Chapter 29
Saturday morning came with a chill. The news said forty-seven degrees, cold for early November in Boston.
As Peter stepped out of his bedroom, the apartment felt drafty. He checked the thermometer and clicked it, but he didn’t hear the normal click and hum of the heat turning on.
“Don’t tell me.” He made his way past the counter in the chilly kitchen. He’d been in this old building for the past two years, and there was still always something.
He smiled as he remembered his room at Jake and Amanda’s, the slope of the paneled ceiling and dormer window that looked out over the backyard. Amanda had given him a handmade quilt that she’d purchased at a flea market and a ceramic pitcher that she always filled with ice water for him at night.
“Ahhh!” Peter stifled a yell as he jerked his bare foot out of a puddle of cold water. He lifted his heal and glanced around the kitchen. “Aha!” He opened the kitchen cabinet beneath the sink. Water had seeped into his cleaning supplies and paper towels and was still dripping from the bend in the kitchen drain. There was a crack in the PVC pipe.
“Oh, man!” Peter pulled a small bucket from another cupboard to catch the drips and stood up rubbing his forehead. Then he squatted again and gripped the edge of the sink as he reached all the way to the back to turn the key and shut off the water. “Apartment living is going to be the death of me.”
He didn’t have time to fix this mess. He’d have to call his landlord.
Peter grunted. The heat, the pipe—not even eight o’clock, and already it was one of those days. Well, in a few hours he’d be listening to her voice. That would get him through it all. He smiled. The one shining moment he could look forward to every day. He hummed as he filled the coffee pot and shook grounds into the filter. “Take one day at a time.” He said to himself.
A few minutes later, he dashed outside barefoot in his sweater and jeans to retrieve the newspaper, dashed back again, and laid the paper on the kitchen counter.
He poured himself a cup of coffee with barely enough milk and took a sip. Spreading the paper in front of him, he glanced at the morning news. He was just taking another sip when the telephone rang.
“Did you see it?”
“Hey, Jake. See what?”
“Section C, page one.”
“Give me a second. I have the paper in front of me.” Peter took another sip of coffee as he turned the pages, then set his mug down. He stared at the newsprint, forgetting for a moment that he was on the phone. There was a small photo of Peter in front of the construction site alongside a gigantic photograph of Peter and Tara that took up half the page. ‘Boston’s Most Eligible Architect to Tie the Knot.’
“See it?” Jake said. “Damn, buddy.”
“What the heck? I thought the Tribune was only going to include construction pictures and the interview about the project. This is an article from the press conference.”
“It’s huge, man. It talks more about your wedding than about the library. What were you thinking? Didn’t Tara cancel?”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Wait a minute, the press conference occurred before any of this happened. I didn’t volunteer this information; it’s just that the reporters couldn’t stop asking me about dresses and menus. This is—this—” Peter choked, at a loss for words. He pushed his cup away and wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand.
“Are you going to call Tara?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m supposed to call—oh, no.” Peter froze with his palm to his mouth.
“Maddy? Do you think she’ll see it?”
“This is a local paper. She lives in Colorado.”
“You have to deal with Tara. The details in this article make you two sound like Charles and Diana. Maybe you ought to move your venue to Winchester Cathedral. Is Ted Kennedy really invited?”
“Not you too, man.” Peter rubbed his forehead, reading through the article. He pinched two fingers between his eyebrows and squinted.
“Listen, I heard Amanda on the phone with Tara a little while ago. She said something about Tara coming over this evening. I’ll find out what she said to reporters about the article. How she’s taking the break-up?”
“Thanks for that. I don’t know.” Peter sighed. “She’s, oh, she’s Tara, Jake. I don’t honestly think I’ve ever really known her.”
“I didn’t tell Amanda anything about Maddy. She’s comforting Tara, and I didn’t want to shake things up.”
“Is Amanda upset with me?”
“My wife can’t be upset with you, buddy. She’s just sad for both of you, that’s all.”
Peter nodded and wadded the newspaper in both hands. He wound up and threw the crumpled ball across the counter into the corner of the living room behind the couch. “I’ll call you when I get home. Of course I want to know that Tara’s all right, but I don’t think I should call her especially not after this. I’m going into the office now, and then I’m going to call Maddy this evening.”
“Am I still coming over to watch the game? Or do you want to forget about it?”
“Right! Come over. Maybe it will help me relax.”
“Not if they lose.”
“See you tonight, bruiser.” Peter hung up and retrieved the newspaper. He spread it across the counter and smoothed the photo to study it. He recognized the setting as a dinner party thrown by friends of Tara’s, and he realized when the reporter contacted Tara she must have submitted the photo. It was a flattering picture, Peter and Tara in elegant evening attire; Tara gazing at Peter with her lips pooched flirtatiously while Peter stared directly into the camera. Anyone would assume they were the epitome of glamour and happiness.
