Falling (30 page)

•   •   •

That night, Jesse has a sleepover at a friend's and Dominic is out meeting a potential client before heading to work at the Fat Hen, leaving Emma alone. It's so rare these days, it feels luxurious. She cleans the kitchen and is about to go upstairs and jump in the shower when she checks the time.

It is too early to turn in for the night. She could run to the bar and have a quick drink with Dominic, surprise him. Excited at the prospect of his face when he sees her unexpectedly, she checks her hair in the mirror, shakes it out, adds some lip gloss, then picks up her purse and slips out the front door.

The parking lot is jammed with cars. She circles a couple of times before two people walk out of the bar, making their way slowly to their Honda at the back. She waits patiently, waving a thanks when they pull out, maneuvering her way into the spot.

The place is heaving. She weaves her way through, excited to reach the bar, to see Dominic in his element, so much louder, more outgoing,
gruffer than he is when he is not working a crowd. He has described it as acting, talked about having a “bar persona,” much like a stage persona, explained that as soon as he walks through the doors of the Fat Hen, he turns into Dom rather than Dominic. Dom, who flirts with the ladies, who rags on the men, who is quick with his hands, and with the lines to ensure he gets the biggest tips of any of the bartenders there.

There are two girls leaning on the bar, with their heads tilted and waterfalls of hair falling over their shoulders. Even from a distance Emma can see them flirting with Dominic. They are what she would have once presumed were exactly his type. He is laughing with one of them, a blonde, and when she turns her head Emma recognizes her at once. The woman he was seeing when Emma first moved in.
Gina.

She stands stock-still, heart pounding. She rarely thinks about what happens at night when Dominic is not with her, about what he is doing when he is at work. Of course he flirts, she knows he flirts, but it's always felt a bit abstract to her. She's never considered the possibility that it would be with former girlfriends.

Emma is not the sort of woman who is inclined to surreptitiously pick up a boyfriend's phone when he is in the shower to scroll through texts, checking to see what he is up to. She is very well aware that if you snoop, you are unlikely to be happy with what you find. And you won't be able to do much about it without revealing the snooping, besides.

She remembers a man she used to work with who would regularly scroll through his boyfriend's phone. One morning he came to work almost in tears, having discovered an e-mail confirming a brand-new subscription to Grindr.

There was no other evidence of cheating, no other indication that
his boyfriend had done anything but sign up for the sake of curiosity. All the women at work had gathered around to offer their opinions. Most of them believed the boyfriend had probably signed up just for fun, to see who else in the area might be on it. After all, there were at least three men in the office who were married but rumored to prefer playing on their own team.

He didn't know whether to confront his boyfriend or not. The consensus among the women at work was a resounding no. Far better to say nothing—because opening that particular door was bound to be a disaster. It would be different, they all said, if he had found evidence of a hookup, or an intimate text—something concrete. But subscribing to Grindr alone was definitely not grounds to reveal your despicable nature as a snoop.

Emma trusts Dominic. She certainly met her fair share of untrustworthy men while living in New York. It has never crossed her mind that Dominic was anything like them. In fact, the whole point is that he's not. She doesn't think for a minute that he would do anything to betray her.

From where she is standing, she can't hear what is being said, but she can clearly see Gina leaning across the bar, showing off her spectacular cleavage and laughing as she says something, her right foot, encased in the highest of heels, sexily rubbing up the back of her left calf.

Dominic moves closer to her to hear what she is saying, then stands back with a smile, a shrug, and a shake of his head. At that moment, he looks up and sees Emma. His eyes light up as he waves her over. Gina turns to see what has caught his attention, and irritation washes over her face as she recognizes Emma.

“The tenant, right?” says Gina, as Dominic leans over the bar and gives Emma a long kiss on the lips, pulling away, then coming back for one more.

Emma can't help turning to Gina with a happy smile when Dominic finally steps back. It's not something she does very often, but right now it feels oh so extraordinarily good to be here, with Dominic, who is so clearly in love with her.

“The tenant.” She smiles. “Right.”

F
all is upon them for good before they have noticed it's time for the seasons to change. One day the trees are green and lush, the next they are multiple shades of red, orange, and gold, the leaves drifting into the streets and covering up the last vestiges of summer.

With the changing seasons comes a routine that makes Emma feel settled and secure. And happy. She and Dominic have not talked about officially moving in together, and yet they seem to have moved in together. Most of her clothes are now at his house, and it has been months since she spent the night in her own, next door.

