Читать книгу Dear Emily - Fern Michaels - Страница 13

Emily sat at her desk in the Watchung Clinic—their third—her chin in her hands, her eyes staring straight ahead at the calendar propped up against the outgoing mail basket. There was finally light at the end of the tunnel. She x’d out the date. So many years, she thought wearily.

For the first time in hours, it was quiet. Somewhere in the background one of the nurses had a radio that was playing Christmas carols. Emily loved the carols and wished she were a youngster again, just getting ready to start her adult life, a life much different from the one she’d opted for.

Her heart missed a beat when she heard her husband say, “A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Thorn.”

“Right now that’s about what they’re worth. I was thinking I finally see light at the end of the tunnel and enjoying the sound of the Christmas carols. It’s such a wonderful time of year, don’t you think?”

“Get your coat on, Emily, you and I are leaving this place. We’re going to Rickels and get one of those hot dogs from the guy with the umbrella and we’re saying the hell with our cholesterol. Maybe we’ll get two hot dogs with the works. Root beer. God, Emily, when was the last time we did that?”

“About twelve years ago.”

“No!”

“Yes, Ian.”

“God! In that case let’s see if we can eat three. Are you game?”

“You bet,” Emily said, slipping into her coat.

“I have a surprise for you, Emily, and this is my way of leading up to it. We’re gonna sit in the car and eat with the heater running and the windows steaming up, right?”

They were kids again. After the hot dogs they’d make out in the back seat. She giggled.

“Right.”

“But,” he whispered, “we’ll go home and make love in bed. Is that okay with you? I think we’re both too old to scramble around in the back seat.”

“Give me a clue, Ian. About the surprise.”

“Nope. It’s something you have to see. No clues, no hints.”

“Will I like it?”

“You are going to love it. It’s taken me almost two years to get…that’s all I’m going to say. You’re just going to have to wait and see it.”

Later, when Ian carried six hot dogs with the works, plus two giant root beers, back to the car he said, “I’m going to be awfully disappointed in us if our eyes and memories are bigger than our stomachs. Five bucks says you burp first.”

“Ha!” was all Emily said. Oh, God, this was so wonderful, she thought as she chewed her way through her three hot dogs. Ian finished his and gulped down his soda. She deliberately waited, knowing the fizzy soda would indeed make her burp. She cackled with glee when Ian, red-faced, finally couldn’t hold it in a moment longer. She held out her hand for the five dollars. He paid up. Emily leaned across and tapped the horn for the Salvation Army volunteer to come over to the car for the money.

“That was a damn nice thing you just did, Emily Thorn.”

“It was damn nice of you to pay up, Dr. Thorn.”

“That’s because we’re just two damn nice people. Sometimes I lose track of that, Emily.”

“I know, Ian, I do too.” Either she was dead and in heaven or this was all a dream. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to end. Days like this, times like this, over the past years were so few and far apart she could count them on both hands. At that moment she knew she’d sell her soul to the devil if she could have wonderful moments like this every day for the rest of her life. Well, it wasn’t going to happen, so she didn’t need to concern herself with it. Instead she would enjoy today and pray that sometime soon another day such as this one would come along. She hoped it would be during the Christmas holidays.

“Well, if you’re ready, we’re off to my surprise. Actually, Emily, it’s sort of a surprise and a Christmas present all rolled into one. It’s for both of us. I know how women are about such things so I said it was for you, but I meant it was for us to share. I think you’ll understand when we get there.”

All Emily heard were the words share and together. A unit like cream and sugar, salt and pepper. Ian and Emily. A couple. Don’t let this end, don’t let it come crashing down around me, Emily prayed silently.

Twenty minutes later, Ian swung the car onto Watchung Avenue. They were driving past the clinic, but Ian didn’t bother to even look out the window. They went through the traffic lights and up the hill. She couldn’t make out the street signs at all.

“This is Sleepy Hollow Road. It’s nice back in here, isn’t it?”

“Maybe we should think about looking here for a house when we’re ready to buy. I could see us living here, Ian.”

“I can too,” Ian said cheerfully. “We’re here.”

“Who lives here?” Emily asked in awe as she stared at the brightly lighted English Tudor with the huge Christmas wreath on the front door. “Ian, if this is a party, I’m not dressed. We reek of onions and sauerkraut.”

Ian literally dragged her from the car and hand in hand they ran to the front door. Ian continued to play the game by knocking on the door and then ringing the doorbell. “C’mon, open up,” he bellowed.

“Ian, shhhh,” Emily said.

“Guess I’ll have to open it myself.” Emily watched, her eyes round, as her husband fitted a shiny new key into the lock. The door swung open.

Before she knew what was happening, Ian scooped her up and carried her over the threshold. “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Thorn.”

“What?” Emily squealed as Ian set her down. “Ohhhhh, Ian, this is too much. I know I’m dreaming.” Ian pinched her rump and she squealed again. “Is this really ours?”

“In a manner of speaking. It belongs to the corporation, but technically, yes, it belongs to us.”

“How? Where? I don’t understand. It’s wonderful. It’s beautiful. Did you do all this yourself?”

Ian held up his hands. “Remember Mrs. Waller? The house belonged to her estate. The time was right, I guess, and no, I did not do this myself. I hired a decorator, and before you can think it much less say it, decorating isn’t your forte nor is it mine. I told the woman what you liked and what I liked and this is what we got. Of course, if you don’t like it, you can change it. She even put up the Christmas tree. The front door wreath was a gift from her. We have to decorate the tree. I know how you like to do that. I had some boys bring all the stuff from the basement over this afternoon. It’s in the garage. I thought we’d do it later after the hot dogs digest. Do you like it, Emily?”

