The night before the opening of the geologic show, Marci held a gala preview for museum patrons and friends. She closed the building at two in the afternoon, did a last walk-through, and waited for the caterers. These were the nicest rooms in Oakpine. In two hours they would be full of Oakpine’s finest. The show was bright and lively, large plates of stone and realistic landscapes and surreal landscapes, mountains and plains. She straightened again the show guides on the oak tables in the glassed lobby. Stewart was waiting for her in their hall, and they fell together easily, familiarly. She felt his hands on the back of her skirt, and he pressed her against the wall, kissing her with more urgency than she’d expected. “You’re going to wrinkle me all up.”
“Good,” he said. “With an hour, we can do a good job of that.”
“Stewart.”
He was at her neck now, his mouth. “I want this,” he said. He ran his hand up under her blouse. His hand on the fabric quickened the moment, but while they were still kissing, she pulled his arm down and away. She thought of what Mason had said to her the week before. A metaphor. The back of his neck was clean to her touch. He’d been to the barber this afternoon. “But we’ve got the caterers. Let’s meet after.”
“Afterward you’ll start to act awkward and then run off. You won’t stay and let me drive you.”
She felt smart in all of it, smart and desired, but the truth was that she was confused. There was a taste of danger in it, but they had gone slowly, inching along all year. Stewart had been considerate, and they’d left so many moments unfinished with a kind of promise over it all, an infatuation that she found delicious.
She was about to say, “In fifty-nine minutes Tip Top Bakery will be buzzing at the back door with all their goodies.” In fact, she thought the words, preparing the sentence. But before she could say it, Wendy Ingram came around the corner carrying a cardboard box of labeling materials. Marci looked Wendy in the face, and before she could shrug Stewart off or make him aware of what was going on, Wendy passed them, without a word, and was gone toward the workroom way in the back.
“What?” Stewart said. “Please.”
Marci took his face in both her hands and looked at him. “No. Not now. We need to be careful. Wait.” She kissed him and set him back away from her. She liked the way he looked at her now; some of this was so sweet, so much fun. “Wendy’s still here. She saw us. At some point tonight, let her know that you’d grabbed me in a moment of joy at a job well done, something like that.”
“Not a problem,” he said. He was already putting on his game face. “Excellent.”
She watched him go and then folded her arms and leaned against the wall. High school. Three years ago, when Craig had unrolled the plans for the new house on their old kitchen table, he’d said, “Let’s do this. It’s something we’ve always wanted. But if we’re going to be unhappy, let’s do that now and not wait until we’re in the new house.” Why did he think to say that? The remark wasn’t like him at all.
• • •
In making deliveries for the hardware store, Larry Ralston always double-parked the truck and then ran to the end of whatever block he was on and turned, taking serpentine steps and sometimes running backward down to the other end of the block as if on his toes and then back to the truck, where he would open the back gates and grab whatever he was delivering and take it to the door. People were used to seeing him running. Now he loped down Berry Street and back, and then he reached in the truck for the envelopes, which weighed five ounces, and he skipped back to Jimmy Brand’s garage and knocked on the door. There was no answer, but sometimes, Jimmy Brand did not answer. It was a sunny October Friday afternoon.
“What is it?” Edgar Brand had come out onto the back porch and was addressing the boy.