Sheila was removing a pear tart from the oven when Jeff returned.
“Perfect timing.” She placed the fluted pan on a cooling rack and took him by the hand.
She led him into the drawing room and motioned him toward the settee while she went to the game table.
Beaming, she handed him a handsomely wrapped package.
“Where’d you go for this one?” Jeff removed the ribbon.
“TravelSmith. You should check out their site sometime.”
“I’ll leave the high-tech world in your capable hands. Is TravelSmith the latest, greatest destination on your Favorites list?” He said the company’s name quickly, but couldn’t pull off the single-word effect as she had.
“You think you have me figured out, do you?” She sat beside him.
“Let’s see. Epicurious for recipes, Williams Sonoma for gourmet gadgets, eBay for antiques, Drugstore for your lotions and potions. Oh, I’m forgetting the dot corn dot corn dot—”
“Just open your present.” Her eyes narrowed, but she was still smiling.
He pulled the vest from the box and examined it. He was surprised that she’d gotten him a new fishing vest for his trip—he’d told her he wouldn’t have a spare minute for fishing. This one looked more like a safari jacket, in a shade of khaki with a good, rugged look, like it’d been cut from the earth of the Bush Country. Several pockets covered the front and offered an assortment of closures: buttons, Velcro flaps, and zippers. There were also interior pockets in both fabric and mesh, and D-rings in several places. “Does it come with its own can opener?”
“Jeff Talbot, this is for walking around the island... not for fishing trips. It’ll hold maps, sunglasses, your notebook, even little antiques. Oh, and fudge. Don’t forget to bring me some fudge from May’s Fudge Shop.”
“Fudge?”
“Uh-huh. May’s is the oldest operating fudge shop in the United States, and it’s on Mackinac Island.”
“Should be easy enough to track down. And, honey, thanks for the vest.” He laid it aside. “I’m looking forward to seeing Mackinac Island. Can you imagine a place with no cars? Just horses and bicycles and carriages everywhere. Even the taxicabs are horse-drawn. Of course, there’s the smell, but they say you get used to it. And you have to watch where you’re walking or you’ll be looking for a shoe store.”
He pulled her to him. “I wish you could come with me. I can’t imagine the view beating what we have around here, but I’ve heard several people say it seems to at times. Apparently, there’s a cliff just past the Grand Hotel which is lined with Victorian mansions that look out over the lake and make you feel like you’re in the middle of the ocean.” He stared into space, lost in a vision that he couldn’t wait to turn into reality. He dragged himself back to the present and turned with a smile toward his wife. She was noticeably pale. “Honey?”
“I was okay until the ocean.” Her voice was shaky.
He wrapped his anus tightly around her, wondering if he would ever get used to these sudden changes. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that.. .” How could he put it? “You’re so well adjusted that I thought you might be getting close to... Damn it. He didn’t want to use the word normal. That would imply that he thought of her present state as abnormal.
“Sheila, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I mean, you always seem to enjoy the travel software I bring home…”
“I do, really. But that’s because it’s two-dimensional, and I’m in control. When you describe it, I see it, I see you there. I know it sounds crazy, but there’s a difference. It’s just too real when you talk about it.
“The web has opened doors for me,” she continued, “and I love it. But it hasn’t made the problem go away.”
“Opened doors? I’m surprised you would even use those words.”
“Well, it has, when you think about it. That doesn’t mean I have to walk out those doors. But others can walk in, if I invite them. The world is under my roof now, on my terms. It’s more than I ever expected, and it’s given me a freedom I never dreamed I’d have.” Sheila pulled away from her husband and smiled. “I appreciate Greer and all he’s done. We’re like twins—always thinking alike. When I ask him to pick up something in town, he finds exactly what I want, no matter how vague my description might be. I realize I can’t function without him. But with the Internet, I’ve gotten back some independence. It’s helped more than you’ll ever know.”
“I can’t function without him,” she’d said. Oddly, Jeff felt like the outsider, the limited one. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t retire yet and, besides, they’d agreed it would drive them both crazy if he were home all the time. He admired his wife for her healthy outlook. At the same time, he recognized that there was a lot more to her than he may ever learn. It was a strange, unsettling realization. He pulled Sheila back to him, held her for a long time after that. “I guess I thought your healthy attitude meant that you’d be able to go places again someday. You seem so much more open now that you’re involved with things on the Internet—like visiting with people, researching, shopping.”
“Jeff, I don’t want you to hold out too much hope for that.
