“Do you know what you need out here?” Fran said, surveying the table.
“What?” Coop asked, as he set the platter of lobsters in the middle of the table to general murmurs of approval.
“Twinkle lights,” Fran said.
“Excuse me, what?” Coop said.
“Twinkle lights,” Fran repeated. “Those little white lights that you string on your house at Christmas.”
“I think it’s safe to say that I’m not going to involve myself with anything called ‘twinkle lights,’ ” Coop said. “It wouldn’t be manly.”
“If you were really manly, you wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not things sound manly,” Fran retorted.
Coop smiled. “Too true. Shall we eat?” he said.
Audrey chose a seat as far away from Coop’s as possible—On purpose? he wondered—and spent most of the remaining evening discussing films with Leland. They both had a fondness for small English period dramas, the sort of movies that acted as instant Ambien on Coop. Every once in a while a date would drag him out to see one, and he’d fall asleep ten minutes into the film. Maybe this was another sign that he and Audrey weren’t meant to be. That, and the fact that she didn’t seem to like him very much.
Toward the end of the meal—which everyone said was delicious, although Coop personally thought the potato salad was too bland and the salad dressing too vinegary; clearly he wasn’t about to have a future as the next big celebrity chef—Audrey and Leland seemed to move off the subject of movies and into relationships. Coop perked up and turned away from Fran—who was flushed from the wine and kept going on and on about some boat trip they’d all taken together twenty years earlier—and tried to listen in on what Audrey was saying to Leland.
“We talked about my meeting someone else before she died,” Leland said.
“You did?” Audrey asked. She was leaning toward Leland. By candlelight, her eyes looked large and luminous.
“She said that her life was nearly over, but mine wasn’t, and that she wanted me to be happy and fulfilled. Of course, at the time, I couldn’t imagine ever meeting another woman, much less falling in love with one. But Penny knew that over time, I’d be ready to move on. She wanted me to know that I had her blessing,” Leland said.
“But wasn’t that hard? I mean, she was dying. That must have been awful enough. But to think of your husband with someone else …” Audrey stopped abruptly, mid-sentence, as though suddenly worried that her words might upset Leland.
“That was just it. The idea that I would keep living gave Penny peace,” Leland said gently.
“That’s beautiful,” Jaime said, twirling her wineglass by its stem. “And so romantic.”
“Just so you know, when I die, you can date whoever you want,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair. “But just make sure you do a background check on him before you let him near the kids.”
“Somewhat less romantic,” Jaime said.
“And yet ever so practical,” Will said.
Audrey shook her head and shrugged. “I think your wife is a better woman than I am,” she said to Leland. “I’d want to think that my husband would love me so much, he’d spend the rest of his life mourning my loss.”
“At the risk of sounding like an old fart, that’s your youth speaking. Yes, your youth,” Leland repeated, when Audrey snorted. “When you get a bit older, it becomes less about sex and rock ’n’ roll and more about companionship. Not that the sex can’t still be quite gratifying,” Leland added.
At this point, everyone at the table was listening in. There were a few guffaws at Leland’s rock ’n’ roll comment and then a general stunned silence.
“That’s good to know. Here’s to gratifying sex,” Will said, raising his glass.
“To gratifying sex,” a few others chimed in, also raising their glasses, and laughing as they did so.
“I should probably get going,” Audrey said.
It was a clunky interruption, and six surprised faces turned toward her. Audrey flushed with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she said. “But I have to work tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday?” Fran asked.
Audrey nodded. “We decided to expand our weekend hours in an effort to cater to working women who might not be able to fit in spa treatments mid-week.”
“Speaking as a workingman, I can say I frequently have that problem,” Mark said.
“I think it’s a very smart idea,” Jaime said.
“Thank you,” Audrey replied, smiling at her.
“You haven’t had dessert yet,” Coop said.
Audrey looked at him directly for what seemed like the first time since the lobstercide.
“Thanks, but I really have to get going,” she said.
Coop stood. “I’ll see you out,” he said.
Audrey looked like she wanted to object, but then—possibly realizing that there was no way she could do so without looking awkward or possibly even rude—she changed her mind and nodded.
He followed her to the front door. His head was buzzing slightly from the wine and aftereffects of the rich food. Bear had been dozing on his bed, but as they walked through the living room, he jumped to his feet, gave his furry body a firm shake, and trotted after them.
When Audrey reached the door, she turned. Coop didn’t know what to expect. Best case scenario, she’d throw herself at him, kissing him deeply while knitting her hands in his hair and murmuring in his ear that her early departure was just a ruse to lure him away from the others, so they could have a quickie by the front door.
This did not happen.
“Thanks for dinner. Everything was wonderful,” Audrey said.
“Thank you for coming,” Coop said.
“Thank you for having me.”
They seemed to have fallen back into their Chip ’n’ Dale politeness routine.
“Look, I’m …” Coop paused, searching for the word. He remembered girlfriends of yore criticizing him for not being able to apologize. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Audrey’s face seemed to close. Her expression hadn’t exactly been welcoming before—her eyes had been wary, her features a mask of polite diffidence. But suddenly, all friendliness seemed to vanish.
“Okay. I’m sorry if I upset you, too,” she said coolly.
Coop understood at once that this was not a real apology. For one thing, she didn’t sound sorry. She sounded pretty pissed off. And second, he hadn’t been upset. Irritated, yes, but she was the one who had stomped off that day.
“I wasn’t upset,” Coop said.
