‘Not great,’ he admits.
She knows that he’s been struggling lately. He hasn’t kept that from her. He’s always told her what’s going on at work. She doesn’t like to be kept in the dark; she wants to know everything.
She’s concerned for him – for an architect, mistakes can be costly. He has so many details to stay on top of, and with so little sleep … She tells herself that they just have to ride this out. The babies will start to sleep, and they will both sleep, too, and be able to cope better.
She looks at him more closely. Now she can see what’s different about him; he’s clenching his jaw as if he’s worried about something. He looks exhausted, like her, but there’s a nervous energy running along underneath that isn’t usually there. ‘What is it? You seem a bit tense,’ she says lightly.
‘Do I?’ he says. ‘No, I’m not tense. Just – I was a bit off in the meeting today. Didn’t bring my usual energy to it. I don’t think they were too impressed.’ He shrugs. ‘Maybe I should have told them I’ve got colicky twins at home.’ Now there’s an edge to his voice and she feels her back go up a bit. It sounds almost like he’s blaming her. She tries not to react. Takes a deep breath.
‘Look,’ she says after a moment, ‘neither of us is functioning at our best right now. We’re exhausted. That’s just the way it is. But we’ll get through it.’ She puts her hands up and rests them on his shoulders, looks right into his tired eyes. ‘Things will get better.’ She remembers how, a couple of nights ago, he’d had to say much the same thing to her. They have to help each other, prop each other up. That’s what they’ve been doing through these long, difficult weeks of colic. He nods back at her, gives her that smile she loves.
Then he kisses her and says, ‘I know.’
‘Why don’t you lie down on the sofa and close your eyes for a bit? I’m going to get started on supper before they wake up.’
She goes into the kitchen, working quickly, because the babies will be up soon. When she glances into the living room a few minutes later, expecting to find her husband fast asleep, she sees that he’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Then she hears a cry, and steels herself for the long, gruelling night ahead.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT MORNING when he gets to the office, Patrick opens his email, runs his eyes down his messages and stops cold. There’s one from Erica Voss. His finger hovers over the mouse. He considers deleting the email unread, but that might be unwise. He clicks it open.
Hi Patrick,
I imagine it was a surprise, seeing me again. I was wondering if we could get together and talk, for old times’ sake? Maybe for a drink?
Best, Erica
It seems harmless, but he feels uneasy. He would rather let sleeping dogs lie, doesn’t want to nudge this one awake. But he can’t simply ignore her. He hesitates and then types a reply.
Hi Erica,
I could meet for a quick drink. Small world.
Patrick
He stares at what he’s written for a long moment, wondering if he’s making a mistake. Then he hits send. He watches his computer anxiously for a few minutes, waiting for her to respond. It doesn’t take long.
Great! I’m actually living nearby, in Newburgh. I could meet you for a drink after work today in Aylesford, if that works for you?
Erica
His stomach drops. She’s supposed to be in Denver. What is she up to? Why was she in his office? Why does she want to see him? His feelings of uneasiness intensify.
Erica sits in the living room of her apartment in Newburgh and stares at her laptop screen, waiting for a response. She imagines Patrick at his computer in his office on Bleeker Street, his handsome face taken aback. Wondering this very minute how to respond.
It was fun, seeing him in his office yesterday, his reaction. He’s a partner in his own small architectural firm, with offices on the fourth floor of a shiny new building downtown. It looks like he’s doing well for himself. She isn’t surprised. He always was ambitious. He’d obviously been shocked to see her.
It’s been more than nine years since she’s spoken to Patrick. She turns away from the computer for a minute and glances around her sparsely furnished apartment. She’s only just moved in, and it shows. She hears a ping and looks back at her computer. She smiles.
How about the Pilot, at 5 o’clock? It’s on Bristow Street.
Patrick
Sounds perfect. See you there.
Erica
She didn’t think he’d refuse to see her. They have too much history. She wonders what he’s like now, whether he’s changed. Somehow she doesn’t think so.
Shortly before 5 p.m., Patrick leaves his office and walks to the bar on a small side street in the downtown centre. He doesn’t expect to run into anyone who knows him; the Pilot is just this side of a dive – not one of his usual upscale haunts. He straightens his tie nervously as he walks into the bar. He’s five minutes late on purpose. His gaze darts around in the semi-dark, looking for her.
He spots her in a corner, sitting alone, drinking a beer out of the bottle. She looks much the same, although not quite as whip slender as she used to be. In her early twenties she was a knockout, a natural blonde with fine features and beautiful skin. For a moment he stares at her, and then she turns and sees him and seems to go still.
He swallows and walks towards her. ‘Erica,’ he says, as he reaches her table. He catches the faint scent of her perfume – exotic and seductive – the same perfume she wore all those years ago. It’s disconcerting. For a moment, he’s back in Colorado, and they’re all sitting in their favourite bar, laughing and drinking beer, so young, all their lives ahead of them. Lindsey beside him with her hand resting placidly on her pregnant belly, Erica watching him from across the table.
‘Patrick,’ she says now, as he sits across from her, ‘you’re looking well.’
He wishes he’d thought to grab a beer at the bar on his way over, rather than waiting for someone to come by so he can order. He smiles tentatively at Erica through his discomfort. He’s normally so good with people, but he can’t seem to read the situation. There’s an awkward silence. A server sees him and approaches. Patrick changes his mind about the beer and says, ‘Scotch, please.’ His tastes have changed; he wonders if hers have as well, and she simply doesn’t trust the cleanliness of the glasses in this place. Can she tell he’s nervous? ‘So … you live in Newburgh now?’
‘Yes, I moved recently, from Denver. I felt it was time for a change.’
He nods, tries to seem nonchalant about it.
‘A short drive from here,’ she says, ‘only half an hour.’
He waits, but she doesn’t volunteer anything else. ‘What a coincidence,’ he says, ‘you showing up at my firm.’
There’s another awkward pause. His drink arrives and he gulps it greedily. Patrick can’t think of anything else to say. He’s thinking, Of all the places she could have relocated to, why here?
She leans in a bit closer, elegant hands around her beer, peeling at the label. He remembers this from before. ‘I knew you were here somewhere, so I looked you up. When I realized you were so close, I thought, why not?’