“What about traveling?”
“I haven’t really done much since my divorce.”
“Guess it’s hard when you’re a single parent.”
Caroline shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not very adventurous. What about you?” she asked before he could contradict her.
“I’m partial to all of the above. Sports, movies, traveling.”
“What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been to?”
“Barcelona,” he said immediately. “It’s a gorgeous city. And I’m a sucker for all things Spanish. Which is probably why I like Mexico so much. You like Mexican food?”
“Not really. Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. What kind of food do you like?”
“I like pasta.”
“I like pasta,” he echoed. “And I just happen to know this great little Italian restaurant over on Harbor Drive. We could go there for lunch. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving,” Caroline said.
He jumped to his feet. “Shall we go?”
Once again, Caroline followed Arthur Wainwright wordlessly onto the street.
—
“What do you mean, you’re not coming home for lunch?” Michelle demanded over the phone half an hour later. “What am I supposed to do?”
Caroline stared at her reflection in the mirror of the restaurant’s tiny ladies’ room, pushing her hair behind one ear while holding her cell phone to the other. “I don’t know. Make yourself an omelet.”
“I don’t eat eggs.”
“So have a sandwich.”
“I don’t eat bread.”
“Since when don’t you eat eggs or bread?”
“Since at least a year ago. When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. Later.” Caroline fished inside her purse for her lipstick.
“When later?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“At this little Italian restaurant on Harbor Drive.”
“What little Italian restaurant?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Who are you with?”
“A friend I ran into.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“Yes, I do.” No, I don’t, Caroline thought. Except for Peggy. All her other friends had vanished with Samantha’s disappearance. And what would Peggy make of what she was doing, not only having coffee with some man she’d met over a stack of fruit and vegetables, but now lunch as well? Would she say that Caroline was merely reacting to the news about Hunter’s marriage plans, or to her growing concerns about Michelle, or to the fact that she hadn’t gotten laid since the last time she and Hunter had made love, which was, coincidentally, the night he told her he was leaving? Maybe a combination of all three? And while Arthur Wainwright wasn’t the first man she’d found attractive since Hunter’s departure, he was the first one who seemed to “get” her. Of course, it probably helped that he didn’t have a clue who she really was. He thinks I’m mysterious, she thought. “I have to go, sweetheart.”
“Wait…”
“I’ll be home later.”
—
“What do you mean, you’re not coming home for dinner?” Michelle whined. “And where have you been all afternoon? I’ve been calling and calling. What’s the point of having a cell phone if you’re not going to have it on?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just that I ran into some friends I haven’t seen in a long time…”
“More friends?” Michelle asked. “Who are all these friends, all of a sudden?”
“You wouldn’t know them.” Caroline leaned into the small mirror over the white porcelain sink in the bathroom of Arthur Wainwright’s studio apartment and checked to see if having sex for the first time in eight years had made any noticeable difference to her appearance. “Look, I won’t be late. Just order a pizza or something.”
“I don’t eat pizza.”
Caroline ran her hands through her hair and down her cheeks, letting them slide toward her bare breasts, mimicking the path Arthur’s hands had traced earlier. “How about Chinese?”
“Why don’t you just tell me to swallow a gallon of lard?”
“For God’s sake, Michelle. Order whatever you want. Sorry,” she apologized immediately, trying not to lose the wonderful calm she’d felt before leaving Arthur’s bed to call her daughter. “Why don’t you phone Grandma Mary? I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have dinner with you.”
“You want me to phone Grandma Mary? Now I know something’s going on.”
“There’s nothing going on. I’m just going out with some old friends.”
“Fine. Leave your phone on.”
“Why?”
“In case I need to contact you.”
“You won’t need to contact me.”
“How do you know? Something could happen…”