“She’s, like, really going for it.”
“I’m not sure I can picture my mother on a safari.”
“Oh, I can,” said Deirdre. “I definitely can.”
They both glanced over at Judith and Eliza; indeed, Judith had taken her phone out of her evening bag and was examining it. Eliza was clutching a cocktail napkin. She looked like she’d just finished crying or was about to begin. Rob wanted to go over to her, to make sure that she was okay. He wanted to place his hand on the tender part of her heart, to protect her from any more sadness.
But of course you couldn’t really protect people from sadness, you could only be there for them once it hit.
Deirdre cleared her throat and the pressure on Rob’s arm increased. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“Uh,” he said. “Is it about—” He lowered his voice and looked furtively around to see who might be observing them or, worse, listening. He didn’t see Brock anywhere. Gaggles of Barton women and groups (what was the masculine form of gaggles?) of Barton men were milling about, and among them were various unfamiliar faces: imports from Boston or Nantucket or the Vineyard, corporate sponsors, Judith’s nearest and dearest. He saw his dentist, Dr. Choo, and Zoe’s husband-and-wife orthodontist team, the Drs. Smith. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to Deirdre and him. He continued, “Is this about That Night?”
Deirdre nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Shoot.” The African Sunrise was going down easy. His arm, which often throbbed by the end of the day, was merely thrumming pleasantly. “Go for it.”
“Okay.” Deirdre took a deep breath and looked down, fixing her eyes on the tile. She said, “I’d like to say I regret that night.” Her next sentence came out in a rush, like the words were running over each other to get out. “But I don’t regret it even though I know I should.” Then she looked up, closed her eyes, and sucked in her breath sharply; she looked like Evie did immediately after saying something like, “I spilled chocolate milk on the couch” or “Your iPhone fell in the toilet.”
“Oh,” he said. He squinted at Deirdre and started to feel a little bit nervous. He glanced over again at Judith and Eliza: they were laughing. Now his arm was throbbing. He might have to go for something stronger than an African Sunrise on the next round.
He saw one of the gala minions watching them; she was quivering importantly, waiting to talk to Deirdre. He made a motion to indicate the minion but Deirdre ignored him and said, “Listen, Rob. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a few times lately where I’ve almost told Eliza what happened that night.”
Rob’s heart jumped from his chest and landed somewhere near his ears, and when it was done jumping, he said—very quietly, almost in a whisper—“I know what you mean.”
“But I didn’t.”
“I didn’t either.”
“And here’s why. It would seem, in the telling, like it was so much more than it was. At a time when Eliza is—well, she’s fragile. I’ve never seen Eliza so fragile. And who wouldn’t be? I don’t want to lay anything else on her just so I can feel better. Especially when the thing was, it was a stupid mistake, that I turned a conversation into anything physical. It was nothing.”
“It was less than nothing!” Rob agreed heartily, and he thought he saw a trace of hurt flicker in Deirdre’s eyes and then disappear. “I mean, in the big scheme of things,” he hurried to say.
“Right,” she said. A long moment slid between them. The minion gave up, sighed, and left. Deirdre said, “Just one more thing, Rob, then I have to go check in with the chef.”
“Is it the coin? Did you find the coin?”
She furrowed her brow. “The what?”
“My ten-baht.”
“Oh.” Her face softened. “From your dad.”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough.
“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. I don’t really need it. I just—”
“You want it. It’s from your dad. I get it.” She closed her eyes and said, “For such a long time I thought of you, Robert Barnes II, as the one who got away.”
Rob was at once flattered, perplexed, and a little afraid. “But how could I be the one who got away? I’ve only known you since the kids were born.”
“I know,” she said. “I know. That’s what’s funny about it. But it’s how I felt. You’re decent, and you’re kind, and the way you listened to me that night at The Wharf Rat—I just hadn’t been listened to in so long. So I wanted to say thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome,” said Rob.
“And, as far as anything physical goes…” She hesitated.
Rob cringed. “Deirdre, we really don’t need to—”
“No, let me finish,” she said. “This is important. You had a lot to drink that night.”
If a cringe could get deeper, that’s what Rob’s did.
“You didn’t…how should I say this? You didn’t have your usual faculties about you. And I, well, this is embarrassing, but I took advantage of you.”
“You did?” asked Rob.
“I did. I offered you a ride home, you remember.”
“I don’t remember. All I remember is that we were in the bar, and then we were in the Tahoe kissing.”
“Right. Only kissing! But even that—you tried to stop me, Rob. I ignored you. Then you got out of my car and drove your own car home.”
“You did? I did?”
“And then when I saw you outside St. Matthew’s, I let you think you were equally to blame. It was terrible of me.”
“No,” said Rob. “I was equally to blame. It takes two to make a mistake like that.”
“The funny thing is, the past few weeks things have been better than great between Brock and me.” Deirdre looked shy and sort of sweet, like someone had taken her sharp edges and filed them down to a rounder, softer version. “It’s like what happened between us made me realize that I should put my energy into that, into my own marriage, instead of, well, you know, envying someone else’s. And once I started trying harder, Brock did too.”
“That’s great,” said Rob. “Deirdre, I’m really happy to hear that.”
“I mean, the sex has been fantastic—”
Rob held up his hand and said, “Okay, okay, we don’t need to—”
“You’re right,” said Deirdre with a private smile. “We don’t need to. But it’s like what happened between you and me fixed whatever was wrong. And you’re not the one who got away anymore. You’re just—you’re just you. You’re just Rob.”
“I’m glad,” said Rob, “about Brock. I’m glad I’m just Rob.”
“So thank you.”
“Well,” said Rob. He’d been attending social functions since before he could button his own suit coat. He came from a world where manners trumped everything. If there was one thing he knew how to do it was how to respond to gratitude. “You’re welcome,” he said, and meant it. “You’re very welcome, Deirdre.”
53
BARTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Eliza