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“Yeah, well, Icouldbuy two with what that baby must have set your man back. You’ve done good, kid,” she said to me. “You got the brass ring the rest of us only dream about.”
I smiled with what I hoped was appropriate humility. Simon wasn’t a Coupe de Ville that I’d scooped out of a Cracker Jack box. He was a challenging, demanding, loving, but often difficult man. They had no idea of what our complicated love entailed, and I wasn’t about to set them right.
My feelings about the ring shifted constantly. Sometimes I felt like I was wearing someone else’s jewelry. Other times I felt embarrassed by its sign of conspicuous consumption. Mostly, it dazzled me still, as if I were leading someone else’s life.
I moved out of my spotlight into the kitchen where I refilled my wine glass and drank it much too quickly, thinking about the upcoming appointment and looming consequences for my own stubborn nature.
To push that thought away, I busied myself by filling wine glasses, stacking empties in the recycle bin, and clearing dirty dishes into the dishwasher. All the while, I watched Ronnie from the corner of my eye, the way a Border collie watches sheep, even when the flock thinks the dog isn’t paying attention. At one point I saw her drift toward the guest room where Mom kept all the family photo albums. Before she got there, I cut her off at the doorway and asked her if she could get Mom a glass of water. Mom was sitting in her prehistoric recliner, regaling her friends with stories from her week in Vancouver. By her account of things, Simon was going to be the best son-in-law anyone could wish for.
So maybe the complaining and criticizing was just between her, me, and our new best friend, Ronnie. Obviously that secret had a short shelf life.
Wednesday morning, I woke with a killer headache and a thick, putrid taste in my mouth. It took about a gallon of water, eggs fried in bacon fat, and a handful of painkillers before I reverted to near human status.
Mom and I went to the hospital and found D2 sitting up in bed, watching cartoons in French. Some of the weariness and shock had faded from his face. His eyes were clearer, but he was coming to terms with the loss of so much strength in his right arm which, for an auto mechanic like him, signaled the end of his working life. The doctors said he might get it back, but he announced his plans to retire in a thin, wavering voice.
“Instead of going to Donohue Motors every day to work on cars, I’m going to find a new hobby, like wine collecting or something.” A trace of his Irish lilt softened his garbled words.
I sat on the side of his bed and rubbed lotion into his right hand.
“I can’t wait to see my girls.” Emotion thickened his voice when he talked about Sheila and Colleen, his two cats.
“They’re fine, D2.” I massaged farther up his arm. “I’m keeping your bed warm until you come home, and they’ve decided to sleep with me. As long as they have enough food and a warm body to keep them company at night, they aren’t fretting too much, but I know they’ll be glad to see you again.”
He and Mom talked about jobs in the shop and what was on the calendar for the week. They named a few retired and semi-retired mechanics they could call on to cover the outstanding work and keep the garage running.
When fatigue lined D2’s face again, Mom and I kissed him goodbye. Wayne was waiting outside for us and drove us back to Mom’s house. She said nothing all the way home.
“The Charles Rose?” Wayne asked as he pulled away from Mom’s house.
“Yes, please.” Further conversation was impossible because my stomach was in freefall at the thought of the punishment session that lay ahead. We were halfway to the Old Town when I realized I was still wearing panties.
I leaned forward and spoke over Wayne’s shoulder. “How much longer now?”
“Less than five minutes,” he said, nodding at his GPS.
I already knew that. I’d moved forward because I didn’t want him to see me slip my panties down to my ankles before scooping them into my purse. My thighs were already damp in anticipation of what was coming. I wished my condition could be blamed on the suffocating humidity, but I wasn’t that good at self-deception. Never had the drive to Old Montreal gone faster. There were no roadworks or traffic delays. We arrived at quarter to twelve.
“Do you want me to drive around until it’s closer to the hour?” Wayne asked.
“Nope, this is great,” I said and hopped out before he could get out and do the chauffeur thing.
“Sadie,” Wayne called as I walked away. He waved a business-sized envelope. “Simon gave me this. Said to give it to you once we were at the hotel.”
“When did you see Simon?” I held the thick bond envelope with cold fingers, dreading its contents.
“Picked him up at the airport at seven-thirty this morning. He made me wait at the hotel while he went to get this. I think it’s a room key.”
“Right. Thank you.” I forced a smile as I’d done so many times when I was under sentence and didn’t want others to see my worry.
I turned and walked through the door, almost oblivious to the liveried doorman who held it open for me. I slid my fingers along the envelope and, sure enough, felt the room key. But there was more. The thickness of paper too. I sat on a richly embroidered lobby armchair and opened it. In Simon’s precise, upright handwriting the message said:
I have a late appointment this morning, so I probably won’t make it to the hotel by noon. Put the Do Not Disturb light on, go into the bedroom and strip. Set your phone to video. Aim it at the corner. Take a chair and sit there. Think about what we are going to talk about. I will watch the video and it will tell me if you have obeyed me. This is not an April Fool’s joke. xx Simon
I swallowed and my heart raced. That reference to April Fool’s day took me back a few months. That morning I woke in a rebellious mood that I hadn’t been able to shake. At the breakfast table, Simon had been trying to read an article on his tablet, but I’d wanted some attention. Maybe it was the phase of the moon, or the alignment of the planets, but when he continued to ignore me, I chatted more and more, spouting whatever sassy comment popped into my head. Finally, Simon had closed the tablet, taken my hand, and led me back into the bedroom. He didn’t say anything as he undressed me, slapped my ass once, and stood me in the corner.
Suddenly I regretted my childish behavior and had braced myself for the bad spanking I’d expected would follow. Silence had descended over the entire apartment, and I stood there, full of dread.
Then he came up behind me, noiselessly. He curled his arms around my waist and kissed my neck before saying, “April Fool!”