“Oh, Ian, I love it. However did you keep this from me?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Ian said jovially. “Why don’t you look around while I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. Emily, I’m trying to keep my promise to you to give you everything in the world. This is a start. Would you like a fire?”

Emily threw her arms around her husband. “Oh, Ian, I love you so much. Thank you for this, thank you so much. Yes to the fire and yes to the champagne.”

When Emily returned from her inspection of the house, Ian said, “Did you go down to the basement. No! Half of the basement is for you so you can plant in the winter. I had them install grow lights. There must be at least a thousand flats down there and every seed known to Burpee. I expect some wonderful salads this summer with flowers in every room of the house. I’d appreciate it if you’d plant a lot of tulips, every color they come in. Will you do that?”

“Of course. Ian,” she said, dropping to the floor next to him in front of the fire. “Why are we sitting on the floor?”

“I like sitting on the floor in front of a fire. I thought we could make love here. It’s toasty and we need to christen our new house.”

“Sounds good. Hit me,” she said, holding out her wineglass. “Do we have any more of this. I like it.”

“Two more bottles. One’s for Christmas Eve, though. I want you to do something for me, Emily. Don’t look like that, I’m not going to say I changed my mind about something. This concerns you,” he said, handing her a pen and a paper napkin. “Write down every single thing you could ever possibly want. Everything, no matter how big or small. There’s no limit. If you need two napkins, that’s okay, too.”

“Everything, Ian?”

“I promised you whatever your heart desires. Start writing, honey.”

“My very own wish list. I don’t know where to start. I guess I don’t have to put down a house since we already have it. I’ll start big, okay?”

“Whatever you want, Emily?”

Emily wrote steadily for what seemed like a long time. When she had finished, she handed the list to Ian. It was a shy gesture, her eyes looking everywhere but at her husband.

Ian read the list aloud, to Emily’s embarrassment. “Beach house, Sunfish, three vacations a year, Mercedes convertible for weekends, a Porsche for weekdays, pearls, every length, diamond earrings, diamond bracelet, lots and lots of diamonds. Mink coat, a sable coat, a fox coat. Three Chanel handbags, a live-in housekeeper to take care of us and wait on us, my very own checking account that I do not have to account for, money for my college tuition, a baby that looks just like you, and you, for all the rest of my days.”

“That’s an impressive list, Emily. Now here, sign it.”

“This is fun,” Emily said, scrawling her name. “Is there anything on the list you object to?” she asked, fear in her eyes.

“Not a thing. Those three vacations a year might be a problem if you want me to go with you. Both of us can’t be away, but if you’re speaking for yourself, then I can definitely guarantee them.”

“Vacations are no fun alone,” Emily said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“I’m serious, Emily. Will you settle for going alone if I can’t go?”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Emily said, puzzled by his tone.

“Of course I’m serious. I made a promise to you and I intend to honor it. What’s it going to be? If I can’t get away, will you go alone?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s settled.” He leered at her as he stuffed the napkin in his shirt pocket. “C’mere.”

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s wonderful,” Ian said. “What are you going to do with all your free time, Emily?”

“Well, now that you don’t need me anymore…”

“Wait just a minute, Emily. Where did you get the idea I don’t need you anymore? No, no, that’s not what this is all about. You hung in there with me and now it’s your turn. All you have to do is put in an hour each day at each clinic. That doesn’t mean I don’t need you. I don’t ever want you to think that. You said you wanted to go to school. Just out of curiosity, what were you going to do?”

“I’ll read, sleep late for a little while, watch some television, garden a lot, study if I go to school, wait for you to come home. Ian, are we making a lot of money now?”

“I think it’s safe to say we’re making a kingly amount.”

“Can we start a baby, you know, can we start trying?”

“Don’t see why not.”

Everything suddenly felt flat. Ian didn’t need her anymore. He was agreeing to everything; he was being so nice it was now suspect. She felt like a tired, old workhorse being put out to pasture. She didn’t mean to say the words, but they tumbled out of her mouth.

Ian stared at her for a full minute, his jaw dropping. He cupped her face in his hands. “Emily, what do you want? What do you really want? I don’t know you anymore. No matter what I do or when I do it doesn’t make you happy. I thought you would be overjoyed, that all this was what you wanted for so very long. It’s my turn now to pay you back and suddenly you make me feel like I’m doing something dark and ugly. You’re spoiling things again. You, Emily, not me.”

“I’m too old to start college now. Look at me and tell me I’ll fit in. Go ahead, say it.”

“You might not be as young as the freshmen, but there are a lot of people older than you who go to college. You don’t want that degree very much, Emily. Either you want that degree or you don’t. It’s clear sailing for you, Emily. No loans to pay, you can buy your lunch or dinner, you can drive to class, come home and someone will be here to cook for you, to do all the chores. I never had it that good and neither did anyone else I know. I said three hours because I thought you wanted to keep your hand in the business. If you want to work all day, feel free. It’s your choice.”

“I don’t know how to choose. There I was working sixteen and sometimes seventeen hours a day, trying to do my best. Then instead of being weaned away from that killer load I’m suddenly out in the cold. At least that’s how I feel. I guess I just don’t know how to react. I didn’t expect this, wasn’t prepared. I appreciate it. All I’ve ever known is work and more work.”

