If she tells him she’s going to the city, he won’t ask questions. He might want to come with her, though. When they were living in Westchester, they made an annual excursion to see the store windows on Fifth Avenue and the tree at Rockefeller Center. The kids were little and the crowds were overwhelming and it probably was never as much fun as it was supposed to be, but Rowan has fond memories of the city at Christmas and she knows Jake does, too. She can imagine him saying, We’ll both go, and Mick can come, too. Maybe we can grab Knicks tickets . . .
No. No, that won’t work. Maybe she should just forget about seeing Rick Walker in person. Maybe she should just write back right now and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, tracking her down and sending an anonymous package.
As she stands weighing her options, her phone rings in her hand, startling her. Her thumb comes down on the Send button and the message she was just deciding to delete goes zinging out into cyberspace.
Ten minutes later, back in the bleachers, she sneaks a peek at her account and finds a reply.
I’d love to see you! I’m free all day tomorrow. Name the time and place.
Okay. So there it is. She’s going, which means she’s lying.
Reminding herself that it’s for Jake’s own good, she watches the rest of the game grimly and is relieved when he doesn’t show up after all.
She’s in bed when he gets home, pretending to be asleep.
Another lie, on the heels of the note she left for him on the kitchen counter: Going shopping first thing in the a.m., probably won’t be back till dinner.
Old habits . . .
Dammit.
But it’ll be the last lie ever, she promises herself as her husband begins to snore peacefully beside her.
Saturday dawns damp and dreary, perfect for staying in bed. That’s where Jake and Mick are when Rowan leaves the house after too little sleep and too little coffee. Extra caffeine would only make her even more nervous, if that’s possible.
In the large master bathroom—-which had been a sleeping porch before she and Jake renovated the house—-she dresses in jeans, boots, and a black turtleneck. After surveying her reflection, she pulls a gray cardigan over the turtleneck. No need to display her curves. Then she decides that the cardigan isn’t flattering and swaps both sweaters for a blouse and blazer. Unbuttoning the top two buttons, she glimpses cleavage and hastily buttons both. Now she looks like a prim schoolmarm. She settles on just the top button open: casually comfortable.
The hair and makeup are just as befuddling. Letting it hang in loose blondish waves is potentially sexy, which she doesn’t want, yet now that it’s shoulder--length, a pony-tail is too stubby and severe. Her lashes and thin lips tend to disappear without cosmetic enhancement, but the liner and lipstick she wears on a daily basis suddenly seem suggestive. She doesn’t want him getting ideas.
Oh, come on.
He probably already has ideas, unless he really is the one who sent the package, in which case he’s all but summoned her presence this morning. But if he’s expecting a walk on the shady side of memory lane, he’s in for an unpleasant surprise.
In the end, she skips the lipstick and eyeliner, goes with the ponytail, and turns her back on the mirror. Downstairs, she finds Doofus blissfully snoozing on the rug and has to shake him awake.
“You’d make a lousy watchdog, you know that?”
He wags his tail, apparently mistaking it as a compliment.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my keys?” she adds, unsuccessfully searching the cluttered kitchen surfaces, a daily occurrence.
She lets the dog out into the yard and takes her medication on an empty stomach. To stave off the predictable tide of nausea—-evocative of morning--sickness--meets--wretched--hangover—-she belatedly gobbles a -couple of saltines as she continues searching for her keys. After finding them in the pocket of last night’s jacket, she coaxes Doofus back inside too soon even for his taste.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to run,” she explains, dumping some food into a bowl for him and convinced he’s gazing reproachfully after her when she finally hurtles herself out the door.