After all, it felt like the least she could do. Tom was working so hard for both of them, having insisted that he wanted to support her. She would use her savings to treat him to a little celebration tonight. Besides, they'd been married for exactly ten days today, and if that wasn't something to celebrate, Eleanora couldn't think of anything that was.
Sliding into the first row of books she saw, she peeked through two stacks and found Tom sitting at a table not from her. He had his back to her and his shoulders hunched forward as though reading. His blond hair was shiny from the sun billowing in through the windows in front of him and a little long in the back, she noticed, the waved edges brushing the collar of the crisp blue shirt that she'd successfully ironed for him this morning. Her fingers twitched because they knew so well the feel of those strands threaded between her digits. Soft and downy and-
"Tom! Is this where you've been hiding?"
Eleanora jolted forward against the stack of books before her, watching as a tall, classy blonde woman wearing a black cashmere coat and holding a black fur muff sidled up to her husband's table.
Moving as stealthily as possible, Eleanora slipped to the end of one stack of books and inserted herself into the next, now concealed by only one stack as she spied on her husband. She lowered her sunglasses as the woman sat down on the edge of the table, her coat falling open to reveal long legs and high-heeled shoes.
Tom half stood, but the woman placed her hand on his shoulder familiarly and pushed him back into his chair.
"My view from up here is smashing," she gushed, giggling. "Don't ruin it by standing up."
Eleanora's eyes narrowed. This woman was pretty. No, she was beautiful. And she was obviously wealthy, judging from her clothes. And she definitely knew Tom.
"Good morning, Charity."
"Good morning, Tom," she said, putting on a deep and serious voice before giggling again. "We have to lighten you up a little!" Her hand, which had lingered on Tom's shoulder, slid down his arm in a caress. "Trouble with the little woman?"
The little woman? Huh! This woman, this Charity, with whom my husband is so familiar, is talking about me, she thought, which raised the question, If Charity knew about Eleanora, how come Eleanora didn't know about Charity?
"No," said Tom, who didn't remove Charity's offending hand.
"She did get you disowned." Her hand squeezed, and her voice dripped with sympathy. "Poor baby."
Eleanora's face fell. How did this woman know so much about her? About them?
"I need to get back to work, Charity."
"You work too hard!" exclaimed Charity, who slipped her hand into Tom's. "Have lunch with me today."
"I can't," he said, looking up at her. "Too much to do."
"All work and no play, Tommy."
Tommy? Jesus! Tommy?
Tom cleared his throat, finally taking back his hand to run it through his hair, then folding it with his other hand on his lap.
Eleanora was seething by now, her breath coming in fast, furious draws as she hid behind the tragedies of Shakespeare.
Meanwhile, Charity showed no signs of leaving.
"Can't wait to see you tomorrow," she purred in a low, sexy tone.
Tomorrow? He was seeing her tomorrow? Eleanora held her breath, her chest burning and painful as she waited for his reply.
"Oh, that's right."
"Did you forget?"
"Of course not," he said. "I'll have to, uh-"
"Good! I can't wait," she said, reaching out to tousle his hair. "Know what I was thinking about this morning?"
"Nope," said Tom.
"Remember the time we went skinny-dipping in Weston Falls?"
Eleanora gasped, her arm jerking forward and shoving Macbeth right through the stack, which knocked the book behind it to the wood floor a few feet away from Tom's table. Eleanora crouched down as it thudded loudly to the floor. From behind the lower shelf, she saw Tom and Charity look quickly in her direction, but she was concealed behind the lower shelf of books, and they went back to their conversation.
"Remember?" said Charity again, slapping Tom's shoulder playfully.
"Um," he said. "Yeah. Long time ago."
"Not so long ago," she said, swinging her leg back and forth.
How recently? Eleanora wondered, watching Charity's leg brush against her husband's thigh.
And suddenly, a terrible lump rose in her throat, sidelining her anger and giving rise to fear. Who was she? An ex-girlfriend? For God's sake, the way she was behaving, it seemed more like she was a . . . a . . . current girlfriend. Eleanora's heart clutched as her eyes watered painfully.
"Miss? Miss? Did you knock down that book?" Eleanora looked up to find a gray-haired lady contemplating her from the end of the row with bushy, furrowed eyebrows and a deep, disapproving frown. "Are you hiding back here knocking books over?"
"Shhh!" whispered Eleanora, popping up so fast, her elbow caught King Lear and Hamlet, knocking them to the floor.
"That's it!" said the old librarian, hustling down the row, waggling her finger at Eleanora. "You can't come here and hurt the books!"
"I'm going!" she snarled in a loud whisper, adjusting her askew sunglasses and feeling like a hybrid of an idiot and a chump. "Just stop yelling! Shhhh!"
"You shhh!"
"You shhh!" she whisper-yelled back, making her way quickly back down the row before they drew an audience.
She peeked out between some books at the end of the aisle to see Charity's head thrown back, giggling at something Tom was saying. Taking a deep, ragged breath, Eleanora lifted her chin, took a right toward the exit and slammed the library door shut behind her as hard as she possibly could.
***
It has not been a very good day, mused Tom, who trudged home on icy, snow-covered sidewalks in the cold dark.
Oh, it had started off auspicious enough: sunrise sex with his gorgeous, amazing wife, another delicious breakfast, and the sweetest-ever kiss good-bye as she dropped him off at the library this morning. But it had all gone downhill from there.
First of all, Charity Gordon, who couldn't take a hint if the word hint was flashing neon in her face, had wasted almost half an hour of his time this morning, bothering him about going out to lunch, reconfirming dinner for tomorrow-which he'd forgotten to mention to his wife-and reminding him of stupid boarding school shenanigans. No, he hadn't gone skinny-dipping with her, he'd wanted to say. She'd gone skinny dipping with Geoffrey Atwell and Trent Hughes. Tom and Van had happened upon them and had a good laugh stealing their clothes.
The thing about Charity, however, was that, as forward and annoying as she was, she was also Dean Gordon's daughter, and Tom needed to keep things friendly with her father. He needed the job offered to him at Kinsey. So he wasn't anxious to insult Charity by telling her to bug off. But, it made him feel funny to be seen in public with Charity, like he was somehow betraying Eleanora, even though the sun rose, set, and shined in his wife's eyes.
Second of all, the librarian-the older, graying lady whom he sometimes found cooing to the books or petting them like kittens-had come over to see him around four fifty-five to say that his wife had called to say the car wouldn't start. He'd need to walk home.
"Walk home?" he asked, sure he'd misunderstood her. It was four or five miles.
"Shhh! It's a library. Lower your voice!" the older lady whisper-yelled. "Yes. Walk. Car won't start."
"Are you sure she called for me?"
"You're Thomas English. I see your library card at the end of every day."
His shoulders had slumped, and he sighed. Not only would he have to walk home with five or six books weighing down his satchel, but it would take over an hour to get there, and he hated waiting that long to see her. Not to mention, they didn't have the money to fix a broken starter, which worried him as he slipped and slid down the frosty New England sidewalks, heading out of the well-lit village.
"Not a very good day at all," he grumbled, thinking about the call he'd made to his father while he took a half-hour break at lunch time.
He'd used the pay phone in the basement of the library, feeding it dime after dime until his father's apartment phone had rung.
"Hello, Bertram English's residence."
"Flora, it's Tom," he said, greeting his father's maid.
"Mister Tom! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!"
"To you too. Is my father there?"
"Yes, sir. Hold the line, please."
A moment later, his father picked up. "Tom?"