“Oh, right. Okay, then,” Audrey said.
Ah ha, Coop thought. Further proof that her apology had been bogus: She was clearly annoyed at this denial. If she’d really been sorry for upsetting him, she would have been glad to learn that he wasn’t upset.
“I’m leaving Monday for the Bahamas,” Coop said.
Audrey nodded, one curt bob of her head. “Have a good trip.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you when I get back,” Coop said.
“Okay, whatever,” Audrey said.
Coop knew he should leave it there, on somewhat less-than-completely-hostile ground. But for some reason, he couldn’t.
“Whatever?” he repeated. “Whatever, I should call you, or whatever, you’d rather I left you alone?”
Audrey’s nostrils seemed to flare, and she pressed her lips together. Finally, she swallowed and spoke. “There’s not much point, right? I think we both know this—whatever it is—has run its course.”
“Okay,” Coop said. “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s just what it is,” Audrey said, her manner prickly enough to make Coop miss the earlier Chip ’n’ Dale politeness, no matter how awkward it had been.
“Well, then,” Coop said.
Audrey opened the door, and walked through it. “Bye,” she said. She leaned over and patted Bear on the head. “Bye, Bear.” Bear’s tail thumped against the ground. Audrey looked back up at Coop. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“Don’t mention it,” Coop said.
She didn’t.
ONCE THE DOOR HAD closed behind her, Coop headed toward the kitchen, under the guise of getting out the dessert—a key lime pie he had bought from a local bakery, but had no plans of trying to pass off as his own work—but really more to process what had just happened.
Yes, he was disappointed. Part of him had hoped that the conflict between Audrey and him would have passed, that they would pick things up where they’d last left off. Or, at least, where they’d last left off just before the fight. Maybe she’d even stay the night.
Apparently not.
Coop shook his head, as he lifted the pie out of its white box. And his ex-girlfriends had thought he’d had intimacy issues. Compared to Audrey, he was Mr. Relationship.
You should be glad for the clean break, Coop told himself. In fact, it was a good thing he’d be leaving town for two months. Even if he was tempted to call Audrey, it was hard to make calls from a boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
“A nice clean break,” Coop said out loud, dishing pieces of pie onto small white plates. And hopefully, by the time he got back, Audrey would be completely exorcised from his thoughts.
WILL DIDN’T REALIZE HE’D fallen asleep until Fran kicked him.
“Ouch,” he said.
“You’re snoring.”
“How can I be snoring? I wasn’t asleep.”
“Either you were snoring or there’s a rhinoceros in distress somewhere in the room.”
“I love it when you flatter me like that,” Will said, curling toward her.
Fran squirmed away. “Don’t.”
“Why not? I just want to cuddle.”
“Because you’ll fall asleep on top of me and snore in my ear.”
Will rolled back to his side of the bed.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked.
“Mmm,” Fran said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. It was an odd night.”
“I didn’t think so. Everyone seemed like they were in good spirits,” Will said.
“What do you think about Mark and Jaime?”
“What about them?”
“I get the feeling that Jaime isn’t happy. Do you know what I mean? She and Mark weren’t really interacting that much. They talked to everyone else, but not to each other.”
“I didn’t notice. Has she said anything to you?” Will asked.
“No. She won’t talk about it with me. You know what she’s like. Everything’s fine. Always perfect. Although she was pretty pissed off at Mark last week, when Logan was hurt and she couldn’t track him down.”
Will shrugged. “It’s a hard time. Their kids are young, they’re probably not getting a lot of downtime. Or sleep.”
“Maybe,” Fran said.
“I actually thought Audrey seemed a little off,” Will said.
“Yeah, that was weird how she left so early,” Fran said.
“I think there might still be something brewing between her and Coop,” Will said.
Fran turned toward him. “Why do you think that?”
“Just the way they were acting around one another. Like they were trying too hard not to notice one another.”
“That could be residual awkwardness from their bad date,” Fran said.
“I don’t think so. Coop kept staring at her when he thought no one was looking.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Fran said.
“Why are you so against the idea of the two of them getting together?” Will asked. He put his hands behind his head. “I thought you liked Coop.”
“I love Coop. You know that.”
“Then, why are you being so weird about him and Audrey getting together?”
“I’m not.” Fran rolled away from him again. “They didn’t hit it off, remember? Anyway, maybe it’s a good thing the dinner party club is taking the summer off. It will give them a chance to get a break from each other. By the time we start up again in September, the awkwardness between them will have passed.”
Will moved closer to Fran, now feeling more awake than he had a few minutes before. He stroked her back, the way she’d always liked. In fact, once upon a time, this would be enough to make her purr with happiness and roll back toward him. Now she just lay there, still as stone, tolerating his touch.
“Is something wrong?” Will asked.
“No, nothing.”
“You’ve just been … distant lately.”
“Have I? I’m sorry,” Fran said.
She continued to lie with her back to him. Will stroked her back, still hopeful that it might lead somewhere.
“Honey, do you mind? I want to go to sleep,” Fran said.
Will withdrew his hand.
“Good night,” Fran said, her voice muffled in her pillow.
“Night,” Will said. He closed his eyes, wondering when they had stopped kissing each other before going to sleep.
“And try not to snore, okay?”
“Believe it or not, I don’t actually have control over what I do when I’m asleep,” Will said. He sighed and turned away, and tried to stay awake until he heard Fran’s breath slow into the steady rhythm of sleep.