16

In lieu of ordering a better version of me, my wife smiles and says to the waiter, “I’m doing fine. Everything looks wonderful. Thank you for your kindness.”

What the hell is going on? Your kindness? Has she lost a limb, or did she just have a minor spat with her husband? Everyone is going crazy around here but me. I take another bite of salad and chew slowly, trying to figure out what conversational topic would be most tame. The boys. No, they are at a movie, with a sitter, and that is a reason for my wife to stress until they are back home, safely tucked into their beds. My job. Nope. Her job. Nada. I know. Lakeside.

“Honey, aren’t you excited to be back at the cottage?” I ask. This is safe and happy ground. This is why we’re here and having the best day possible. “Everything looks great and soon, your gardens will be in full bloom. Even the strawberries.”

Mia exhales. Her face is pinched. She looks terrible. She sounds exhausted. “I guess the first step is to fix the cottage up and put it on the market,” she says. This, now, is her sadness. It’s not over money. It’s that we may have to give up the cottage. Ridiculous. At least now I finally understand. Relief floods over me, leaving only smoldering embers.

“No, of course we’re not selling the cottage. I’m not letting that happen. Everything will be fine. I promise. Remember when you thought we couldn’t buy the cottage in the first place, but I surprised you, handled the mortgage all by myself? Please don’t worry about the cottage, it’s ours. Everything is under control,” I say. I’m so happy to know the actual cause of her distress isn’t me, but the thought of losing her second home. She’s not upset about my job or our pesky money problems. She just doesn’t want to give up the lake. Perfect. She’s still my sweet Mia. I can’t really explain it, but I feel like jumping up out of my chair and grabbing her face between my hands and kissing her firmly, taking her, right here, right now.

But that would be Tom Cruise–ish weird, and not my style. I turn on my biggest smile instead.

“Trust me. You’ll have this cottage for as long as you live. Heck, the boys will inherit it. It will be a Strom family asset, for generations,” I say, not adding, just like the Boones. Greg Boone was upset because I’m a better card player than he is. Beat him every time they invited us to the lake. That was the entire problem, if you want to know the story. He called me a cheater. Au contraire, Mr. Boone, I am a winner. In the heat of the moment that night, though, I might have called Greg a thing or two, with my hands clenched by my sides. I know I can appear threatening but most of the time, my bark is worse than my bite.

“Just like the Boones,” Mia says, as if once again reading my mind. Her face is soft, though, and she takes a thoughtful sip of her wine.

Mia and I never did discuss why Greg and Doris stopped inviting us to the lake. It wasn’t like a big blowup or anything, and it wasn’t as if I’d hit on Doris, I would never do that. I mean, have you seen her? Short, short hair, too perky, too annoying. Like I told you, the only thing I can think of is because I beat Greg at euchre all the time. Maybe Mia did something wrong, I don’t know.

“You talk to Doris a lot still, don’t you?” I ask. This is a new realization on my part—Doris and her role in my life both here at the lake and back home in Grandville. And it’s time to ask Mia about it. My salad is finished, fork at four o’clock on my plate. It occurs to me I didn’t offer a bite to Mia, but then again, she’s having salad for dinner.

“Not a lot, really, not since her kids started private school, but she’s a good friend. It’s helpful, you know, since I didn’t grow up here like you did, like she did. Since she’s lived in Grandville forever, she knows where all the skeletons are buried,” Mia says. She glances out the window, or perhaps she is checking her own reflection, a candlelit mirror.

“You look lovely, honey,” I say, pondering her friendship with Doris and what interest she might have in Grandville’s skeletons. Do they discuss my wayward brother, my family of origin? Does Doris share her love of mall spying with my wife?

Mia smiles and seems to blush a little, acknowledging I caught her looking at herself. It’s funny, Mia just isn’t one of those women who checks herself out in every mirror she passes. I’ve often admired her lack of vanity, except when I wished she’d pay a little more attention to herself. Tonight, though, she seems drawn to the window. I already checked. There is nothing out there beyond the glass. Just inky darkness.

“I do see Doris around the neighborhood, and of course, up here,” she says. I realize she is still talking about the Boones. Interesting. “I miss spending time with them. They’re a fun couple and great neighbors, here and at home. Doris has been good to me, despite our falling-out as couples.”

“Yes, I’m sure she has. And as for the couple time, their loss as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never figured out why they stopped inviting us. But hey, I’d be open to hanging out with them whenever you’d like. Maybe next weekend? The fantastic foursome, reunited just in time for summer,” I say. I’m magnanimous. Forgiving. Easygoing. A gentleman.

