Sounds like your Christmas was interesting, Vienna was enchanting! What a wonderful city to spend the holidays in.
I scrolled through that e-mail once more, then thought back to the conversation we had right before Christmas. She’d said they were going to Munich for the holidays, I was sure of it. She’d mentioned Benjamin’s friends and everything. But now she said they were in Vienna?
Something stinks in Vienna.
I put my phone away as I walked toward the hotel site. I was meeting with Camden’s assistant to make the final decision about some light fixtures in the bar downstairs. Taking advantage of the natural light, and being aware of the sometimes very foggy mornings, I had designed a space that could transition from a place to share a quiet drink in the afternoon or even a business meeting, to something infinitely more sexy at nighttime.
I tried to focus on the meeting at hand, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. When Jillian first left, she was in almost constant contact—as much as a newlywed could be. But as the weeks went by, turning into months, the e-mails and phone calls had lessened significantly. Initially, I was so busy I didn’t realize how those phone calls were beginning to dwindle. Once the holidays were in full swing and we went back east for the reunion, I was in control enough to not need the calls, but that wasn’t really the point.
And when was she coming home? There seemed to be no end in sight. I needed to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with Jillian, but I wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. And I was positive that she had told me she was going to Munich . . .
“Caroline? You been waiting long?” A voice broke me out of my head. Camden’s assistant, looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry, no, not at all. Ready to get started?” I asked, and plastered on a smile.
? ? ?
That night when I got home, Simon was there and had made spaghetti and meatballs. Of course he was. Home, I mean.
“It’s shocking, how much I need balls right now,” I quipped, sitting at the table in my jacket and scarf, my knife and fork pointed up.
“I had a feeling. I found this great Italian market this morning on my bike ride, and they’re one of the only places I’ve ever found stateside that will grind the pork, veal, and beef together,” he said, pouring me a glass of red and putting the pasta into the boiling water. “Makes for a more tender ball,” he said, deadpan.
“So that’s your secret,” I said, sipping the wine. The night was chilly, but inside it was cozy and warm. A fire was ablaze in the living room, its light bouncing off the window wall. Clive was curled into a ball inside the cat condo that Simon had bought for him. Orange carpet, multileveled with a scratching post and a bouncy ball on top of the entire thing, it was hideous. I’d told him Clive would never go for something so garish, so obviously cat, but he fucking loved it.
My boys had a simpatico thing going on. They certainly spent enough time together . . .
There it was again. That corner of something I kept running into my head; the very edge of something cooking in there. It disappeared when Simon set down the salad, then kissed me stupid.
“How’d the meeting go about the bar?” he asked.
He’d been listening the night before when I told him what I had going on today.
“Good, though I was a little distracted. I got an e-mail from Jillian.”
“How’re they doing? I haven’t heard from Benjamin for a while, but we’re talking next week about some investments.”
“Is he still managing everything for you?”
“He’s got someone on them more day to day while he’s gone, but he’s keeping his eye on it too. She say when they’re coming home?”
“No, and that’s the thing. Every time I try to bring it up, she changes the subject,” I said, chewing on a piece of escarole I stole from the salad bowl. Lemon and mustard vinaigrette. Nice.
“Benjamin too. I figured with their honeymoon and all, they’re having too much fun to think about coming home.”
“Must be nice to have zero responsibilities,” I muttered, bumping into that corner again.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he chided, tossing the pasta with tongs. “You want to shred that cheese?”
“I would say that.” I grabbed the cheese and began to shred. “I don’t know; maybe I’ll say something to the girls tomorrow, see what they think.”
“The girls?”
“Yeah, breakfast at the diner? I haven’t seen them for a while,” I said, still shredding. He mumbled something under his breath about me being gone again, but I ignored it. “And another thing—when we talked before Christmas, she told me they were going to Munich for Christmas. But I got an e-mail from her today that said they were in Vienna.”
“I think I heard Vienna. At least that’s what Benjamin said.”
“I know she said Munich; she said it was because Benjamin had friends there.” I continued to shred.