Morning Glory(46)

“Do you want me to come back?” Collin asks, rubbing his head nervously.

“Stay here,” I say, smiling. “It’s OK. I’ll just run upstairs.”

I climb the ladder to the loft bedroom and peel off my dress, then sit on the bed in my slip. The night air is warm and sultry on my skin. Downstairs, just a few feet below me, Collin is fiddling with the record player.

“I saw a Sinatra record on the table,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought it could get us in the mood for the concert.”

“I could use a lift,” I say, letting my slip fall to the floor. It glides over my budy effortlessly. I hear the crackle of the record player, and then the deep, smooth sound of Sinatra’s voice. I sway to the melody as I unclasp my bra. I select another, white lace, from the drawer and put it on, then reach for a fresh pair of lace panties. The music is sweet and beckoning. I could just say his name. “Collin. Could you come up here, please? Could you help me with the window? The hinge is stuck.” My heart beats faster when I imagine what would happen next, when I imagine his strong hands holding me. I hear his footsteps downstairs. I open my mouth to say his name, and then close it quickly. I think of Dex. I can’t.

I put on my stockings, then slip into my dress and heels. I fasten my hair back with a clip and swipe red lipstick over my lips. I fiddle with the zipper, tugging it halfway up my back, but it sticks. I try again, but I’m worried I’ll tear the dress. Timidly, I climb down the stairs, where Collin is waiting. He’s beaming at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “Wow,” he says. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m sorry, but do you think I could talk you into zipping me up?” I turn around, and without saying anything, he walks toward me. I feel his warm hands on my back as he rights the path of the zipper. It relents instantly, and a tingly sensation erupts on my skin as he pulls it up to the nape of my neck.

“There,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders to turn me around. “Perfect.”



We arrive at the theater and take our seats near the stage. A waitress appears to take our cocktail orders, then returns with two martinis. After taking a sip, I eat the olives from the toothpick in my glass.

“Here,” Collin says, handing me an olive from his glass.

“Thanks,” I say, popping it in my mouth. Dex never gives me his olives.

The waitress returns with another round of martinis, and by the time the lights dim, the crowd is applauding and I feel light and happy, like I could float away. Frank Sinatra takes the stage, and everyone stands, cheering. He’s handsome, with mature, chiseled features like Dex’s. The band begins to play and I hear the opening melody to “How Deep Is the Ocean,” and I sway beside Collin until the band preludes into a soft ballad. A couple in front of us begins to dance, and then another. Collin looks at me, and I don’t hesitate. I lean into his arms and press my cheek against the lapel of his jacket.



The cab drops us off on Fairview Avenue. I know I’ve had too much to drink, because my legs aren’t cooperating and my face feels numb. “Take my hand,” Collin says softly, helping me out of the cab. I stumble a little, but he steadies me. “Let me carry you.”

He doesn’t wait for my reply before lifting me into his arms effortlessly. I feel as light as a feather. He steps onto the dock, and we pass the neighbors’ houseboats. The old lady near the stairs must be asleep, because her house is dark. I realize I have no idea what time it is. Or what day it is. I see the potted flowers in front of Naomi and Gene’s house and detect the ruffle of a curtain in the window, but I don’t care. Let them all see me. Let them all think what they want.

Collin stops suddenly, and I look up. I recognize the front door of my houseboat. He sets me down, and I lean back against the door. His eyes sparkle under the house lights, and I feel dizzy looking into them. I think about going back inside my houseboat, alone. “I don’t want this night to end,” I whisper.

“Me either,” he says. His arms are at his sides, but I wish he’d wrap them around me, press me against the door, and kiss me. I wish he’d carry me over the threshold like Dex did on the day of our wedding.

Without thinking, I lean toward him so that my lips are close to his. I feel the warmth of his skin as I close my eyes. I can hear music, the sound of waves lapping against the houseboat. I hear my future. Laughter. Children’s voices. Music. Happiness. But Collin pulls away suddenly and lets go of my hands.

I look down. “Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry, I . . .” I search his eyes. “Why can’t you kiss me? Do you not want to?”