“That’s not a sign of giving up,” she hastened to add. “Just realistic thinking.”
“I realize that. But I miss the days when we traveled together. I keep hearing that Mackinac Island is perfect for couples.”
She gave him a sly glance. “Just don’t go looking for a replacement, Talbot.”
“Not a chance, and you know it.” He was irritated with himself for complaining. As usual, it had taken her edgy sense of humor to put them back on safe, level ground. He would never understand how she could take it so lightly at times.
“Jeff.” She cupped his chin in her hand and gently kissed his lips. “Don’t beat yourself up over my staying behind. You knew all this going in.”
She stood abruptly, effectively ending their conversation, and reached for his new vest. “I want to finish your packing before dinner.”
Jeff nodded, not wanting to upset Sheila again, knowing that anything he said would come out wrong. He would’ve preferred to do his own packing, but he recognized his wife’s need to participate. As he watched Sheila leave the room, he recalled their first months together. Sure, he had known when they married that she was agoraphobic. But her illness hadn’t been nearly as advanced, as limiting as it was now. They went out several nights a week, practically gorging themselves on all that Seattle had to offer. She wouldn’t go beyond the boundaries of the city, but hell, she didn’t have to. The city had virtually all they could want. They attended everything from baseball games to the ballet. They made it a goal to see how many coffeehouses they could visit. She had even kept a journal, noting favorite blends, the atmosphere of her favorite haunts.
She’d enjoyed getting together with friends for lunch, going out for a weekly manicure, hopping down to Pike Place and choosing the ingredients for a new recipe she’d come up with, shopping the boutiques.
Then the changes began, subtle at first. He’d noticed that she was purchasing more and more when they went antiquing, yet the items never seemed to show up anywhere in the house. Only later did he realize that she was preparing for a life under the confines of a single roof.
She took a large portion of her trust fund and began stockpiling for her own collections as well as for future gifts for Jeff and others in her life—others being a group that had diminished to almost no one as fewer and fewer of her friends came around.
She bought sets of china, inkwells, walking sticks. She stored up clothing, buying multiples when she found something she particularly liked. She became increasingly selective, realizing that she would no longer need black cocktail dresses and sexy high heels. She bought sweaters, jeans, slippers, pajamas.
At first, Jeff wondered how she could possibly enjoy the newly acquired treasures. It reminded him of those few clients who had set him up with bank accounts and given him carte blanche to buy up everything he could find from a specific era in order to create a particular mood for a room, or an office, or an entire home. These weren’t true collectors. They simply threw money at a notion, an idea. Their hands didn’t quiver with the anticipation of holding a letter written by Jack London. Their hearts never pounded against their chest walls because the item they’d searched for all their lives was finally right in front of them with a price tag attached.
He’d worried that Sheila had become one of them. But when she converted two adjoining bedrooms on the third floor into an antiques booth of sorts, he had understood.
Now, when she longed to go antiquing, she would dress for an “outing” and go to her surrogate store and make a purchase or two. On those days, she would have Greer pick up lunch from one of her favorite places, like Beba’s or Pasta Bella’s. Greer, devoted beyond duty, would play along, serving her minted iced tea and bacon quiche, and she’d lunch in the sunny breakfast room while admiring her purchases. She had the healthiest attitude about her agoraphobia of anyone Jeff had ever heard of. He attributed it to her foresight during the time in which she could still leave their home.
Jeff had expected Sheila’s illness to be harder on her than on him. And it had been, in many ways, before she got caught in the web. Personally, he couldn’t imagine life without travel. He loved it, thrived on it. But the two had a special relationship, an odd combination of dependence and independence. Still, he missed having her with him when he traveled. He would have loved to take her places, show her—
Damn! He’d forgotten to give her the gift he’d brought home. It took him a moment to remember where he’d left it. The dining room. He was doubling back toward the kitchen when Greer peeked around a corner.
“The missus?” he asked.
That was another thing Jeff had trouble adjusting to: hearing Greer call Sheila “the missus.” Greer and Sheila shared the same birth year, nearly a decade under Jeff’s.
“She’s upstairs.”
Without comment, Greer produced Jeff’s shopping bag, then turned and went back toward the dining room.
In light of what had just happened with Sheila, Jeff questioned whether or not his choice of gifts was a wise one. But Sheila had mentioned it a few weeks before and, besides, he wanted to give her something before leaving.
He found her in his dressing room and handed her the unwrapped package. “I should’ve chosen something different this time.”