“And now you don’t have to work anymore. Now you can have your legs taken care of. All the things you couldn’t do before, all the things you said you wanted to do. I think you need to finish this wine by yourself and think about things. I’m going to bed. By the way, I’m taking the green room at the top of the steps. Yours is the yellow one. This way I won’t wake you up with my middle-of-the-night departures and the phone ringing.”

“But Ian, I thought we…” Don’t beg, Emily, please don’t beg, she pleaded with herself. “Good night, Ian,” she said quietly.

Separate bedrooms. My God, she thought. So it’s come to this. She couldn’t help but wonder if the try for the baby would be a one-shot deal or if he’d back off from her all together. She looked around at her new house. There was no way in hell she was climbing those stairs and sleeping in a yellow bedroom someone else had decorated.

God, what was wrong with her? Maybe she needed a shrink. Well, she could certainly find the time now to visit one. In secret, of course. Ian would explode if he thought a colleague was hearing her troubles. Maybe she could go into New York and give a false name and pay in cash. Maybe she’d get pregnant right away and she wouldn’t have to do anything but take care of the baby. That would be blissful heaven.

She finished the wine before she curled into a tight ball and slept on the hard, new sofa that smelled of packing materials.

Emily woke to silence that was so total she shook her head to clear it. At first she felt disoriented, sluggish and then fearful. A faint amber glow from the streetlight outside gilded the middle of the room. Then she remembered where she was and why she’d fallen asleep on the scratchy new sofa. From somewhere in the house a clock chimed the hour. She counted one, two, three, four, five. Five o’clock in the morning.

The smelly pillows she’d been sleeping on caught her as she flopped backward. How could something beautiful and wonderful end so disastrously? Unless that was the way Ian had intended the evening to end. Separate bedrooms. Hers was yellow. She started to shake, was unable to stop, and there was no quilt, no afghan to cover herself with. She didn’t even know where the thermostat was. She wanted to feel anger, to go upstairs and demand Ian tell her exactly what was going on in their lives.

Well, she was going to find out and she was going to find out right now. Her trembling ceased and was replaced with ramrod stiffness as she mounted the steps to the second floor. She thrust open the door and peered into the darkness. The bed had been slept in, but was empty now. Ian must have gotten called out to one of the clinics during the night. She turned on the light, gathering one of Ian’s pillows to her chest. It smelled faintly of his after-shave, a potent concoction from a grateful patient. Tears dripped on the pillow. She brushed them away. Crying never helped. Crying gave her headaches. “Damn you, Ian.” She wanted a friend then more than she’d ever wanted anything. Someone to call up and talk to. Where was her old friend Aggie? For years they’d sent Christmas cards and then one year there was no card and she didn’t know where to send hers to so she’d scratched Aggie’s name off her list. Well, she was going to have a lot of spare time now. Maybe she could track Aggie down.

Ian had his own bathroom. She looked around carefully. If she remembered correctly, this was the largest of five bedrooms—the master bedroom. The yellow room, hers, wasn’t quite as large. Ian had huge double closets. The yellow room had an oversize closet with a mirror on the door. And why the hell not, Ian needed more room than three women with all his shirts and suits. Her own wardrobe was meager compared to his.

Who was going to clean this monstrous house? When was a housekeeper going to materialize? If that didn’t happen, she and she alone was going to have to do it. It would take her all day to dust and polish, to keep things the way Ian liked them. She’d need two vacuum cleaners, one for upstairs and one for downstairs. A set of cleaning supplies would have to go into the upstairs linen closet. Or would Ian expect her to lug things up and then down?

From long habit, Emily made the bed, but she did it with anger in her eyes and murder in her heart. The linen closet in the hall was full of towels and sheets. There was no vacuum cleaner, no cleaning supplies.

Emily opened the door to the yellow room. It was pretty enough in a frilly kind of way. She almost choked when she opened the closet door to see her clothes hanging neatly. She yanked at the dresser drawers to see her underwear, her stockings, her nightgowns neatly folded. She pawed through them. How dare Ian do this to her! Her personal things were no one else’s business. She did cry then when she saw her panties, the ones where the elastic was coming away from the material, all neatly folded on the bottom of the pile. Some stranger Ian hired had seen and touched her underwear. She felt ashamed, embarrassed that she didn’t have sexy, beribboned undies, the kind you bought from Victoria’s Secret. She didn’t have time to shop for such things, and goddamn it, she liked cotton underwear. Size eight. She shuddered as she slammed the drawers shut.

The yellow room had its own bathroom. It wasn’t as large as Ian’s and didn’t have a bidet and only one vanity. She fingered the apple-green towels that were larger than beach towels and twice as thick. They were called bath sheets in the Sears Roebuck catalog.

There was a hollow feeling in her stomach when Emily made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She passed the thermostat on the way and turned it up to 80.

It was a beautiful, modern kitchen complete with dishwasher, trash compactor, and garbage disposal. There was a center island with cabinets underneath, lots and lots of gorgeous oak cabinets, all of them full of new dishes and copper-bottomed pots and pans. A string of garlic hung from one of the beams, which had a little note attached to the bottom that said, “Good luck in your new house.” “Up yours,” Emily muttered.

Everything was where it should be, just the way she would have positioned things if she’d decorated the kitchen herself. She made coffee, and while it perked, her mind raced. Down the hall and around the corner of the steps was a home office for Ian, completely outfitted. Suddenly it was important for her to see that office, to see what was in it.