Mia’s mouth drops open. She’s shaking her head back and forth as if she’s having a stroke. She covers her face with her hands and I hear a muffled sound like a cat mewling. She drops her hands on the table. I reach to hold one but she yanks it away.

“Ugh. You’re ridiculous. You know there won’t be a reunion, and you know why.”

I arrange my expression into one of mild curiosity. “Do I?”

“Of course you do. Greg says you cheated at cards, that when you two stepped outside so he could talk to you about it, you yelled at him and took a swing at him. You sucker punched our neighbor, our friend. That’s what you did. Of course, Doris and I didn’t have a clue, didn’t hear a thing. You came in the room, told me it was time to go. Thanked Doris for a great evening and left her husband bleeding on the back deck of their home. Incredible,” she says.

Now I tilt my head, blink my eyes. “I’m hurt, Mia.”

She looks at me, her mouth open. “You’re what?”

“You heard me. I can’t believe you’d actually think I was capable of such a thing. Greg is a tool, a sore loser, that’s all. He lost in euchre and instead of taking it like a man he’s telling stories to make me look bad. Disgusting. And, honey, if you did believe his story, why didn’t you ask me about it sooner?”

I pause as the waiter approaches the table, with two other members of the waitstaff. They place our dinners in front of us and remove the silver tops with a flourish again. So dramatic.

Mia smiles at the waiter, not me, and then looks back at me. “I stand corrected, Paul. I’m glad we got that out in the open. Doesn’t dinner look wonderful?”

She believes me, my wife believes me. Of course she does. “Well, thank you for that, honey. And yes, my veal looks and smells divine. Bon appétit.” I take a bite of my entrée and savor every taste exploding in my mouth. There’s nothing better than young tender meat. Mia’s salad looks like a fancier version of the one she ate at Sloopy’s for lunch. It’s too bad her tastes are so limited. My only complaint, if you could call it that, is no one has brought us bread yet. I’m assuming the blue-eyed guard dog should have that duty, but I could be wrong. He appears at our table again and I watch as he peppers Mia’s salad before I interrupt. He is doing it, grinding the pepper for her, very kindly.

“Could we have some bread?” I ask. The waiter stiffens, pepper mill gripped in his hand, nods slightly in my direction and is gone. “It seems this waiter is quite upset about our earlier spat. Do you want to tell him we’re fine? Shall we hold hands as he brings the bread basket?”

Mia smiles. “Are we fine, Paul? I’m not so sure.” Her eyes dampen, but she looks down at her salad, her hair falling in front of her face like a privacy screen.

“Hey, I thought we’d gotten past this. Didn’t we just talk things out? And aren’t we here enjoying this gourmet meal?” I lower my voice to its most soothing register. “In my opinion, honey, we’re more than fine. We’re blessed,” I say.

The basket of bread appears, with a healthy slab of butter on a small china plate alongside it. I reach for it before remembering to offer Mia a slice.

“Bread?”

She looks up, her silky hair parting and revealing her face. “No, thank you. You’re right. We are blessed. I just want to feel better, to get better. I’m tired of being sick, that’s all,” she says. And she smiles again. “Of course we’re fine. Let’s eat.”

“Let’s,” I say. Suddenly, I’m starving and can’t wait to tuck into the meal in front of me. Mia smiles and takes a bite of her salad. We’re good, so good. We both chew our food, gazing at each other across the flickering candlelight. It’s as if everyone else in the room has disappeared and we’re back to the two of us, the two of us against the world.

“You know what it is, what I miss?” Mia asks.

“No, what do you miss?” She looks so beautiful, so happy just now. I again have an urge to reach across the table for her hand, to remember this moment, this look forever, but I really want to finish my meat.

“I miss the feeling of being carefree. Free,” she says. She then pokes her fork through a mound of greens and puts the whole mess in her mouth, realizing too late it was much too much for her to handle. She covers her mouth now, with her hand, to continue chewing.

I chuckle, a small laugh. I have an image of my wife as a cow, just then.

“Well, you’re the one who wanted children,” I say. “You can kiss freedom goodbye once they arrive, as you know.”

“I do. But it’s not just the boys. They don’t make me feel less, less free,” she says. She looks up at the ceiling and then turns to face the window. Finally, she turns back to me. “I was also remembering when we first met at the office. You were so fearless. Boldly asking me out after we’d only just talked once in the conference room, even when it was against policy, even when you were my senior. What if I had said no that day in my office? How would you have reacted?”

Mia looks at me with the love and admiration I’d seen on her face the day we met. The look that told me she was mine for the taking.

I beam at her from across the table. She is so sweet, so innocent. “Women don’t tell me no, honey. You’re living proof of that. Once I set my sights on you, you were a goner.” I slip the last piece of veal in my mouth and prepare to savor it.