She still has her office there, though. The redecorating she did for Lisa has led to more clients, more work, and she has now redone the living room in her cottage as part showroom, part conference room.

She put up a Nobilis wallpaper that looks like bleached-out horizontal planks of wood. An L-shaped cream sectional is piled with tan
and orange pillows and a large orange mohair throw. The coffee table is simple, a low square orange shagreen table with a Lucite box resting on top, and the latest interior magazines in neat piles for inspiration.

She painted the window casings a glossy chocolate brown, and had cream linen blinds made. Dominic boxed around the ancient, ugly fireplace with MDF, which Emma then faux-painted to look like limestone. Above the fireplace hangs a round, polished wood mirror, and hanging on the walls are abstract paintings in shades of orange, red, and brown.

Dominic wasn't at all sure of the color scheme. “Beach houses should only be blue,” he had said.

Emma hadn't wanted to point out that the color scheme of the house when she moved in was everything
but
blue. Brown, salmon, and a grungy floral had been the order of the day when she first walked in. Now that it is finished, Dominic tells anyone who will listen that it is the most beautiful room he has ever seen, and Emma the most talented woman he has ever known.

“We should move in
here
,” he says one evening, walking through the front door to say good-bye before he leaves for work. He no longer needs a regular sitter; every night Emma is next door at his house, at the house that is really now their house, where she puts Jesse to bed.

Jesse can still be difficult. When he is tired, or feeling overwhelmed, he sometimes reverts to blaming Emma for everything that is wrong in his life. Sometimes she hears him shouting at his father, “We don't need her! I hate her! Emma has ruined everything!” She is still wounded by those words, even though she knows he is just a child, he doesn't mean it. And it passes. It always passes.

It is clear he doesn't mean it when he snuggles into her in bed. It is clear he doesn't mean it when he tucks in beside her and pulls her arm over his small body.

Emma hasn't whispered “I love you” again, although there have been many times when she has wanted to. And she believes he may be on the verge of loving her, too.

Stacy seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. She sent Dominic a couple of texts when she first got back to Florida, and said she would come back toward the end of October. But October is almost gone, and there has been no word from her. Emma is starting to relax into the routine they had before.

“Well, we
could
live here, I suppose,” she says to Dominic. “But you don't really want to live here. It's much smaller than your house. We'd all be on top of each other. You just want to live somewhere stylish.”

“Who'd'a thunk it?” Dominic laughs, shaking his head. “Me, wanting to live somewhere stylish.”

“I could redo your house, you know,” says Emma. “All you have to do is say the word and I will gladly take on the project.” She smiles. “No charge, of course.”

“You're hired!” Dominic says with a laugh. “I want you to, of course, but I also kind of like it the way it is. Maybe in the spring, when you move in officially, we can do it.”

Emma stares at him. “What?”

“We can do it in the spring.”

“Hang on. Did you say when I move in?”

“I did.”

“I'm moving in? Since when? Am I part of this decision?”

“I'm telling you now.” He moves over to the sofa and sits. “Unless you don't want to?”

“I just hadn't thought of making it official. I thought things were pretty good as they are.”

“Things are great. But you're sleeping at my house every night
anyway. And you're already using this house as your office. Why not move in for real? When we get married, you're going to be living there anyway.”

Emma can't breathe. “What did you say?”

Dominic speaks very slowly, as if he were talking to a small child. “I said, when we get married, we're going to be living together anyway, so we may as well live together now. Or in the spring. Whatever.”

A slow grin spreads itself on Emma's face. “Are you proposing?”

“No!” Dominic frowns. “When I propose it won't be like this. I'm going to have champagne, flowers, a ring . . . the whole damn thing.” He watches her face, nervous now. “That is the plan, though, isn't it? We are doing this, aren't we?”

“Doing what?”

“This. The whole thing. Living. Together. Marriage. All of it. This is it for me, Emma. Do you feel the same?”

Emma never wanted to marry Rufus. She hadn't thought she wanted to get married at all. But in the past few months, she has been happier than she has ever been.

“Yes,” she says now, twining her arms around his neck as she kisses him. “I feel the same.”

S
now!” Jesse bursts into their room, waking them up.

Dominic groans, turning over in bed. “Jesse, it's six thirty-nine in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

“But it's snow, Dad! It's really snowing outside.”

Emma rolls over with a stretch. “They did say snow was coming.”

“But not a lot, right? Just a couple of inches?”

“There's tons of snow!” says Jesse, running to the window and opening the blinds. “Look!”

Outside is a blizzard of white. Emma puts her feet on the floor and shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. It's late November, too early, surely, for a serious snowfall.

