"Where is it?"
"I put it in the pantry. Top shelf, on the right."
"Got it," she said. "Oh, one last thing."
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if you had time for a late lunch tomorrow. Around one thirty? We need to talk before I have to pick up London from school."
Despite everything, I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought of sitting across the table from her. Of seeing her.
"Of course," I said. "Where?"
She named a place we both knew, a place we'd eaten many times before. Including, once, on our anniversary.
I hung up the phone, wondering if it was an omen.
"Of course you can stay with us," Marge said into the receiver. I'd just returned from the grocery store and was putting the orange juice into the refrigerator before calling her. "You'll have to promise not to walk around in your droopy underwear or drink your coffee at the table without a shirt on, though. In fact, don't even pack any droopy underwear, okay?"
"Do you even know me?"
"Of course. Why do you think I'm pointing these things out?"
"I promise."
"We won't be around on Saturday, though. You'll be on your own. A friend of ours is having a housewarming party."
No wife, no London, no parents, and now, no sister to see on the weekend. I wondered when the last time was that I was utterly on my own, figuring it had been years since something like that had happened.
"No worries. I have work."
"I'll still call you, just to make sure you're okay. But back to Vivian. Are you sure lunch is such a good idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Whenever someone says ‘we need to talk,' it's never a good thing."
"Believe me when I say I'm not expecting much."
"I'm glad," she said. "You remember what Liz said, right? She's not going to tell you that she wants to come back."
"Liz told you what we talked about?"
"Of course not," she said. "But I know you, and it's not too hard to figure out what you might ask her. And because I know her, I also know what she told you. It's not as though the two of us haven't had a million discussions about what's going on. It's been a hot topic around the old homestead these days."
"There are better things for the two of you to discuss than my marriage."
"And you'd be right ninety-nine percent of the time," she said. "But lately? We're definitely in that pesky one percent."
"What else are you saying to each other?"
"We talk about how much you're hurting, and that we don't know what to say or do to make it better. You're such a good man, such a good father. It isn't fair."
I couldn't help but choke up a bit. "You don't have to worry about me."
"Of course I do. Big sister, remember?"
I hesitated. "Do you think Vivian is struggling?"
"I'm sure she is. You can't do what she did and not feel at least a little bit of guilt. But I'm not sure she dwells on her feelings the way you do. My sense is that you two are just wired differently."
That made sense. But … "I still care about her," I offered. "She's been a wonderful wife."
Marge breathed into the receiver. "Are you sure about that?"
Vivian had been right about London; when she woke Friday morning, her voice had a raspy edge to it and on our way out the door, she began wiping at her nose. I wondered how long it would take for the medicine to kick in.
After drop-off, I tossed some clothes in a duffel bag and drove to the office. Still no phone calls for the Phoenix Agency, but on the upside, the receptionist was getting used to my presence and had even started saying, "Good morning, Mr. Green."
I spent most of the morning working with my tech guy. Together, we discussed and made decisions on the overall plan, then moved toward discussions of Internet prioritization, targeted banner ads, and a social media campaign. We spent almost three hours together and by the end, I felt like he had more than enough work to keep him busy for a couple of weeks, as did I.
Once that was done, I sent confirmation emails regarding the third commercial I'd film for Taglieri the following Friday, then left a message for the surgeon asking for the names of patients who might be willing to provide on-camera testimonials.
As I worked, I noticed the tension in my shoulders and back seemed to be intensifying, and it dawned on me that I was nervous at the thought of seeing Vivian. Despite her betrayal, despite asking me to make myself scarce all weekend, I wondered if I would meet with a Vivian who was willing to try to work things out. While I knew that Marge and Liz were trying to keep me grounded in reality with what to expect, the heart wants what it wants. Hope might leave me crushed in the end, but losing all hope somehow seemed even worse.
I ended up leaving the office at half past noon, and arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. I'd made reservations and the waiter led me to a table near the window. Most of the other tables were already occupied. I ordered a cocktail, hoping that it would keep me calm. I wanted to approach the lunch in the same way I had the phone call, but as soon as Vivian entered the restaurant, I held my breath, releasing it only when she approached the table.
Dressed in jeans and a red blouse that accentuated her figure, she looked effortlessly chic as always. She propped her sunglasses on her head and offered a quick smile as I stood. When she was close, I wondered whether or not to kiss her on the cheek, but she didn't give me the opportunity.
"Sorry for being late," she said as she sat down. "I had trouble finding a place to park."
"Friday at lunch is always busy here. I think a lot of people are getting an early start to the weekend."
"I'm sure," she said. She pointed to my cocktail, which was nearly finished. "I see you're doing the same thing."
"Why not? I'm a free man this weekend."
"Maybe so, but you still have to drive."
"I know."
She deliberately unfolded her napkin, taking her time, and avoiding my gaze. "How's work?"
"Better. I landed another client. Plastic surgeon."
"I'm glad it's working out for you. Oh, by the way, did you remember to give London some medicine?"
"I did. And orange juice."
"And she knows I'm picking her up today, right?"
"Yes," I said. "And the guest room is ready to go, too."
"Would you care if I slept in the master bedroom? I'll change the sheets first, obviously."
"No, I don't mind. We're still married."
I thought I saw a flash of exasperation but it vanished as quickly as it had come.
"Thanks," she said. "I just want London to have a nice weekend."
"I'm sure she will."
She turned toward the window, taking in the street, then seemed to remember something. Reaching for her handbag, she pulled out her phone and tapped in the code. She tapped a button, used her finger to scroll, and tapped another couple of times. She scrolled some more. In the silence, I took another drink, finishing the cocktail. Finally, setting the phone aside, she offered a pinched smile.
"Sorry. Just checking up on work. I was on the phone for almost the entire drive to Charlotte."
"How was the drive?"
"With the weekend on tap, traffic was heavy. And we didn't get in until late last night. We flew in from Houston, and the night before that, we were in Savannah. I can't tell you how happy I am to have a relaxing weekend on tap."
I tried to ignore the word we. It was better than Walter, but it still stung. I said nothing and Vivian reached for the menu. I couldn't remember a conversation with Vivian that ever felt more stilted.
"Have you decided what you're going to have?" she asked.
"I'll probably just order some soup. I'm not that hungry."
She looked up and for the first time, she seemed to really see me. "You've lost weight," she observed. "Are you still jogging?"
"Every morning. And I'm down almost fifteen pounds." I didn't tell her that much of the weight loss was both recent and due to her, since my appetite was largely nonexistent.
"You can see it in your face," she said. "You were getting some jowls, but they're almost gone now."
It was odd, I thought, how she could offer a compliment while still getting in a dig at the same time. I wondered whether she was still working out with Spannerman, and whether she ever mentioned to him that he had jowls. Probably not.
"Have you decided what you're going to do this weekend with London?" I asked.
"Not really. It's kind of up to her, obviously. I want to spend a lot of time doing what she wants to do." She perused the menu. It didn't take long; even I knew she was going to order a salad and the only question was which one she'd want. Soon after she set the menu aside, the waiter appeared at the table. She ordered an unsweetened iced tea and an Asian salad; I ordered a bowl of the vegetable beef. When the waiter left, Vivian took a sip from her water, then traced her finger through the condensation. Like me, she seemed to be at a loss for words, the elephant in the room being what it was.