It was manly, professional-looking. An Ian office if there was such a thing. Wainscoting, deep leather chairs, chocolate-colored carpeting, a mahogany desk that was so shiny she could see her reflection in the top. Everything shrieked newness. It even had a fireplace, a neatly laid stack of wood waiting for a match to ignite it. Medical books lined the walls in what Emily knew were custom-made bookshelves.

In their entire married life she’d never, ever gone through Ian’s things. Even at the clinics she’d never opened any of his drawers, never touched anything. She yanked at first one drawer and then another. Files, folders. Records. In the middle drawer where people had a tendency to toss bits and pieces because of convenience she saw a lone folder labeled Park Avenue Clinic. She read through it, stunned at what she was reading. When she was finished, she replaced it exactly the way she’d found it, closed the drawer, got up, gave the seat of the leather chair a hard smack to erase the indentation, pushed it back, and left the room.

Emily’s eyes were wild when she poured coffee into a gaily colored mug. There seemed to be a set of cups, each with a flower painted on the side. The one she was holding was a pansy pattern with beautiful shades of purple. At first she thought it was a decal. On closer examination she saw it was hand-painted. It took both hands to hold the mug, to bring it to her lips. Until she tasted the scalding coffee she wasn’t aware that she’d forgotten to add sugar and cream.

The Park Avenue Clinic was going to be an abortion clinic. Over her dead body. She had something to say about that. Ian knew she was going to object and that’s why everything was so secret. Which just went to prove this new house, last night, was nothing more than window dressing until he got down to what he was setting her up for.

Was she supposed to go to the clinics today? She couldn’t remember. Obviously it didn’t make a difference or someone would have called by now to find out where she was or at least to ask if maybe she was coming in late.

Are you thinking of a confrontation, Emily? her other self asked quietly. At Ian’s place of business? Think again, Emily. You really don’t have any say in how the businesses are run. You refused to become an officer of the corporation. You gave up those rights and Ian will throw that at you with the speed of lightning. His attorney will back it up. You are a paid employee whose salary remains in the business. You are given an allowance by your husband; he takes care of everything. He’s currently working on the list you provided, to give you everything you ever wanted in life.

The pansy cup fell from her hands and shattered on the terra-cotta floor. One down, five to go, she thought as her gaze raked the colorful cups hanging on a coffee cup tree that was too cute for words. Her arm swept out, sending the metal stand and the five cups crashing to the floor. Now she was going to have to clean it up and even from here she could see the nicks in the new floor. It was a stupid floor. Terra-cotta belonged outside, on a patio or a deck.

Maybe this was what wasn’t sitting well with her. Ian’s blind rush to start giving her things without asking her dislikes and likes. Why couldn’t she be allowed to decorate her own home? Was her taste so terrible? The house was attractively furnished, but it wasn’t her taste, and as far as she could tell, it wasn’t Ian’s taste either. It was probably some damn. twenty-five-year-old decorator Ian had flirted with.

Cry, Emily. That’s what you always do when things don’t go right. Instead of taking a stand, making your views known, you cry and give in. Like that time you ironed those forty shirts. Ian smiles at you, and you all but kiss his feet.

Emily walked into the living room. She needed to take a shower and get dressed. Then she’d go into the clinic and talk to Ian.

Her shower completed, she tried to dry herself with one of the large towels. The terry cloth refused to absorb the water because the towels were new and hadn’t been washed. She picked up her sweatshirt, turned it inside out, and dried herself.

Naked, she charged into the yellow bedroom, where she rummaged for her clothes. How should she dress to visit the Park Avenue Clinic?

The Park Avenue Clinic, two blocks down from Maple Avenue, ran the entire length and breadth of the four-story building. It was going to be huge, bigger than the other three clinics. It was a perfect location. Rent was going to be very high. She walked down the nine steps to the basement, whose windows were above ground level. The workmen didn’t pay any attention to her. She thought she recognized two of the men who worked on the Watchung Clinic. They nodded to her.

At least six thousand square feet. Really high rent. She was checking on the patient bathroom when she heard two men conversing on the other side of the wall. They were amused about something, she could hear it in their voices, but the words weren’t distinguishable. She backed out of the bathroom and meandered closer to the wall. Now she could hear perfectly.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Walt. Doc Thorn told me himself just last week. This whole side of the building is for a sperm bank. It’s gonna be a whole separate operation. Ten bucks if you don’t believe me. Ask Dwight, he’s the architect.”

Emily’s eyes rolled back in her head, but she didn’t move. “Big money in sperm banks, the Doc said. They charge for the donation then they charge rent for keeping the donation. This isn’t just going to be an abortion clinic. Some other doctor is going to be doing vasectomies. Now that’s something I’d never even think of doing. What about you, Walt?”

“When I don’t want any more kids, I might think about it. You can get it reversed later on if it turns out to be something you can’t live with. My wife cut out an article for me to read. I’d consider it. One of the guys up front said the doc was thinking of converting the other clinics he has to this kind. Must be a lot of money in this. Doc Thorn wouldn’t be considering revamping his clinics if he wasn’t going to be making some mega bucks. My wife is pro-choice, what’s yours?”

“Pro-life. Guess we’re a wash if it comes to a vote.”

“Yeah, guess so. Guess the Thorns are pro-choice.”

Emily swayed dizzily before she felt well enough to leave the work area.

