"Pizza--pesto and chicken."
"God," Oliver said.
"Oh, something good happened at The Conservancy. Jacky Chapelle dropped
by--remember Jacky? She's in town for a week. She said she'd come to
the party."
"Ah . . ." Oliver cleared his throat. "I like Jacky."
"I thought you did."
"Surprised she isn't married," he said, "a bit bossy, I guess." He
shook his head sadly, reactivating the "creep" sign.
"Well, you're taken."
"Quite so," Oliver said. "Just another hungry breadwinner."
"Half an hour. Oh, Precious, did Daddy make you walk?"
"Mama," Emma said as Oliver retreated to the barn.
It was good that Jacky was coming, Oliver decided; it meant that she
had forgiven him or gotten over it or something. Maybe she had a new
lover. That was a cheerful thought. He was in a good mood when Jennifer
called him in for dinner.
In the following days, Oliver stayed away from Suzanne as much as
possible. The few times that they were by themselves were
uncomfortable, but at least they could show the hurt they felt, even if
they didn't talk about it. Passing in the hallway was harder. Others
would notice if they tried to ignore each other; they were forced to be
friendly in a phony way, as though they didn't feel the force drawing
them together. Suzanne began to look strained. Oliver kept his head
down and worked hard.
The day of the party was gray and drizzly, warm for late fall. Oliver
stood in the open door of the barn, holding a paper cup of ale and
welcoming guests. By mid-afternoon, cars were parked around the first
bend of the driveway. Thirty or forty people were milling about in the
house giving Jennifer advice and admiring Emma. Jennifer was flushed
and pleased. She kept the conversations lively while she brought
appetizers in and out of the kitchen. Porter had come through with a
quantity of scones, apricot--walnut and cranberry--orange. Oliver took
special pleasure in pouring a Glenlivet for Arlen. They stood in
amiable silence as rain dripped from the barn roof.
"Couple of cows and I'd be right at home," Arlen said.
"I've been thinking of getting a little John Deere."
"Well--they can come in handy."
"I guess." Oliver's thoughts drifted to Jacky. She appeared, on cue,
walking up the drive. He met her with a hug. "Jacky! You look great."
She held him tightly and then stepped back, knuckling the top of his
head.
"How's married life?"
"Fine," he said. She looked at him closely.
"I'm thinking of trying it myself," she said. "I don't know."
"Uh, Jacky, this is my buddy, Arlen."
"How do you do," Arlen said, extending his hand.
"A pleasure to meet you," Jacky said. "What's that in your glass?"
Arlen held his glass up for inspection. Jacky bent forward and sniffed.
"Sarsaparilla!"
"Quite good on a rainy afternoon," Arlen said.
"Yumm," Jacky said.
"Oliver, sarsaparilla for the lady."
"Right away. Does the lady like water with her sarsaparilla?"
"Half and half."
"Yes," Arlen said approvingly. Oliver prepared her drink and handed it
to her.
"To your new family and your beautiful old house," she toasted.
"Jacky! How nice!" Jennifer swept in and gave Jacky one of those
lengthy woman to woman hugs, timed to the microsecond to communicate
eternal devotion, unceasing turf vigilance, equality before the Great
Sister, and other messages beyond Oliver's understanding. Arlen exuded
calm; the two women might have been cows rubbing shoulders. "Come and
see Emma." Jennifer led Jacky into the house.
Arlen and Oliver resumed their positions in the doorway. "I don't want
to intrude, Oliver, but wasn't she the one . . ."
"Yup," Oliver interrupted. "She was."
"Interesting," Arlen said. "Very attractive."
"What do you think makes someone attractive?" Oliver asked.
"Hmmm. Physical health. Energy. Integrity is most important, I think."
"Integrity," Oliver imagined Jacky and then Suzanne.
"Of course, it's different for everybody. We all have our weaknesses.
Little things. Porter's forearms, for instance--the way they swell up
from his wrist. As soon as I saw them, I thought, oh, oh . . ."
"Lucky Porter," Oliver said.
"Olive Oil!" George bounced in from the ell. "Hi, Arlen, how're you
doing?"
"Just fine, George."
"Bazumas, Olive Oil! My God! I thought I'd never see her again. I asked
if I could paint her. She said yes but I'd have to drive to Maryland."
George hung his head. "It's a curse--art."
"Maryland's just down the way," Arlen said.
