I could not hear much until Vivian laughed, a joyful sound, one that I hadn’t heard in what seemed like years. But it wasn’t simply the laugh that startled me; it was the way she smiled and the light in her eyes, the giddiness she radiated. Gone was the Vivian who’d come home surly from work or snarled at London; the irate Vivian who’d been in the master bedroom was nowhere to be seen.
I had seen that expression on Vivian’s face before in moments of undiluted happiness, often having to do with London. But I’d also glimpsed it when we were alone, back when I was younger and still single and courting a woman I’d met at a cocktail party in New York.
Vivian looked like she was in love.
By the time Vivian reentered the house, I was in the den. Afraid of what I might say, I avoided speaking with her. I didn’t want to spend time with her and I forced myself to review Taglieri’s script, the words meaning nothing at all, even as I read them.
I felt her move behind me, but only for an instant. I heard her footsteps recede to the master bedroom, where I knew she planned to fill both suitcases until they were nearly bulging.
I stayed in the den for an hour, then another, and finally a third hour. Vivian finally came back to check on me. I think she was caught off-guard by the fact that I hadn’t sought her out. The last she knew, I’d been comforting a crying London, and because she knew me, she assumed I would try to discuss the incident.
Now, though, like she’d done so often to me, I’d left her wondering what was going on.
“Are you coming to bed?”
“In a little while,” I answered without turning around. “I still have some work to do.”
“It’s getting late.”
“I know,” I said.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at London the way I did. I apologized when I tucked her in.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “She was upset.”
She waited. I still didn’t turn. She continued to wait but I added nothing more.
“Okay, whatever,” she finally said with a sigh. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I whispered, but even as I said it, I had begun to wonder whether that really meant goodbye.
Thirteen days passed before I learned the truth.
I went to the agency the following day and found the perfect young actress for the commercial I envisioned; that commercial would film later in September, once a chunk of the editing on the first two had been completed. I rehearsed with Taglieri and we shot the commercial outside the courthouse the following day, and completed the voice-over for the second commercial. We filmed the second commercial, and the following week, I made the presentations to the two plastic surgeons. I left one of those meetings thinking I had a chance to land my second client, and went to work on a more detailed proposal.
As my first step, I immersed myself in the doctor’s website and studied the direct mailings he’d done in the past. They’d been designed by his office manager and they were all over the board when it came to the themes we’d discussed – safety, professionalism, improved self-image, and limited recovery time – and I had no doubt I could design a more cohesive campaign. After that, I reviewed a dozen websites for plastic surgeons around the country and touched base with my tech guy, getting a rough estimate of the costs.
From there, I got started, and I spent two full days putting my ideas into the kind of presentation that I thought was necessary for his business.
The hours I wasn’t working were devoted to London and taking care of the house. And the laundry. And the yard. And the hamsters. I brought London to and from school, piano, and dance – Vivian took her to art class on Saturday – and we rode our bikes on six separate days. By that point, London had grown confident enough on the final ride to let go of the handlebars for a couple of seconds on a flat and straight stretch of roadway.
We celebrated with lemonade on the back porch while we again looked for bald eagles.
As for Vivian, she returned on Friday evening, and spent most of the weekend with London. She was polite to me, but seemed intent to keep the two of us at a distance. I went to visit my parents on my own, and when she left on Monday morning, she brought along with her two more bulging suitcases. By then, the only things left in her closet were the clothes she seldom wore. She told me that she would be using one of the corporate apartments, but by then, I’d expected her to say exactly that.
She was gone all week. She FaceTimed with London every night at six and occasionally she tried to prod me into conversation. I couldn’t do it. She got angry with me about it on Tuesday and Thursday, and hung up on me when I still wouldn’t rise to the bait.
She came home on Friday afternoon at the start of Labor Day weekend, catching me slightly off-guard. Actually, part of me was shocked to see her at all, even though I didn’t want to admit that to myself. London was thrilled. Vivian picked her up from school and took her to dance, then eventually got London ready for bed. She told me when it was my turn to go up, and I read four stories, staying upstairs longer than I had to, because I was afraid to face Vivian alone.
But she said nothing that frightened me. Though date night was off the table – even I wasn’t in the mood – Vivian was strangely pleasant, making small talk, but I wasn’t in the mood for that either.
Saturday and Sunday were quiet days. Vivian spent nearly all her time with London – just the two of them – while I worked out, cleaned the house, reviewed the footage for the commercials and made some notes, and visited my parents. I avoided Vivian because by then, I was afraid of what she was going to tell me.