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His stomach drops. She’s supposed to be in Denver. What is she up to? Why was she in his office? Why does she want to see him? His feelings of uneasiness intensify.
Erica sits in the living room of her apartment in Newburgh and stares at her laptop screen, waiting for a response. She imagines Patrick at his computer in his office on Bleeker Street, his handsome face taken aback. Wondering this very minute how to respond.
It was fun, seeing him in his office yesterday, his reaction. He’s a partner in his own small architectural firm, with offices on the fourth floor of a shiny new building downtown. It looks like he’s doing well for himself. She isn’t surprised. He always was ambitious. He’d obviously been shocked to see her.
It’s been more than nine years since she’s spoken to Patrick. She turns away from the computer for a minute and glances around her sparsely furnished apartment. She’s only just moved in, and it shows. She hears a ping and looks back at her computer. She smiles.
How about the Pilot, at 5 o’clock? It’s on Bristow Street.
Patrick
Sounds perfect. See you there.
Erica
She didn’t think he’d refuse to see her. They have too much history. She wonders what he’s like now, whether he’s changed. Somehow she doesn’t think so.
Shortly before 5 p.m., Patrick leaves his office and walks to the bar on a small side street in the downtown centre. He doesn’t expect to run into anyone who knows him; the Pilot is just this side of a dive – not one of his usual upscale haunts. He straightens his tie nervously as he walks into the bar. He’s five minutes late on purpose. His gaze darts around in the semi-dark, looking for her.
He spots her in a corner, sitting alone, drinking a beer out of the bottle. She looks much the same, although not quite as whip slender as she used to be. In her early twenties she was a knockout, a natural blonde with fine features and beautiful skin. For a moment he stares at her, and then she turns and sees him and seems to go still.
He swallows and walks towards her. ‘Erica,’ he says, as he reaches her table. He catches the faint scent of her perfume – exotic and seductive – the same perfume she wore all those years ago. It’s disconcerting. For a moment, he’s back in Colorado, and they’re all sitting in their favourite bar, laughing and drinking beer, so young, all their lives ahead of them. Lindsey beside him with her hand resting placidly on her pregnant belly, Erica watching him from across the table.
‘Patrick,’ she says now, as he sits across from her, ‘you’re looking well.’
He wishes he’d thought to grab a beer at the bar on his way over, rather than waiting for someone to come by so he can order. He smiles tentatively at Erica through his discomfort. He’s normally so good with people, but he can’t seem to read the situation. There’s an awkward silence. A server sees him and approaches. Patrick changes his mind about the beer and says, ‘Scotch, please.’ His tastes have changed; he wonders if hers have as well, and she simply doesn’t trust the cleanliness of the glasses in this place. Can she tell he’s nervous? ‘So … you live in Newburgh now?’
‘Yes, I moved recently, from Denver. I felt it was time for a change.’
He nods, tries to seem nonchalant about it.
‘A short drive from here,’ she says, ‘only half an hour.’
He waits, but she doesn’t volunteer anything else. ‘What a coincidence,’ he says, ‘you showing up at my firm.’
There’s another awkward pause. His drink arrives and he gulps it greedily. Patrick can’t think of anything else to say. He’s thinking, Of all the places she could have relocated to, why here?
She leans in a bit closer, elegant hands around her beer, peeling at the label. He remembers this from before. ‘I knew you were here somewhere, so I looked you up. When I realized you were so close, I thought, why not?’
He stares back at her. ‘You’re not interested in the job at my firm, are you?’
She smiles. ‘No. I already have a job.’
He takes another big swallow of his drink, his unease growing. What is she playing at? ‘So why did you apply?’
‘I wanted to see if it was really you.’
‘You could have tried to get in touch with me in the ordinary way.’
‘I’m not sure you would have responded,’ she says. He doesn’t answer that. ‘When you left Colorado, all I knew was that you had talked to Greg about returning to New York.’
And there it is. He’d left Colorado rather quickly, after Lindsey’s funeral, with no forwarding address. He’d wanted to run away from everything. And he’d thought no one there – Erica included – wanted to stay in touch with him. It was all just too hard. Better for everyone if he left. Erica had been his first wife’s closest friend. Perhaps she’s here to apologize for the way she treated him afterwards, at the funeral. She’s had time to get her head on straight. They were all a bit out of their minds. It was a terrible time.
‘Yes, well,’ he says at last, ‘probably better for everyone.’ She looks back at him thoughtfully. He goes on. ‘With Lindsey gone, I just wanted to come home.’ He’d left a few months into his architecture internship; he’d had to start all over again in New York State. He didn’t care. He takes another deep drink of his Scotch and realizes that somehow he’s finished it. He leans forward a little and lowers his voice. He pauses for a moment and then says, ‘I was absolutely devastated by what happened.’
‘I know. So was I.’
When Patrick arrives home a little later than usual, he can tell Stephanie’s been waiting impatiently for him to help her with the twins. He pitches in, but his mind is elsewhere, thinking about his meeting with Erica. The conversation had remained fairly superficial. She hadn’t volunteered much about herself, but he’d noted the absence of a wedding ring. She’d flirted with him a little, but she was subtle about it. He hadn’t flirted back. He’d told her he was happily married, with twin baby girls.
After half an hour, he’d made a show of looking at his watch, and said he had to go. He thought that might be the end of it, but she’d insisted on exchanging cell phone numbers before he left. Now it feels … unfinished. And that worries him.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHERYL MANNING WAVES at her son, Devin, from the side of the soccer field. He’s almost nine years old, going into fourth grade in September. For the month of August, though, he’s spending his days in soccer camp. He loves the sport, he’s good at it, and she’s proud of him. She and her husband both. Devin, it turns out, is a talented athlete.
She watches him run out onto the field. They spend a lot of money on him. This speciality camp is expensive, and the gear is pricey, but they can easily afford it, and there’s nothing they won’t do to help their son realize his potential. They enjoy spending money on him; she finds it strange when the other moms she knows – who can also afford it – complain about how much their kids’ activities cost.
There’s nothing quite as satisfying, Cheryl thinks, as seeing your kid excel and feeling in some measure responsible. She stands on the edge of the field watching him for a moment. He’s a good-looking boy. His brown hair tosses in the wind as he runs. He grins as he manoeuvres the soccer ball skilfully with his feet. He waves at her, and she waves back. She’s pleased that he’s confident. He calls out to the other boys on the field, a natural leader. He makes friends easily. She knows she should go, not hover like this, but she stands a minute longer to enjoy the morning sun on her face, and to enjoy her son, appreciate his abilities.
The coach walks over to her. ‘Devin’s doing really well,’ he tells her. ‘He’s a natural.’
She smiles at him. One doesn’t like to brag. ‘So we’ve been told,’ she says modestly.
The coach smiles at her and heads onto the field, blowing his whistle. He takes attendance and starts lining the kids up for drills. It’s time for her to leave. All the other parents have already gone – often having to take a second child, or even a third, to a different camp somewhere else. But Devin’s an only child, and she’s a stay-at-home mom, so she doesn’t have anywhere else she has to be. She always seems to hang around longer, as if she can’t let go. As if she still can’t quite believe that Devin is hers.
It would have been perfect if they could have had a daughter too. She might have been one of the mothers racing to drop off at soccer so that she can get to ballet camp on time. But they only have one, and she and her husband, Gary, are desperately grateful for that.
She can’t have children.
It had been such a shock to discover she was sterile.
