“Mia, has that really been bothering you all this time? As I told you, it was a mistake. I wanted to confess to you myself, to start our marriage in honesty and trust. I’m not proud that someone else got to you first and remember, I apologized on bended knee.” I think back to that awkward moment in her office. I’d instantly decided to admit my culpability while blaming it on the client, and begged for Mia’s forgiveness. It had worked perfectly. I’m good at thinking on my feet, a smooth pivot.
“Remember, honey, she came on to me, that client. You saw it yourself. My only crime was a lapse in judgment. I wanted to land the account too much. It was stupid and as you know, it has never happened again. And of course, our wedding went off without a hitch. Everything worked out, right?” I say. But I don’t want to hear her response right now, so I add: “I’m glad. Look at us—we’re perfect together. We have two amazing sons, and the best life. I love you. Happy best day ever.”
Mia takes a sip of her coffee, stares at me over the cup. After a moment, she returns the cup to the saucer, breaking our eye contact. “That’s right, the best day ever. What else is on your agenda for us tonight?”
“I have a few more things up my sleeve,” I say, remembering the cigarettes in my briefcase, the matches in my pocket. The surprise in my glove box. “Ready to go?”
“I’ll ask for the check,” Mia says, knowing she can attract our waiter.
“I’ll need you to give him a credit card. I, um, forgot to make that transfer,” I say. I know my face is full of love, and happiness. I reach for her hand across the table. She ignores the gesture.
“Yes, I figured,” Mia says, smiling a fake smile and tilting her head awkwardly. We must look like some freaky couple from a 1950s advertisement for the good life, all stilted and perfect. Except the guy would be paying, I know.
“It’s all going to work out, don’t worry,” I say.
She shakes her head before she removes her purse from the back of the chair, opens it and extracts a platinum American Express card, one I have never seen before.
“I got this for emergencies. Thank goodness I did,” she says as the waiter appears and she slips the card into his hand.
“This is hardly an emergency, Mia,” I tell her, crossing my arms across my chest. “It’s a temporary setback, like every challenge in life, honey.”
“Oh, it is, is it? How exactly do you plan to solve our financial situation, Paul?” she asks.
Fortunately, before I have to formulate an answer, the waiter returns with the receipt in a black leather folder. I watch as Mia opens the folder, reclaims her platinum card and adds a 25 percent tip for her guard dog before scribbling her signature: M. Pilmer.
9:30 p.m.
18
It’s official. That was the longest dinner I’ve suffered through since the green bean fiasco, I realize as we stand outside the restaurant waiting for my car to be pulled around. I wonder if Mia purposefully stretched it out, our time together here—but why would she? The parking lot is almost empty but not quite. There are actually people suffering through a longer dinner than I had. Remarkable.
“The stars are beautiful here,” she says, looking up at the sky. “It’s one of my favorite things about being up here at the lake. The city lights can’t drown them out. They shine full force.” She pulls out her phone, and I watch as she uses her stargazer app to name the constellations. It is such a childish pursuit, but I smile despite myself.
“Oh, look, it’s Orion,” she says, holding her phone screen up in the air so that now all she sees is the screen, not the stars. Ridiculous. “The hunter.” She drops the phone to her side, looks at me, and then looks back up to the sky.
“What’s he hunting?” I ask. The parking lot is eerily quiet, just the two of us. The few diners still left inside the restaurant are barely visible inside, tiny dots of heads through the windows.
“Don’t you remember your Greek mythology? You took that class in college your senior year, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes I did, but I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention to the professor,” I say, staring at my wife. I had other things, like Lois, on my mind. But she doesn’t know that.
“Orion is sort of a narcissist, actually. He thinks he’s the greatest hunter in the world, but Zeus’s wife kills him with a scorpion,” she says. “Scorpio hasn’t risen yet, it doesn’t rise until the early-morning hours when Orion goes down.” She isn’t looking at me. She’s still staring up at the sky.
I’m not looking at her either. Not anymore.
“Wow, a shooting star! Did you see that?” she says, slapping my shoulder with her hand. Finally, the valet pulls our car up.
“Sorry for the wait. Somebody had blocked your car in, and I couldn’t find the keys, and sorry,” he says, rushing to open Mia’s door. Meanwhile, Mia is still staring up at the stupid hunter. “Ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, sorry,” she says, sliding into the car. I’m already inside, more than ready to get going. The valet holds the passenger door open, no doubt looking for a tip.
Mia notices and rummages in her purse before handing him a bill. The guy grins and says, “’Night. Thanks.” He slams the car door.
“Big tipper tonight, eh?” I say. I usually appreciate a good tipper. People know you’re somebody if you tip well. I’ve always tipped well. It’s what a man like me should do. Mia, on the other hand, should not be spending money we do not have.
“Poor boy was out of breath,” she says. “Anyway, what a fabulous thing to see a falling star. It blasted right through the middle of Orion’s belt. Too bad you missed it.”
“I saw it,” I say. I am lying but I don’t want to feel left out. During our drive back to the cottage there is one more subject I need to discuss, but I had hoped Mia would have had more to drink by now. That would make her more likely to talk without thinking. Regardless, like most women, she is putty in my capable hands.
“Hey, honey, has your father mentioned anything about your estranged uncle, his brother? The one in Texas?” I ask. I know this is coming out of left field, so I add, “The stars—Lone Star State—helped me remember to ask you.”
“Um, no, we don’t really discuss Uncle Derrick. You know that,” she says. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing. I just thought about him, the other day, at work—well, during a job interview. One of the agency’s biggest clients was based in Texas. Made me think of him,” I say. “Wonder how he’s doing.”
“He’s a drug dealer or something. But he always was a lot of fun at parties when I was little,” Mia says.
I notice she’s holding the side door handle, as if she were anticipating an accident. It’s a pose you’d assume if you knew something was coming at you head-on at any moment.
She adds, “I should reach out to him, find out what he’s up to. You’re right.”