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“Dammit,” he’d roared, “is that how you pick courses from the catalog, Annie? Do you look the list over and say, hey, that’s a good one! Maybe my big dumb husband won’t even know what the name of the course means.”
“However did you know?” she’d said with a chilly smile, and then she’d flounced out the door, but quickly, so that she wouldn’t cry in front of him or say, Chase, please, what’s happened to us? I love you. Tell me that you still love me.
It wasn’t true, of course, about the courses. She took the ones that sounded interesting: haiku because the description in the catalog sounded so spare and elegant. The one on Jasper Johns because one of Chase’s clients had mentioned having a Johns collection, and the one on batik-making because she’d seen a dress in the window of a shop and been fascinated by the swirling colors.
She took the flower-arranging courses simply because there’d been a time in their lives when they were broke and desperately in love, and Chase had bought her a single red rose, because it was all he could afford, and she’d cherished it more than the huge bouquets that came, impersonally, by messenger once he’d struck it rich.
Oh, how much more wonderful that single rose had been!
He’d come home with it in his hand, years and years ago, along with wine and two tickets to the Virgin Islands, and when he’d offered her the rose he’d smiled shyly and said it was almost as beautiful as she was.
She could still remember how she’d gone into his arms.
“I’m sweaty, babe,” he’d said huskily. “I need a shower.”
And she’d said yes, he did, and she’d started to undress him, and a minute later they’d been naked, in the shower together.
Her skin tingled now, just remembering what it had been like, the long, slow soaping of each other’s bodies, the kissing and touching, the way they’d ended up making love right there, under the spray, Chase’s arms hard around her, her legs tight around his waist, him saying her name against her mouth, over and over, and she crying out as they came together in explosive release.
Tears stung behind her lids. It was stupid, thinking about things like that. Especially about sex, because that brought her straight to what had finally ended their marriage.
She’d been taking a class in dried flower making and design. She’d done some nice work, she knew that, but one night the instructor had asked her to wait after she dismissed the class. Then she’d asked Annie’s permission to enter one of her flower arrangements in a juried show.
Annie had said yes. And she’d been so happy and excited that she’d forgotten how long it had been since she and Chase had shared good news. She’d jumped into her car, driven to Chase’s office building, found the front door unlocked and sailed down the hall, straight into his office...
Annie shuddered.
She could still see them now, her husband and his secretary, the girl with her arms around Chase’s neck and his around her waist, their bodies pressed together...
That was it. The marriage was over.
Chase had tried to explain, to worm out of the truth, but Annie wasn’t stupid. She’d endured enough pain, watching the man she loved slip slowly but steadily away from her all those years.
And “loved” was the right word. That night, as Chase and his secretary sprang guiltily apart, Annie knew that whatever she’d once felt for her husband was gone. Deader than a daffodil that’s been squashed by a truck.
“Annie,” Chase had said, “Annie, you have to listen.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cooper,” the young woman had pleaded, “you must listen!”
Listen? Why? There was nothing to talk about.
She’d felt suddenly very calm. The decision was out of her hands, thanks to Chase and the weeping girl.
“I want a divorce,” she’d told him, and she’d even managed a cold smile for the secretary. “He’s all yours,” she’d said, and then she’d turned on her heel and marched out
Things had gone quickly, after that. Her sister, Laurel, had recommended an attorney, although Laurel had done her best to convince Annie not to act so hastily. But there was nothing hasty in Annie’s decision. She and Chase had been heading for this moment for years.
The divorce had been civilized. Chase’s attorney was an old friend, David Chambers, who kissed her cheek and treated her with courtesy during their one face-to-face over a conference table. Chase wanted her to have the condominium. Half their savings. Half of everything. Child support, and generous alimony.
Annie said she didn’t want the money. Her lawyer, and his, told her not to be stupid. She had a child to support. They were right, she knew, so she accepted everything except the alimony. As for the condo—it was filled with ugly memories. She sold it as soon as she could, moved to Stratham and began a new life. A career. She’d cut herself off from the past, and damned successfully. She’d made friends. She’d dated. And now she had Milton Hoffman, who wanted to marry her.