"Arlen, my car!" George threw one arm in the air. "I'm lucky it starts.
_Maryland?_"
"Life is hard," Oliver said.
"Food," Arlen said, heading for the kitchen.
"Yes," George said, following him. Oliver looked down the driveway and
focused on a man walking slowly toward the house. The man smiled when
he was closer.
"You must be Oliver. Ah, yes."
"I am. I remember you from somewhere."
"Ba, ba, boom," the man said and twirled around.
"Bogdolf!"
"Eric Hallston, actually. I'm an old friend of Jennifer's."
"You look so much younger," Oliver said.
"The miracle of make-up. When I do a Bogdolf, I use a lot of gray.
People like an older Bogdolf."
"I'll be damned," Oliver said. "Well, come on in. What are you
drinking? Mead?"
"Mead? Very funny. Horrible stuff. Scotch would be nice, but that ale I
see would be fine."
"Glenlivet, right there." Oliver pointed to the table that was inside
the barn. "Help yourself. Jennifer's in the house." Bogdolf Eric poured
himself a stiff one.
"I have a surprise in here," he said, waving a manila envelope. "You
don't have to like it. You don't have to accept. I'm sure Jennifer
will, but you are Lord of your Keep."
"Bogdolf, what are you talking about?"
"Eric, please."
"Eric." Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photograph
from the envelope. He handed it to Oliver.
"Last one left." A puppy with big paws and big ears stared up at
Oliver. "She has her shots and everything."
"Cute," Oliver said. "What kind is she?"
"Mother is a golden. Father is a lab. Total retriever."
"Could bring me my paper," Oliver said, starting to slip.
"Might be nice for your daughter."
"Emma," Oliver said, brightening. "Come see her." He took Eric through
the ell and into the kitchen. "Here we are," he said.
"Eric!" Jennifer hugged him warmly.
"Eric has a puppy for us."
"A puppy?" Jennifer looked at the photograph.
"Oh, how cute! How cute! Oh, Oliver, wouldn't it be just perfect for
Emma?"
"Mmm." It was hard for Oliver to disagree.
"I can bring her any time you'd like. Sooner would be better--you
know--bonding and all that." Jennifer nodded wisely and took Eric to
see Emma who was in her playpen in the living room. Oliver went back to
the barn. Christ, he said to himself. It was beginning to get dark, a
relief.
"Gotta go, Handsome." Jacky appeared at his elbow.
"So soon?"
"Long day tomorrow. Driving back."
"I'll walk you down," Oliver said.
"Where's your coat? You'll get wet."
"I don't need one," he said. They walked down the driveway in
comfortable silence. The light rain had gradually wet things through.
Branches and leaves were dripping, and the drive was muddy in patches.
"You don't look so great," she said.
"I'm O.K."
"Terrific kid."
"She is. I don't know . . . It's the sex thing."
"I thought so," Jacky said. She was surprisingly sympathetic for
someone who had been throwing wine glasses at him the last time he'd
seen her.
"How's _your_ love life?"
"Improving," Jacky said. "I found a real nice guy. He works on Capitol
Hill, actually."
"I'm glad," Oliver said. "You look mellower."
"I've been working my way through some of this sexual stuff," she said.
"I'm not so different. I mean--I still like my equipment." Oliver put
his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "But it's not _so_
important. There are other kinds of bonds." She paused. "I think maybe
you have some work to do in that area. But--leave it in the bedroom,
Oliver." They walked on.
"I'm trying," he said.
"I think you have a little dom in you," Jacky said. Oliver realized
that he was having a talk that actually meant something. He filled with
gratitude.
"I love you," he said. "I can't live with you, but I love you." They
reached her car.
"Thank you," she said. "That's sweet." She got in the car, started it,
and rolled down her window. Oliver put both hands on the window and
leaned over. "Be true," she said. "That's the main thing." He
straightened.
"Take care," he said. He didn't kiss her; his mind was going too fast.
Be true? To what? He fought for understanding.
"Bye, Oliver," she said. She backed out and continued backwards down
the driveway at a good clip. Coordinated, he conceded.
"Bye, Jacky," he said, waving as she disappeared around the corner. The
rain came a little harder. Drops washed down his face like tears. No
wonder things can grow, he thought. The rain forgives them.
18.