Jesse grabs her hand and drags her to the window. As she stands there, a huge smile creases her face, and she's filled with childlike joy at the sight of the fat, fluffy flakes swirling outside. She squints at the pots in the garden. There's probably at least eight inches already.

“This is serious snow, Dominic,” she says, turning to him.

“Three inches?”

“At least eight. Maybe more. And it's coming down fast.”

“Aw, shit,” he groans, covering his face with the pillow. “That means serious work.”

“Work?”

“Who do you think is going to be shoveling and clearing the snow? We had a huge snowstorm a few years ago and the roof collapsed. I'll have to clear it off the roof if I don't want a repeat of that experience. Maybe I'll call my buddy Glenn. He has a snowplow on his truck, and he can do the driveway. So much for a lazy day.”

“Dad? Dad?” Jesse dances up to his side of the bed. “Can we build a snow fort? Please? You said you would build a snow fort with me the next time it snows.”

“I never said that,” says Dominic. “When did I say that?”

“You did. You always say that. Will you? Can you get up now? Can we build a snow fort now?”

“We can't build a snow fort until it stops snowing,” says Dominic as Jesse's face falls.

“Can I go and play in the snow, though?” he says finally. “Until it stops snowing?”

“Sure,” says Dominic.

“Do you have snow boots?” asks Emma. “And snow pants?”

“I have boots!” says Jesse. “And jeans.”

As Jesse runs out of the room, Dominic pulls Emma in for a cuddle. “He'll be fine,” he says. “He'll come in when he's wet and cold.”

“You're tough.” Emma snuggles against him. “I really think he should have a hat and gloves, though. And snow pants. I don't want him to get too chilled.”

“I know. We have the hat and gloves, but we don't have snow pants
that fit him. We'll get a pair this weekend, okay? Look, don't worry. I guarantee he'll be back inside asking for hot cocoa in about five minutes.” Dominic groans. “Oh God, I hate the snow.”

Emma is shocked. “How can you hate the snow? I love the snow! It's the best thing about living here. Look at those gorgeous fat flakes. It's magical!”

“Yeah, the first snowfall is cool, I'll give you that, but then there's the work, and the weeks of filthy snow and gravel and sand piled up on every sidewalk. Ugh. Give me summer anytime.”

“I can help you,” says Emma. “With the shoveling.”

“Nah. You can make the cocoa, though.” Dominic smiles, pulling her in for a kiss. “Do we have time for . . .”

Emma laughs softly as she moves a hand down his thigh, behind him to cup his buttock and pull him in. “We always have time for that.”

•   •   •

“Where's Dad?”

Jesse played in the snow for almost exactly five minutes, just as Dominic predicted. He has had his cocoa, made popcorn, helped build a fire, and is now watching a movie. He's itching to go out and build a snow fort, but the snow has not yet stopped.

“Dad's shoveling snow,” Emma says.
Like he's been doing the past three hours,
she thinks to herself. She has to admit that she had no idea how much work this involved. They don't have snow in England, not proper snow, like here. She remembers the occasional light dusting when she was young, and going sledging—sledding, they say over here, she reminds herself—on flattened empty salt bags, feeling every bump as they careened down the hill, shrieking with excitement.

“Want me to get him?” she says, pouring the leftover cocoa in a travel mug to take out to him.

“Yeah,” says Jesse, already reimmersed in his movie. “Tell him to come help me build a snow fort.”

“It's still snowing.” Emma laughs. “He did say not until the snow stops falling. But I'll tell him.”

Emma puts her coat and boots on, and finds a hat lurking in the back of the hall closet. The only gloves she can find are Dominic's yellow deerskin work gloves, so she puts them on and steps out the front door, pausing to take in the sight.

The blanket of quiet takes her breath away. The snow is still falling—smaller flakes now, not as wet and heavy—but they're swirling in the wind, and there is absolute silence. The roads have been plowed, but the tracks have long since been covered over, and every tree branch has a thick duvet of white.

Dominic has shoveled the path to the driveway. He has been meticulous, leaving straight lines on either side. Emma walks up the path, stepping over the short picket fence dividing their two houses, following footsteps in the snow around to the back.

Through the garden gate, she pauses for a minute, her eyes trying to adjust to what she sees. Everything is white, apart from a black shape on the ground, covered in a thin dusting.

She moves closer, her brain not computing what that shape is, the only thing that shape can be. It is only when she reaches it that her heart stops, and she sinks to her knees next to Dominic, lying still, in the soft, soft snow.