Sperm banks, abortion clinics. The family clinics she’d believed in, had worked in, were going to be done away with. And she’d made it possible with all her hard work.

She needed to talk to Ian and she needed to talk to him now. She was off the hook as far as invading Ian’s privacy via his desk drawers. She could now honestly say she’d overheard the men at the clinic talking.

At home she called the three clinics to see where Ian was. “Pencil me in for lunch,” she told the receptionist. “Tell Dr. Thorn it’s very important I see him. I’m making a reservation at Jacques’ for one o’clock. I’ll meet him there.”

Emily’s stomach churned as she changed her everyday attire to an outfit more conducive to a Christmassy lunch at Jacques’. She pulled on a raspberry-colored sack outfit and dressed it up with a multicolored belt that matched the costume jewelry left over from her younger days. She felt elegant in her high heels which she hadn’t worn in over a year. For the tiniest of moments she dallied with the thought of spritzing herself with the perfume Ian had given her years ago. He’d take it as a sign that she was ready to give in, as usual, to whatever he wanted. She put the bottle back on the dresser. She was never going to use this room. Never, ever. When this luncheon was all over, she might very well end up packing her bags and moving out. Sheer bravado as far as her thoughts went. In her heart and gut she knew only an act of God could separate her from Ian. He was her reason for living, her reason for being.

Emily’s spirits lifted when she walked into Jacques’ shortly before one o’clock. She took a moment to drink in the colorful poinsettias lining the foyer. The blooms were banked at the desk and up the steps and into the bar. Inside the main part of the restaurant they were featured in the boxed windows with porcelain dolls dressed in red velvet. Cheerful, colorful, a reminder that the holiday was just days away. She ordered a glass of white wine and settled down to wait for her husband. He was fifteen minutes late, a huge smile on his face when he was ushered to her booth.

“Scotch on the rocks,” he said to the waiter at his elbow.

“Emily, you never cease to amaze me. To what do I owe the pleasure? This is verrry nice,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t think you ever really invited me to lunch before. Great idea. You’re paying, of course.”

How handsome he looked in his beige cashmere jacket. His white shirt was so perfectly ironed by herself she felt a ring of heat start to form around her neck. “Of course,” she said carefully.

“Are you telling me you saved your allowance? Or are you holding out on me again?”

Emily’s heart thumped in her chest. “Pete gave me a generous Christmas going-away present. I planned to use it for Christmas.”

“And well he should. You worked your buns off for that man. He owes you. How much did he give you?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“In that case I think I’ll order lobster.” Ian flipped open the huge brown menu and pretended to scan the day’s offerings. “Did you sleep well? I slept like a baby. When the phone rang at three forty-five I just got up and showered and out I went. I felt so rested. I really like the idea of my own room, don’t you? Mine looks the way a man’s room should look and yours looks the way a woman’s room should look. I think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. You have no idea, Emily, how many couples have separate rooms. I personally think it makes for a better marriage. I hope this lobster tastes as good as those hot dogs tasted last night. That was great, wasn’t it?”

“I enjoyed the hot dogs. Ian, about the separate bedrooms, I don’t like sleeping by myself. What kind of marriage is it when we sleep apart? We’re supposed to be a couple. If I’m not going to work anymore and you’re going to be gone all day and most of the evening, when will I see you? I don’t like that yellow room. I slept on the couch.” She put her hands in her lap and then between her knees to keep them from shaking. She wondered if he could tell she was trembling. Ian could sense everything.

“Emily, it’s just for sleep. We both need a restful night. Did you look at yourself in the mirror before you left the house? You look positively frazzled. That’s what sleeping on the couch will do to you. Now, look at me. I feel like the king of the mountain because for the first time in years I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. Don’t you care, even a little bit, about my well-being? I need my wits to take care of my patients. You’re being selfish again. If you’re worried we won’t have sex, you can forget that. I’ll knock on your door or you knock on mine. Or we can plan ahead and make appointments. Now, you have to admit, that’s devilish.”

Devilish. Did he think she was stupid? Obviously. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it before you did it, Ian? You always consult me. At least you used to. I don’t know us anymore, Ian.” There was a quiver in her voice Ian was going to notice. Damn.

“And spoil the surprise? I thought I was doing something nice, keeping my promise to you. Consulting you would have ruined the surprise. And, dear Emily, I am aware, even if you pretend that you aren’t, that you are a good thirty pounds overweight. That makes a difference in a bed when you flop around like you do. We need rest, Emily. Why are you being so damn hard to get along with? I thought we were here to have a nice lunch. This is just more of the same.”

“We’re drifting apart, Ian. I can see it, feel it.”

“Now you’re a seer. Come off it, Emily. It’s your own insecurities. Suddenly you have all this free time and you’re running scared. I suppose in a way that’s understandable, but for God’s sake, what more do you want from me? Women would kill for that house. Women would kill to have free days. Women would kill to have some man pay for everything so they can sit on a velvet cushion. Not you, all you want to do is bitch, whine, and then bitch some more. I think you need to grow up, Emily, and see how things are done in the real world. If you don’t like the yellow bedroom, redo it. That’s part of it too, right? You don’t like the idea that a professional decorator made over the house. If I had let you do it, we’d be living in cutesy, snuggly Early American. I hate that stuff.”

