Morning Glory(45)

I sit on the arm of the chair and rub my hand along his rough cheek, then kiss his head. His hair is unwashed, and I breathe in the scent of his scalp. I don’t ask him about the woman on the phone at the studio. It doesn’t matter anymore. Dex is here. He came home to me. “Tonight’s the concert,” I say cheerfully. “We’ll go out and take your mind off things.”

He shakes his head quickly. “I can’t. I have to go back to the studio. I have to work on the replacement. I only came home to get a few clean shirts.”

“Oh,” I say, stiffening.

He walks to the hallway and selects four or five shirts that I ironed last week. He wads them up and tucks them under his arm.

“Penn, I’m sorry,” he says. “I know how much you wanted to go to that concert.” He walks toward me as if seeing me for the first time, as if he’s just noticed that I have feelings too.

He touches my waist, but I push his hand away.

“You could still go,” he says.

“By myself?”

“Why don’t you ask your mother?”

I shake my head. “She hates Frank Sinatra.”

He scratches his head. “How about the boat maker, what’s-his-name . . .”

“Collin,” I say. “His name is Collin.” I don’t tell him that he saved my life. That he is kind and thoughtful, so much more than a boat maker.

“Yeah,” he says. “Why don’t you see if he wants to go?” He shrugs. “I paid a fortune for those tickets. You ought to use them.”

“Right,” I say. “You’d better go.” My voice is flat and mechanical.

“Penn,” he says, pulling me toward him. “You’re not mad at me, are you? Because I couldn’t handle that. Not after this day.”

I force a smile. I know he needs me to be strong.

“That’s my girl,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I’ll call you soon.”

I nod as the door clicks closed, then walk to the chair Dex was sitting in. The air still smells like him, sweet and musky. I sit there until it dissipates, then disappears entirely. Sometime later, I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say. I don’t have the energy to get up.

It’s Collin. “Hi,” he says, looking at his watch. “You’d better get dressed. Aren’t you going to the Sinatra concert tonight?”

I shake my head. “I’m not going.”

“Not going? Why not?”

I turn to face him, and the tears finally come. They spill out over my eyelids and stream down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them now. I can’t. Collin rushes to my side and kneels down by me. He takes my hands in his. They’re large and warm, and encircle my small fingers. “What can I do?” he asks, handing me a handkerchief from his shirt pocket.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“What happened?”

I look away, then let my eyes meet his again. “Dex isn’t going with me to the concert.”

“Why not?”

“He has to work.”

Collin nods to himself. “Then I’ll take you.”

In spite of Dex’s offhand suggestion, I’d never think of asking Collin. It seems forward, somehow. But now that he’s mentioned it, now that he’s kneeling here in front of me holding my hands, I want nothing else. “Would you?”

He nods, then stands up. “Now, let’s get you dressed.” He walks to the hallway closet and sees the red dress I left on the hook. “This one?”

I nod.

“It’s perfect,” he says, pulling the ironing board out and plugging the cord into the wall. I didn’t know men could iron. Dex always acts as if he’s allergic to housework. I watch with fascination as Collin spreads the red fabric over the ironing board and smooths the pleats beneath his fingers. His motions are gentle but determined, the way he sands the planks of the sailboat. I think of his hands touching my dress and my cheeks flush.

“There,” he says a moment later, holding up the dress on a hanger.

“How did you learn to iron?” I ask.

He grins as if I’ve just asked him how he learned to read. “My mother raised me to know these things.”

I vow to myself right then that if I ever have a son, I’ll raise him to be thoughtful like Collin. I’ll teach him to iron a dress and to make icing for cookies and to mend a hole in a pair of trousers. “Well,” I say. “Your mother did a good job.” I take the dress from Collin and eye it on the hanger. Somehow it seems more daring now. I wonder if I ought to have chosen something more conservative. “I’ll just go get changed.”