Peter pushed the newspaper away. “Most eligible bachelor!” He half-ran down the hall to his bedroom and checked the time on the digital clock by his bedside as he paused in front of the closet. “Today’s going to be a long one.”
He glanced around the room, antsy. He needed release. He stepped into sweat pants and picked up his warm fleece jacket and running shoes.
As he stepped out the front door, he smelled November in the air, firewood and a trace of Boston’s distant waterfront. He locked the door and sprinted down his front steps and up the street.
Night had brought freezing weather. The windows were black against the night, and the television screen glowed. Jake threw himself onto the couch with a loud sigh, while Peter clicked the remote to turn down the volume. Bottles of beer stood on the coffee table, and the television played in the background, but neither of them was interested in the game.
Peter took another sip of beer. “Popcorn?”
Jake shrugged. “I never say no to food.”
Peter went around the bar and reached into the cupboard over the microwave. He punched the microwave on, and the lights flickered.
“What?” Jake craned his neck to look at Peter over the back of the couch.
“It’s the damn microwave. I can’t power one thing in this apartment without losing something else. I’ll tell you, I really miss the good old days at your house.” Peter put the popcorn into the microwave and closed the door. He waited impatiently, and when the microwave beeped he pulled out the popcorn bag and ripped it open. He tossed a roll of paper towels to Jake, who caught them in mid-air, and brought the popcorn bag to the couch.
“It’s that bad?” Jake was ripping off paper towels and taking the popcorn out of Peter’s hands.
“It’s an old building.” Peter threw himself into the couch next to Jake. “There’s always something breaking down, and the landlord’s too old to deal with it. It’s only two apartments, and he’s all by himself. I told him not to worry about it, that I would try to get someone to fix it, but it’s not just the wiring, it’s the heating as well, and this morning the pipe under the kitchen sink started leaking. Now with the Library Compound, Tara, Maddy, everything, there’s just never enough time in my day.”
“Hey, man.” Jake slapped Peter’s leg. “You can always move back in with us.”
“Thanks, but I think Amanda’s got her hands full enough as it is. It’s all right. I have to figure things out for myself.” Peter looked around and the apartment as Jake stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“And Maddy? How are things on that front?” Jake offered the popcorn to Peter.
Peter shook his head took a sip of beer. “She must be open to the possibility of re-connecting, or she would have told me not to call.”
“What are you going to tell her?” Jake picked without enthusiasm through the popcorn bag balanced on his chest. “Are you going to just pack up and move to Colorado? What about Tara?”
“Tara knows. I’ve confessed everything. Maddy’s been there right in front of me all along, and I simply wasn’t looking. Like that shoebox nobody found for twenty years. I moved out, was it a year ago? All this time and it just turns up now? It’s so obvious the universe or God or someone is telling me now’s the time.”
“I want to ask you something, Peter, and don’t get upset, okay?” Jake sat forward and set the popcorn on the coffee table next to his beer. “A sincere answer. The fact that Maddy’s blind isn’t influencing your decision even a little, is it? What if she wasn’t injured but really had been hiding a child from you? Would your response have been different?”
Peter shook his head soberly. “If Madeline had told me we had a child, I’d have been even more adamant, Jake. I’d have done everything possible to make that child my first priority. I’m old-fashioned and you know that. You and I are the same that way. I’d take fatherhood more seriously than my own life.” Peter met Jake’s eyes. “I admire you, you know. I really do. Your girls are your biggest concern, and you love them with all your heart and someday, maybe, I hope to have a child with Maddy. I can see us at Christmas in our own house around our tree, like yours and Amanda’s. I don’t pity Maddy, Jake. I cherish her.”
Jake smiled and took a sip of beer. “Your heart is honest, my friend. That’s why you’re my girls’ favorite uncle.”
“Jake, you’re an only child.”
“Don’t mess with the moment.”
Peter laughed. “I appreciate it. Really.” He was still laughing when Jake looked at his watch and stood up.
“I told Amanda I’d be home so she and Tara could go to the mall. She likes to do her Christmas shopping early. Can you believe it’s November already?”
“This morning when I went for my run I could smell it in the air.”
“Soon we’ll be carving another Thanksgiving turkey. Wow!, you know, if you hadn’t cancelled your wedding, you would have been married by Thanksgiving.” Jake stopped as he put on his jacket. “Remember what we said the night you came for the shoebox? Over the crumb cake and coffee?”
“I remember.” Peter nodded quietly.