Two down, one to go. Emily took a deep breath, signaled for a second glass of wine. “I know about the Park Avenue Clinic. You should have talked to me about that, Ian, before you went ahead and set things up. I feel like you betrayed me. I don’t know if I can forgive you for that. I went there this morning to see how things were going and I heard the workmen talking. Why didn’t you talk to me, Ian?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed as he leaned across the table. “Let me see if I understand this right, Emily. You’re unhappy because I went ahead and made a decision without consulting you. You told me when it was time for you to quit working you didn’t want any part of those clinics. You goddamn signed away your rights, on advice of your own personal attorney that I and the corporate attorney insisted you hire and paid for by me. You waived your rights. I retired you quite handsomely. So, what the hell is the big bitch here?”

Emily unclenched her jaw. “The bitch is you’re turning family clinics into abortion clinics. Sperm banks! My God, Ian, here I am pleading with you for a baby and what are you going to do, you’re going to terminate pregnancies. I want a baby so bad I can…You said we would have a family. I need to get pregnant before I’m too old. You yourself said it’s not good to have a baby late in life.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Emily, but didn’t you on more than one occasion tell me and anyone else who would listen that you were in favor of a woman’s right to choose? True, you always said it wouldn’t be your own choice, for yourself, but you committed. You can’t have it both ways.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what choice is all about? I would never choose that for myself, but I don’t have the right to make that decision for someone else. Don’t put me on the defensive, Ian. You did something we agreed not to do early on. We said we would discuss everything, that we were a team and a team worked together. I guess what you’re saying is we aren’t a team anymore in more ways than the business. Now that you have your own bedroom, you’ve put me out. You’ve actually pensioned me off. How much do I get a month, Ian?”

“Is that what this is all about? You want a check?”

“Among other things. I’ve never taken a salary, but I’m on the books. I should get something. I want to see it in writing, Ian.”

“How much do you want, Emily?”

“Two thousand dollars a month.”

“Fine. I’ll set it up. All you had to do was say that’s what you wanted. You realize the money is going to come from the clinics, don’t you?”

“What?” Suddenly she felt stupid and wished she could hide under the table. She’d never seen such a pitying look on Ian’s face. Hold her ground now or make another stupid mistake like she’d made when she waived her rights to the family clinics. Tears of frustration burned her eyes. Three down. Suddenly all her expectations evaporated and she could feel her shoulders slump. “Why don’t we just get a divorce and be done with it?”

“Is that what you want, Emily? On what grounds?”

God, no, it wasn’t what she wanted. “Grounds?”

“Yes, grounds. Yes, if you file for a divorce, what grounds will you sue for? Are you going to say I’ve been good to you? That I’m trying to make life easier for you? Are you going to say I’m being generous and kind, I just gave you a magnificent house for a Christmas present? What are you going to charge me with? Oh, I get it, the separate bedroom thing. Well, when a judge hears that I’m on call twenty-four hours a day and need my sleep, what do you think he’s going to say? You never think, Emily. I’ll tell you what I think right now. I don’t think we need to get a divorce. Yet. I think we should live under the same roof. You lead your life and I’ll lead mine. In a year, if you want a divorce, I’ll agree.”

Emily’s head reeled. She gulped at the wine. “That means we won’t have a baby.”

“Exactly. If you think I’m going to bring a baby into this world with your attitude, you have another thought coming. You expect me to have passion for you? Forget it, Emily. You know, I have here in my pocket two airline tickets to the Cayman Islands. See,” he said, placing the tickets in the middle of the table. Another folder was added. “This is a first-class hotel, ocean view. It was another surprise. I thought we’d leave Christmas morning. I know how much you like Christmas Eve so I thought we’d celebrate then, and leave in the morning. I even hired a limo to pick us up. It was my way of making up for that other botched up trip we couldn’t make. See this,” Ian said, lifting the flap of the ticket that had her name on it, “now watch me carefully, Emily.” He ripped the ticket in two and placed it on her bread plate. “Merry Christmas, Emily.” A moment later he was gone.

The waiter appeared at her elbow. “Will Dr. Thorn be returning or did he have an emergency? Will you want to take his lunch home or shall I cancel it?”

“Cancel it, and yes, he had an emergency.” She would have left herself, but she knew her legs wouldn’t hold her up. She opted to stay and eat the lunch she knew would stick in her throat. She’d stay till most of the patrons were gone so she wouldn’t look like the fool she knew she was.

Emily didn’t cry until she got home. When she’d finished, she walked up the long staircase to Ian’s room. His suitcase was gone and so were a lot of his clothes and toilet articles. Obviously he wasn’t coming back home till after his vacation. She pulled back the spread on the bed and buried her face in her husband’s pillow. She wished she could fall asleep and not wake up until she was old and gray, when things like this would no longer bother her.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Emily took stock of the refrigerator and pantry. She needed groceries if she was to get through the next week or until Ian returned from his vacation. She made out a list, ordering the best of everything. She called the Plainfield Market and told them to deliver everything by six o’clock and to charge it to the Terrill Road Clinic.

Emily stared for hours at the bare Christmas tree. Decorate it or not decorate it? At eight o’clock, after all the groceries were put away and she’d eaten a sandwich and showered, she dragged the tree through the living room and out to the foyer. She opened the door and gave the fir a mighty shove. It slid down the brick steps, the heavy, metal stand clunking and probably chipping the bricks. As if she cared. There were pine needles everywhere. She didn’t care about that either.

She made a fire, turned on the television set, uncorked a bottle of wine, rummaged for a pack of Ian’s cigarettes, and settled herself for the night. She drank herself into a stupor and repeated the process every day until January 2. A new year.