“I doubt that.” She took the package. By the look on her face when she recognized the colorful, weightless box, he knew he’d gotten the right item.
“You did say you wanted to explore Africa. No reason why you can’t take a virtual trip while I’m in Michigan. And look at the bright side; you won’t need a pith helmet.”
She gave him a quick hug, then put the software aside and reviewed what she’d packed for him. “I think I’ve chosen the proper wardrobe for your trip. The Grand Hotel’s web site really helped. Evenings are more formal, so I’ve included your black suit, a sport coat and slacks, several ties, and three sets of your favorite cuff links. Also, some casual stuff for exploring the island. I may have gone overboard. You’re only going to be gone a couple of days.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said as he walked into their adjoining bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and absently rubbed the back of his neck.
“Headache?”
He nodded. Sheila crawled behind him and began massaging his shoulders. He groaned, allowing her kneading fingers to release the day’s stresses. He told her about the strange confrontation with Frank Hamilton.
When he’d finished, she said, “He’s lucky the old woman didn’t shoot him and get it over with. You can’t be too careful these days. To tell you the truth, I’m always surprised that you get into as many homes as you do.”
“Thanks a lot, hon.” He was surprised Sheila would even hint that someone might be leery of him.
“You know what I mean. People have to be on their guard now. They should be, at least.”
“There are still a lot of smart folks out there, ones who are good judges of character.” Jeff stretched his neck from side to side, amazed at how quickly the tight muscles were responding. “Hell, I’d talk to Jack the Ripper if I had a .38 stashed in my pocket.”
“But you talk to strangers all the time, with no way of knowing if one of them might be dangerous. Just because you’re the solicitor doesn’t mean you’re the safe one.” Sheila’s hands worked their way down his back, making broad, firm strokes along the knotted muscles. “You don’t miss carrying a gun, do you?”
“No. Not now. I did at first, but I’m not sure why. I mean, I never used the damned thing, and it got to be a nuisance having to strap it on every day. I don’t know a desk jockey who ever actually shot anyone.”
“You were a little more than a desk jockey. Besides, do you really think that perps stealing antiques are less likely to shoot somebody, just because they know something about pricey objects?”
He knew she was right, but he’d had enough of shop talk. “I think that your use of the word perps just caused dinner to be postponed.” He pivoted and stretched out on the bed, drawing Sheila down with him.
She tried to pull away. “C’mon, Talbot, I need to get my apron and finish your dinner and—”
“Would you make it one of those lacy little maid’s aprons?” He asked, nuzzling her neck.
She slapped at him playfully. “What would be the point? You’d have it shredded before I could say ‘Coffee, tea, or me?’“
“Yeah, but the exercise would ease my stress level a hell of a lot better than a back rub.”
“You’ve never complained about my strong fingers before.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining. But I sure could use some attention before I go traipsing across the country.”
“Your dinner might burn,” she warned, but the caution held no weight. She was feverishly unbuttoning his shirt.
And that was one of the things Jeff loved most about his wife. No matter how much pride she took in her cooking, she had her priorities straight.
“What’s Greer doing tonight?” Jeff watched Sheila as she put on a navy silk peignoir set he’d given her for Christmas.
“You mean after rescuing our dinner?” She threw him a sly smile. “Going to the theater. A new musical is opening tonight at the Fifth Avenue.”
“Has he left yet?”
“About a half hour ago.” Sheila kissed him lightly on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the breakfast room in fifteen minutes.”
Jeff didn’t have to ask how Sheila knew that Greer had prevented a disaster in the kitchen. She had an amazing sense of everything that went on in the house. She knew who was on which of the four levels—five, if you counted the widow’s walk up top. He had learned a long time ago to stop questioning her skill at this. He just figured it was something she’d developed over years of never having left the premises. The house was a part of her, and she knew its movements as well as if her own motor skills were instructing it. It was an extension of her, and it seemed to Jeff that she could feel what was going on inside it, just as surely as she could feel Jeff’s touch.
When Jeff first met Sheila, she was a self-taught chef and better than many who’d been professionally trained. She was working as an assistant at a Seattle restaurant whose reservation book was perpetually full. The two fell in love quickly, and married within weeks.
She had expressed an interest in pursuing professional training and becoming head chef somewhere. Eager to support her interests, Jeff had decided to send her to Cordon Bleu in Paris as a birthday gift. By the time a slot opened up, however, her illness had progressed to a new and demanding level. She couldn’t bring herself to board the plane.
She was twenty-two.
They’d sought out Greer then, and life as they had known it was forever changed.