Bogdolf Eric delivered the puppy two days later while Oliver was at
work. Emma loved her and vice versa. As soon as Bogdolf's presence
faded, Oliver loved her too. They tried "Jesse" for a name, then "Jesse
Woofwoof." "Woof" was what stuck. She was good--natured and full of
energy, forever trying to get Verdi to play. Verdi would tolerate her
briefly and then swipe her in the nose. Woof would yelp and jump back,
feelings hurt. Verdi would leap to a windowsill and ignore her.
Oliver stayed away from Suzanne, although he badly wanted to talk to
her. He could have gotten out of the hospital Christmas party if he had
made an effort. He didn't.
When the day of the party came, Jennifer was happy to stay home with
Emma, Woof, and Verdi. Oliver put on a warm jacket and drove to the
hospital where he passed a slow two hours exchanging glances with
Suzanne. Various employees made speeches, and her uncle presented
awards. Dan's daughters were a hit playing a fiddle and accordion
medley of dance tunes and Christmas carols. Suzanne was wearing a
caramel-colored cashmere sweater over a tight red skirt. She made an
effort to be cheerful, but she seemed tense. Without either of them
making an obvious effort, they moved next to each other.
"I've got to talk to you," he said quietly.
"Not here," she said.
"O.K."
A minute later she turned toward him and said, "Follow me when I
leave." Her lips barely moved. He nodded.
When the party ended, she exited the parking lot, turned right, and
drove slowly until he came up behind her. She led him seven or eight
miles away from the coast and into the country before turning into a
narrow driveway. They climbed between pines to the top of a short rise
where a small house faced away from the driveway. Suzanne parked in the
carport and got out as Oliver stopped. She waved for him to follow her
and walked around to the front of the house. A screened porch looked
out on a two acre field, a tangle of browns and yellows in the weak
December sun. A rectangle of field near the porch had been made into a
lawn. A flower border separated the lawn from the field.
"Isn't this pretty," Oliver said.
"I guess it'd be easier to live in a condo," she said, "but I like it
out here." The way she said "I" and "out here" was instantly familiar
to Oliver. She was comfortable with being alone, in the company of the
trees and the field. A chickadee flitted to a large bird feeder and
flew back toward the woods. The quiet hammered in Oliver's ears. He
took a deep breath. Suzanne was looking at him in a concerned way. She
was concerned about _him_, he realized--not their future, not their
work, not their child--him.
His knees began to shake. She felt it and moved closer. "I need to sit
down," he said. Suzanne looked at the porch. Oliver went to his knees
on the hard ground. She bent over and put a hand on his shoulder.
"I can fix us some tea," she said. Oliver closed his hand on her wrist
and pulled her slowly to the ground beside him. She rolled gracefully
to her back, her eyes wide open on his. Her other hand was on his arm,
lightly holding him to her. Time slowed.
He brought his mouth down on hers. She softened and opened. He pressed
harder, flattening her lips against her teeth. He could feel the ground
through her head as he rocked in each direction. Her hand went to the
back of his head, pulling him closer. Oliver's mind began to spin from
not breathing. He started to pull away. Suzanne's head came up with
his. She made a pleading sound and drew him back to the ground. His
hand went to her hip. Heat spread across his upper chest and into his
arms. He put one hand on each side of her head and held her down as he
raised his body and gasped for air.
Suzanne's eyes were closed. She was breathing rapidly through her
mouth. Oliver got to his knees, took off his jacket, and spread it next
to her. She did not resist as he lifted her hips and moved her onto the
jacket. He lay next to her and put the fingers of one hand across her
mouth. She kissed his fingers. He pushed up her skirt and reached
between her legs with his other hand. Her knees fell open, and her
mouth opened under his fingers. She tilted her pelvis, pushed against
his hand, and helped him to remove her warm underwear.
He took off his pants and put his fingers back on her mouth as he
lowered himself over her. As he slid into her, she took the heel of his
hand between her teeth. When he withdrew, she bit harder. He came in
deeper, and she lifted against him. Her arms were flung out wide, palms
up. He was cradled in her hips. With each stroke, he felt the ground
beneath her, felt closer and closer to home. Suzanne strained up,
jerked twice convulsively, and sent a clear cry across the field. She
wrapped him with both arms and urged him, helped him through the door.
He fell headfirst, grateful, filling her as he fell, filling her for
good and all.
He lay collapsed and quiet while his breathing straightened out.
Suzanne giggled. "What?" he mumbled.
"I'm hot on top and getting cold below," she said.