Emily woke with a hangover that was so bad she went back to sleep and didn’t get up till noon, at which time she made out a schedule for herself that did not include Ian. She still hadn’t slept in the yellow room and still had no intention of doing so. Something perverse in her made her carry her things down to the basement. It was all a finished room, carpeted and paneled with a bathroom and small summer kitchen that was outdated, but still worked. At the far side of the basement was what she referred to as her planting room. She could live quite nicely down here until she got some backbone and some guts to do something about her marriage. She knew she was being stupid, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She also knew she required some kind of professional help. She needed to get out her health insurance policy to see if it covered psychiatric care.

On the twenty-fifth of January, Emily signed up for classes at Middlesex County College. She scheduled a series of twelve appointments with a psychiatrist named Oliver Mendenares. She rebooked her appointment with the attorney on Park Avenue, kept it, and came away angry. With herself. Because of her blind stupidity, she’d signed away all of her rights to the family clinics. Either she could get herself a job or stay dependent on Ian.

She’d already made up her mind that she wouldn’t take the two thousand dollars a month if Ian offered it. “Once a fool, always a fool,” she muttered over and over to herself.

Ian’s return was nothing short of anticlimactic. He went about his business as usual, spoke to her the way he’d speak to someone he’d just met. He didn’t ask how she was, where she was sleeping, what she did with her days. He wasn’t home at any one time to do more than sleep, shower, and change his clothes. The white shirts were still piling up.

Spring heralded bright, sunny days. A new housekeeper named Edna arrived as did a bright red Mercedes-Benz convertible. A week later a Porsche was delivered. Both vehicles had giant silver bows sitting on top. Cards stuck under the windshield said, “To Emily, as promised. Love, Ian.”

The first thing Emily did when Edna arrived was to show her how to iron Ian’s shirts. She quit four hours later. A second, third, and fourth housekeeper arrived, but each one quit when the laundry basket was pulled out.

When the last housekeeper left after two days—the longest any of them had stayed—Ian came home with a wide smile and three jeweler’s boxes. He magnanimously cooked dinner outside on the grill and presented her with the boxes, gaily wrapped. He smiled benignly as he offered them to her.

“These are lovely, Ian,” Emily said carefully. “Is it safe to keep them in the house?”

“They’re insured. Do you like them? I think I got everything on the list. The ring is two full carats, the band has two carats in smaller stones. The two bracelets are worth twenty thousand, at least that’s what the appraiser said. Each set of earrings is two full carats each. You have five different strands of pearls. Are they what you like?” he asked anxiously.

“They’re lovely,” Emily repeated.

“I put thirty thousand dollars in your account for your three vacations. I think you can take a pretty decent vacation for ten thousand dollars each, don’t you? The travel agent said it was more than enough. I’m working on the shore house and boat. Did I forget anything, Emily?”

“I don’t think so,” Emily said, her mouth a grim, tight line.

“You’re trying to fool me, Emily,” Ian said jovially. “In the living room are your furs. You should keep them in a vault. There’s a place in Metuchen named Oscar Lowrey. You can store them there, but if you’d rather go someplace else, it’s okay. What do you think?”

What did she think? Dr. Mendenares pretty much said Ian had a screw loose, but then he’d pretty much said she had one loose, too. “I’ll think about it.”

“Aren’t you going to say thank you? I know you, Emily, you thought I wasn’t going to keep my end of the bargain we made. See, you should have trusted me. I always come through. You need to trust me more. What do you see as our problem in keeping a housekeeper?”

“Those white shirts, Ian. No one wants to iron them. Including me.”

“Are you going to sit there and tell me, after all I’ve given you, you aren’t going to iron my shirts?”

“I’m not going to do it. If you want to take back all these lovely things, go ahead. Dinner was…okay. I have to get back to my books now.” She walked away, into the kitchen and down the basement stairs. Only here, in this underground cavern, did she feel safe, reasonably content and free of anxiety. She left the jewelry on the wrought iron table and didn’t bother to check out the furs. She also left Ian with the dishes. The rule had always been: You cook, you clean.

Mendenares, if she was still going to him, would probably applaud her actions. But then, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d told her she had to stand up for herself, take charge of her life and not be a doormat. That’s when she stopped going to the sessions. At the beginning she’d made a pact with herself to take twelve sessions, and if she couldn’t see the light after three months, she would need more than one forty-five-minute session once a week. How disgusted Mendenares looked when she told him she wouldn’t be returning. “I have to work this out myself. I still love Ian. I will probably always love him. If that’s my weakness, then that’s what I have to work at. I want to try and save my marriage.”

She hadn’t done anything, though. She returned home and burrowed into the basement with her seedlings, her books, and her memories.

And now this strange dinner and gift-giving session. What did it mean? Everything Ian did was suspect. He was giving her everything he promised, everything she said she wanted. She hadn’t been able to work up any excitement when the cars arrived. The furs would probably stay in their boxes until Ian hung them up. Mendenares said she had to force herself to look at things squarely and to be honest with herself. And she was trying to do that. Ian was not a kind, generous person. In her heart she believed Ian was paying her off, and as soon as his debt was paid, he was going to leave her.

She smelled his shaving lotion before she saw him. It was the first time, to her knowledge, that Ian knew she was living in the basement, the first time he’d actually come down the stairs. She looked up from the pile of books on the card table she was sitting at. He was angry but trying to control it.

