Sally whined at my side, then put her paws on my feet, anxious for a little attention. I bent down and rubbed her between the ears. When I sat on my chaise, she placed her long nose on my knee, warm brown eyes seeking reassurance.
"I'm all right," I said. "Really."
I kept waiting for the depression to hit, like it had after Barbara's death. After an inventory of emotions, I was surprised to discover I felt relief, irritation, and a strange itchy sensation I couldn't really identify.
Instead of readying myself for bed, I changed into a crimson caftan, went downstairs, turning on lights with great abandon and profligacy. The old Victorian was a drain, electricity wise, and opening the monthly bill from CPS was like getting a letter from IRS - something you knew you had to face, but terrifying, nonetheless.
Tom went behind me and turned off the lights all the time. I'd be in the bathroom and when I came out, the sitting room would be dark. But tonight, I didn't have to have bat-like navigating skills. Tonight, I was damn well lighting up the place.
I turned on some bluesy music in the Winter Porch, sat on the couch and closed my eyes, willing myself not to think, a task that was amazingly easy. A delicious lassitude stole over me, a kind of otherworldly calm - part emotional exhaustion and part something unknown. I felt like I was waking up when I hadn't been aware of being asleep. Despite my marriage ending, I was in a remarkably good mood.
If Evelyn had been alive, I would have called her, invited her over for martinis and together we would have verbally excoriated Tom.
I missed her.
I lay my head back on the couch, remembering all those fun times we had, time when I laughed so hard my stomach had ached the next day. When we went to a restaurant for lunch, we'd ended up sitting there for hours, tipping wildly to make up for our hogging the table.
"I think marriage is a Ferris wheel," Evelyn said one day.
I raised my eyebrows at that.
"Well, think about it. You two are in a car together, and you go up and down, up and down. The whole trip can make you either exhilarated or sick to your stomach."
"Is that why you never married?" I asked. "Because you didn't want to get sick?"
"I've been married before, Jenn."
"You have? I didn't know that."
"My checkered past," she said, smiling. "I don't talk about it. In fact, I can't remember the last time I told anyone."
We were sitting, once again, in the gazebo but this time we weren't drinking margaritas or wine. We were imbibing ice tea and eating sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Evelyn was dressed in an Edwardian style dress complete with Ascot hat. I was wearing jeans and a sequined top.
The occasion was the celebration of Evelyn's promotion to vice president and we'd decided to be proper. I would have changed to an Edwardian style dress, but I didn't own one. The sequined top was my concession to the occasion.
"Michael was an absolute delight," she said. "He was utterly charming, loved people, loved life. Michael was one of those people that if you met him once, you'd never forget him. Unfortunately, he was so busy being charming he didn't have time to work. He was fascinated with Nicholas Tesla, and convinced the electric company was holding back the secret of free electricity." She gave me a sidelong look. "Can I tell you how many Tesla-like experiments I've financed over the years?"
Since I was only vaguely familiar with the name, I shook my head.
"I'd come home from work, bone tired, and he'd be listening to music, or communing with nature, or contemplating his navel. Pissed me off. Then, he'd give me a back massage, rub my feet, and tell me I was pretty, and I'd forgive him until the next time."
"What made you end it?" I asked, wondering if I could ever talk Tom into a back massage or a foot rub. Not likely.
"He started contemplating someone else's navel," she said, her gaze pinned on her sandwich.
From the tone of her voice, it was easy to tell she hated that.
She would have hated the idea of Paul choosing her as a victim, too.
I was always been so proud of the fact Tom and I were among the lucky ones. Our marriage had been strong, two people working in tandem for the good of the unit.
What a joke.
We hadn't really talked in two years, not since Barbara's drug use had begun. We hadn't had sex in a year and a half, and I missed it, damn it.
I think sex embarrassed Tom a little. Oh, it felt good, but it was so earthy, so animalistic, so damn basic. If it could have been more cerebral, I'm sure he would have wholeheartedly approved.
Did Mary Lynn do it better?
Worse than being wrong, his infidelity just wasn't fair.
I heard a noise and open my eyes. A disembodied face scowled at me from the other side of the screen. It was an indication of how mellow I was feeling that I didn't even flinch. I went to the back door and held it open.
“Is there reason you’re skulking in the bushes after dark, Army?”
He smiled at me and ambled toward the steps.
“Nobody was answering the front door,” he said. "You're looking very festive this evening, Jennifer," he said, as he entered the Winter Porch. "I would say red is most definitely your color."
I felt myself warm at the compliment. The Jennifer of yesterday would have said something disparaging. I shut up and accepted the compliment.
As he sat on the couch I'd just vacated, I wondered if Tom would age like Armand Fehr, into a wizened, courtly elderly man. He was always immaculately dressed and tonight was no different. He was wearing a long black jacket with a red paisley scarf he’d tied around his neck in a big bow. Just the thing for reconnoitering.
His sparse hair was, as usual, neatly brushed. No comb overs for Army.
“Why murder?” I asked. “I can see butterfly collecting, or coins. But why murder as a hobby?”
“What other hobby do you know that also helps people?”
I joined him on the couch.
“The murders we investigate are unsolved. If we can answer the questions of who and why, haven't we eased the suffering of the next of kin? It’s even a civic duty, helping the police.”
I gave him a look, but his only response was to reach over and pat me on the arm. Before, I wouldn't have sat so close to him. I’d pushed people away both physically and emotionally.
“I'm going to have some wine," I said, another un-Jennifer-like action but I hadn’t had to take a pain pill for days so I was due. "Would you care to join me?”
His eyes twinkled. "You shouldn't drink alone."
I shook my head. "No, I shouldn't."
I walked into the butler’s pantry and opened Tom’s climate controlled wine cooler. I pulled out a bottle at random, not caring about the year as much as the alcohol content - a shameless confession and a terrible way to treat a good vintage. But I’ve never been a wine snob and I certainly wasn’t now as I snagged two glasses and the corkscrew shaped like rabbit ears.
I walked back into the Winter Porch feeling like a kid who'd just grabbed a bunch of cookies without being caught. Speaking of which, Maude was just going to have to tell me where she hid the damn cookies.
Army opened the bottle with a skill born of practice and we sat there on the couch in contented silence, sipping our wine.
“I miss Evelyn," I said, the first time I'd spoken the thought aloud.
He nodded.
"She was my best friend. My only friend." I looked at the glass accusingly. I'd only had a few sips. Was alcohol loosening my inhibitions? Or was it part of what I was going through, a transformation from who I was to the woman I really wanted to be? Honesty and self-revelation seemed to be part of all that. I decided to just let it flow.
"She was very good to Frank and me. Frank and I. No, Frank and me."
We smiled and toasted each other on our linguistic abilities.
I studied Army. “Can you keep a secret?"
He looked surprised by my question. “I’m known as the soul of discretion.”
“Are you absolutely, positively sure?”
He nodded.
“I'm divorcing my husband," I said, then looked at the empty glass. Maybe I was more susceptible to alcohol than I thought.
He looked shocked. “What?”
“I'm about to be single," I said. Shouldn't I have been grieving over my lost marriage? My marriage died when Barbara had, a thought that had me pouring myself another glass of wine.
"You've had a difficult year.”
“It has been an absolute bitch of a year,” I said.
I refilled his glass. I couldn't think of anyone better to get snockered with than Army Fehr.