Before Hugh could pick up the chair, Terrance was there to do it, brushing off the seat with his ever-present white cloth. Then he stepped back through the terrace doors and into the dining room, where he waited. The glass hadn’t yet been repaired, and the small panels of wood in one corner were a constant reminder to me of Olivia.
J.C. was tipsy and her steps were loose, compared to Hugh’s careful moves as he tried to lead her. Rachel and I watched as she caressed the thick brown hair at the back of Hugh’s head, and brought her mouth to his ear. When he finally leaned away from her a bit to look at her face, he laughed a laugh so clear and loud that Frank Sinatra’s voice faded into the background. The album continued, and even after two more songs J.C. would not let Hugh go. Not even after Rachel went to Jack and put her hand on his shoulder to tell him that she was tired and they should leave. Hugh only managed to get in a wave goodbye while J.C. blew them a kiss.
I hugged Rachel close and whispered that I would call her, and inside I promised myself that I would. It was like her to be moody and somewhat cold—particularly with someone she disliked as much as J.C.—but not so subdued that she wouldn’t eat.
As the lights of Rachel’s Thunderbird swept over us, throwing our shadows and those of the Japanese maples tall against the house, I went to sit beside Press, who had settled down again at the table while Terrance cleared the dessert plates and refilled the coffee cups. I finished my glass of wine.
“Champagne cognac, Terrance? Or some of that yummy plum port?” J.C. called over Hugh’s shoulder. “You don’t mind if I boss Terrance around a little, do you, Press, darling?”
Press nodded. “Whatever she wants, Terrance.”
I put my hand on his arm. He was still mine, even if the woman who might try to take him from me was only a few feet away. Despite our distance and my guilt, I wasn’t ready to give him up.
“It’s getting chilly. Maybe we should go inside.”
“Do you want my jacket?” Press started to take his jacket off, but I stopped him.
“No, I’m fine. We won’t stay out much longer.”
We sat another moment, quiet.
“Rachel doesn’t seem well,” I said.
“Rachel is Rachel.”
“She certainly doesn’t like J.C. very much.”
Press laughed loudly enough for both Hugh and J.C. to glance our way. “She’ll learn.”
“Do you want to?” We hadn’t danced since Olivia’s New Year’s Eve party, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to let J.C. see us together.
“What?”
“Dance?”
“Hell, no. You know I don’t really like it. I only did it for as long as I did to get some pretty girl like you to marry me.”
I smiled in spite of myself. I’d let myself drink two glasses of wine at dinner, knowing Michael was safe asleep upstairs with both the bathroom and nursery doors locked. I’d been self-conscious, particularly with Hugh there, but my discomfort faded as the wine did its work.
“Thank you.”
“For what? Marrying you? That was my pleasure.”
“No, silly. For changing your mind about the ballroom.”
He turned his head to watch J.C. and Hugh. The Sinatra album had started over again, and Hugh was jokingly proclaiming that she was wearing him out.
“Did I change my mind?”
I squeezed his arm, feeling a tiny resurgence of the love I’d felt for him for so many years. Was it possible that it was still there? I wasn’t sure. Remembering now, I’m certain that it was the wine. The wall was still there, warning me, protecting me. But at that moment I was hopeful.
“It means so much to me. I miss our life.”
When he turned back to me, I believed I saw tenderness in his eyes.
Terrance, as though to encourage my wine-induced vulnerability, came outside with a tray of after-dinner drinks.
“Finally!” J.C. said. “We were about to turn into butter from spinning around out there. Hugh is a madman.”
As the two thirsty dancers fell on the glasses of water and cognac Terrance had set out on the table, Press and I remained silent.
I closed and locked the nursery door softly behind me, leaving the key on the commode table just outside. Sometime during the night, Michael had climbed out of his crib to sleep on Eva’s trundle bed. I wasn’t ready for him to move permanently from his crib, but as I looked down on him, sleeping with one arm flung over the back of Eva’s Lassie dog, I didn’t have the heart to put him back. Before leaving the room, I pulled out the lower mattress in case he rolled off.