“Come here.”
She ran to Nick, scrambled into the bed. “Daddy,” she said very softly. “Can I sleep in your bed? Just for tonight.”
He brushed back the curls, saw the tear-streaked face. “Sure, baby. But just for tonight.”
54
Leon slept late, of course, so it was no problem for Audrey to be up long before him Saturday morning. She enjoyed the quiet of the morning, the solitude, being in her own head. She made herself a pot of hazelnut coffee-the kind Leon hated, but she’d make regular coffee when he got up-and read the morning papers.
The weekends used to be their little island of intimacy, before-before he lost his job, before she started working overtime hours in order to be gone as much as possible. They’d sleep late on Saturday, snuggle, make love. They’d make brunch together, read the papers together, sometimes even make love again. Take a nap together. Then go out and enjoy the weekend, shopping or going for walks. Sundays he’d sleep until she returned from church, and then they’d maybe go out for brunch or make something at home, and they’d make love too.
Those days were like ancient Mesopotamia. She’d almost forgotten what they felt like, they’d receded so into the distant shrouded past.
This Saturday morning, after she’d had her coffee, she considered getting out her case files and working. But a glimmering of ancient Mesopotamia arose in her mind.
Someone had to break the gridlock, she told herself. They were both frozen. Neither wanted to make the first move to try to change things.
She debated internally, the way she debated most things large or small. How many times are you going to keep trying? she asked herself. How often are you going to butt your head against a brick wall before you realize it feels better to stop? The other voice-the wiser, more generous voice-said: But he’s the damaged one. He’s the hurt one. You need to take the lead.
This morning-maybe it was the still beauty of the morning, maybe it was the deliciousness of the coffee, maybe it was the time alone-she decided to take the lead.
She walked quietly through the dark bedroom, careful not to wake him. She slid open her bottom dresser drawer and pulled out the pale apricot silk teddy she’d bought from the Victoria’s Secret catalog, never worn.
She closed the bedroom door and went down the hall to the bathroom, where she took a nice hot shower, using the loofah. She applied lotion all over-her skin tended to get ashy if she didn’t-and then put on makeup, something she never did unless she was going out. She daubed perfume on in all the right secret places-Opium, the only perfume that Leon had ever complimented her on.
Wearing just her teddy, and feeling a bit silly at first, she went into the kitchen and made brunch. French toast, bacon, even some cantaloupe balls. His favorite breakfast: he liked French toast even more than eggs Benedict. A fresh pot of coffee, the kind he liked. A white porcelain creamer, in the shape of a cow, filled with half-and-half.
Then she arranged everything carefully on a bed tray-it took her a while to find it in the overhead storage in the little pantry, and then she’d had to wash off the accumulated dust-and went in to wake up Leon.
Since he’d been in a sour mood for most of the last year, she was pleasantly surprised at his sweet smile upon seeing her and the breakfast she’d placed on the bed.
“Hey, Shorty,” he rasped. “What’s all this?”
“Brunch, baby.”
“French toast. It’s not my birthday, is it?”
She climbed into the bed and kissed him. “I just felt like it, that’s all.”
He took a sip of coffee, made a contented noise. “I got to go take a whiz.” The breakfast tray tottered dangerously as he tried to extricate himself from the bed.
She could hear the sound of his urine splashing noisily in the toilet bowl, the toilet flushing, then she could hear him brushing his teeth, something he didn’t normally do before breakfast. A good sign. Even though he was getting as big as his sister, he remained a very sexy man.
He came back into the bed; she moved the tray to allow him to get in without upsetting it. He kissed her again, to her surprise. She shifted her body, angled it toward him, a hand on his upper arm, ready-but then he pulled away and took another sip of coffee.
“You forgot the syrup,” he said.
She touched the white porcelain gravy boat.
He tipped it over the stack of French toast, dousing it liberally, then took the knife and fork and cut a tall wedge. She’d even dusted it with powdered sugar, which he liked.
“Mmm-mmm. You warmed it.”
Audrey smiled, pleased. Didn’t they always say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? Maybe this was all it took to break through the ice floes that had accumulated in their marriage.
After he’d wolfed down half the stack of French toast and all but two of the bacon strips, he turned to her. “How come you’re not eating?”
“I ate some in the kitchen.”
He nodded, devoured another piece of bacon, took another swig of coffee. “I thought you were working today.”
“I’m taking the day off.”
“How come?”
“Well, I thought we could spend some time together.”
He turned his attention back to the French toast. “Hmph.”
“You feel like going for a walk later, maybe?” she asked.
After a moment, he said, “I thought we needed the money.”
“One day’s not going to send us to the poorhouse. We could go for a drive out in the country.”
Another silence, and then he spoke through a mouthful of cantaloupe. “Just don’t be telling me about getting a job as a night watchman.”
She was annoyed but didn’t let on. “We don’t have to talk about that stuff now, honey.”
“All right.”
Her cell phone rang. She hesitated. Not just that it was a flow-breaker, but it was an unwelcome reminder of the job she had and he didn’t. She knew it couldn’t be a personal call. It rang again.
“I’ll make it quick,” she said, reaching for the cell phone on her nightstand.
Leon cast her a warning look.
It was Roy Bugbee. This was unusual, a call from Bugbee on a Saturday morning. He wasn’t friendly, but neither was he as rude as usual. “The phone records,” he said.
“One second.” She walked out of the bedroom so as not to subject Leon to her conversation. “Rinaldi’s cell phone records?”
“One of the numbers kept coming up a lot, no ID, so I looked it up in Bresser’s.” He was referring to one of the reverse phone directories. She was impressed at Bugbee’s initiative, relieved that he’d finally agreed to take this job on. Maybe he wasn’t completely beyond redemption.
Bugbee had paused, waiting for her to say something, or maybe for dramatic effect, so she said, “Great idea.”
“Right. And three guesses who called Rinaldi at 2:07 in the morning, the day Stadler got plugged.”
“Stadler,” she ventured.
“No,” Bugbee said. “Nicholas Conover.”
“Two in the morning? The same morning when Stadler’s body was found, you mean.”
“Uh huh.”
“But…but Conover told me he slept through the night.”
“Hmph. Guess not, huh?”
“No,” Audrey said, feeling a little tingle of excitement. “I guess not.” Another awkward pause. “Is that it?”
“Is that it?” Bugbee scoffed. “You got something better on a Saturday morning?”
“No, I mean-nice job,” she said. “Well done.”
She ended the call and returned to the bedroom, but Leon was no longer in bed. He was sitting in the chair, dressed, tying his sneakers.
“What are you doing?” she said.
Leon stood up, and as he walked out of the bedroom, he passed the bed and flung out a hand at the breakfast tray, flipping it onto the floor. The cantaloupe balls went skittering across the carpet, the French toast flopping down in a neat pile, the maple syrup puddle sitting atop the gray wool. The coffee spill soaked right in, as did the half-and-half. Audrey couldn’t keep from letting out a squawk of surprise.