“Emily, I think we need to talk.” He looked around uncertainly. “Let’s go upstairs where we’ll be more comfortable.”

She’d learned a thing or two from Mendenares. She couldn’t give Ian any kind of an edge, because as soon as she did, she was lost to her emotions. “I’m comfortable right here. In case you haven’t noticed, I live down here.”

“I’m not blind, Emily. If you want to do something stupid like live in a cellar, that’s your business. It’s the same stupid principle that made you sign away your rights to the clinics. This is a magnificent house, a comfortable house. If you want to live like a mole, feel free.”

“I am and I will. What do you want to talk about? If you want to really talk, then let’s discuss that scene where you left me at Jacques’ Restaurant and then let’s talk about the clinics. In my opinion we do not have a marriage. If we did, you would never have left me and gone to the Cayman Islands by yourself. That was one of the cruelest things you’ve ever done to me and you’ve done quite a few. The list is long. I let you do it to me, though, so I’m as much to blame. You know it too. Giving me all those things is your way of trying to make yourself feel good. I thought it was a joke, a game we were playing when I made out that ridiculous list. I don’t want things, Ian. I want a husband and a family. That’s what I signed up for and you said you did too. I know you’re a doctor, I know you have weird hours, but if I was important to you, you’d find a way to at least call me once a day, have dinner with me, bring me a flower once in a while, something to show me you care. You don’t do any of those things.”

“Are you saying this house is to make me feel good?”

Emily stared at her husband, pleased that her heart was beating normally, pleased that she saw his eye twitch, a sign that he was upset.

“Oh, you bet. You have the biggest, the best bedroom. You don’t want me in it, but you were gracious enough to assign me one across the hall. When was the last time we slept together, made love? I remember the day, the hour, and what went on before and afterward. Women remember things like that. I don’t like the yellow room and I resent that you would think I would. Take away the surprise element, Ian, and what do you have? I would rather have known about the house, done the decorating myself. And how do you know I couldn’t do a good job? You don’t know a goddamn thing about me and that’s really sad. You broke my heart. You really did and I cannot forgive you for that. I’m still angry about those clinics.”

“Those clinics netted a hundred and forty thousand dollars last month,” Ian said coldly.

“How many babies did you kill for that, Ian? How many men jerked off in a bottle to store in your freezers? Give me a number, Ian.”

“Don’t go noble on me, Emily. Women have a right to choose. I’ve always believed that. Jesus Christ, you don’t even go to church, so don’t start that morality crap. You believe they have a right to choose, too.”

“If you truly believed that, Ian, I would know it in my heart and then I could live with the clinics, but you don’t believe it. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re in this for the money, and nothing you can say will ever convince me otherwise. You kill babies for money and then you buy me presents to try and ease your conscience.”

“That’s not true,” Ian bellowed.

It was true, she could see it in his face, read it in his eyes. She felt no satisfaction, only a deep sadness. Suddenly she wanted to wipe the look off his face, kiss away the look in his eyes. He still had a hold over her. “Take back all those presents and go outside in the garden and bring me one of the tulips, pick me a dandelion, a green weed. I don’t care what it is as long as you pick it because you want to give me something from your heart. Did you know dandelions are herbs?”

“No, I’m not taking back the gifts. I promised them to you and I never knowingly break a promise. The tulips are too pretty to pick and I think you know that. I didn’t see any dandelions in the lawn when I came home. And why in the hell would I give you a weed. And no, I didn’t know dandelions are herbs. I guess I wasn’t in class the day they discussed dandelions.”

“What else do you want to talk about?” Emily asked as she tapped her pencil on the table.

“Us.” He walked over to the table and reached down for her hand. “I want you to move into my room. I’ll order a king-size bed since we’re both restless sleepers. We need to start working on that baby. If I broke your heart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m a doctor, do you think I can fix it for you? Will you let me try? Do you still love me?”

Emily thought her heart would burst right out of her chest. It was the first time Ian had ever said he was sorry about anything. Maybe this time he meant it. She wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. “I’m willing to try, Ian. I love you. I will probably always love you. Do you love me?”

“Of course. How can you think otherwise?”

“Because I need to hear the words, Ian. If you loved me, how could you go off and leave me sitting at Jacques’? And go away without me?”

“I don’t know how I did that, Emily. It was a knee-jerk reaction and I was miserable. All I did was think of you and the business. I couldn’t wait to get home to apologize, and when I did, you didn’t want any part of me. I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do anything. I was wrong and I admit it. What did you do while I was gone?”

“I drank myself into a stupor every night.”

“We really messed up, didn’t we?”

Mendenares’s face flashed in front of her. “You did, Ian, I didn’t.”

“Guilty!” Ian said cheerfully. “God, I’m glad we settled all this. Come on, let’s move your stuff upstairs. I’ll help you. Then, if you are agreeable, we’ll take a long, hot shower together and do our best to make a baby.”

Emily smiled. It was a start. You always had to start somewhere. “Did you do the dishes? You cook, you clean, I’ll watch you.”

“That’s fair,” Ian said, bolting up the stairs to the kitchen. Emily watched as he dumped the dishes, the condiments, the silverware into the trash barrel on the deck. “Done!”

In spite of herself, Emily giggled.

It took four trips before they were ready to strip down in the shower.

Emily thought she could feel her heart start to mend when Ian said, “Let’s get started on that kid who is going to look like you or me or both of us put together.”

Her heart was mending, she was sure of it as she stepped into his arms under the pelting water.