Traveling Light (42 page)

*   *   *

They made love again late that night, this time in a very lazy way. She didn’t even remember falling asleep; the sun woke her early to find that Roger was gone. She looked at the clock. It was six thirty.

“Roger?” She searched him out. Stepping into the master bathroom, she grabbed one of the white terry robes and slipped it on. “Roger?” She peeked in his closet and then walked upstairs to his study. The room was dark. She then turned and walked into her study. There was a Post-it note stuck to her computer keyboard. “
P—Had to go in early today, see you later for dinner, love, R.
” He never left for work this early.

She dashed back down to the bedroom, searching in her purse for her cell phone, and punched his number. Of course it went to voice mail. Going back up to her study, she fired up her laptop and e-mailed him. “Why so early? I miss you already. Where are you? Couldn’t you stay?” After hitting the send key, she felt the same old gnawing ache that traveled down to her fingertips in waves of hurt. Only this time it felt worse. After six weeks of not feeling it she’d forgotten how bad it was. “Shit, shit, shit.” She walked down the staircase into the kitchen in search of something to eat.

It felt like someone else’s kitchen. She opened the refrigerator; it was filled with wholesome food items that required more thought and preparation than she was prepared to invest.

At least the coffee grinder and beans looked simple enough, and after searching through yards of cabinetry she finally located a coffeepot. It took several tries to figure out how to use the faucet and stove just to set a pot of water on to boil. Paula leaned against the counter, crossing her arms and tucking her fingers into her elbows. It felt like Roger had deserted her in a stranger’s house. He’d said nothing about having to leave early. As stupid as it was, she couldn’t stop her feelings from being hurt.

While waiting for the water to boil, she remembered what Heavenly had said. Paula walked to open what had been the cellar door, only now it was a pantry, stocked with food she hadn’t bought.

“Jesus,” she said in mild shock, and shut the door to make it go away. Behind another door was a shiny washer/dryer still with tags. Finally a third new door led down to the cellar. Flipping on the light, she stepped halfway down; it smelled like fresh paint and new carpeting. The entire cellar had been drywalled and turned into a finished basement. It was empty.

She sprinted back up to the boiling water and ground a cup’s worth of beans, pouring it all into the French press to steep. Then she bolted up all four flights of stairs to the attic. She stood there for a moment looking around. Roger had kept it locked so that she wouldn’t go up there, but now there was no lock. Reaching up, she pulled the cord, and the stairs folded down. She climbed up and looked—it too was empty. She’d been half-hoping to find something, a stack of old newspapers, anything.

Before pouring her coffee, she stopped in the bedroom and slipped on jeans, a T-shirt and a cardigan. She paused by Roger’s closet; it was mostly empty. Spotting his suitcases stacked against the wall, she wondered if he hadn’t yet unpacked. She unzipped and looked. The suitcases were empty. She then rummaged through the drawers in his island. Except for underwear and socks, they were empty, too.

Stepping into the bathroom, she washed her face. Roger’s toiletries were as scarce as his clothes. A can of his shaving cream on the sink reminded her she’d forgotten the two bags full of his shaving cream she’d bought at Maggie’s store on her first day in Grand Marais. It was probably still dark in Minnesota. She pictured the sky beginning to lighten along the horizon as it would when she’d start walking with Fotis down the grassy path in the chilly pre-dawn hours to find Rick.

Something felt uncomfortable. Who was this personal organizer? Maybe she’d give this person a call. Paula rifled around Roger’s closet, searching for a business card, an invoice, anything, but all she found were the typical receipts from the restaurants and bagel shops around Columbia. Walking up the stairs, two at a time, to his office, she flipped on the light and rummaged through his files.

“Well, this is weird.” She headed downstairs, stopping to grab her purse from the bedroom.

Standing against the countertop, she poured her first cup of coffee and listened to her messages. Heavenly had called, saying that she and Tony wanted to have dinner that night—a welcome back dinner for Paula and Roger. Another message from Eleni said that Loukoumi had diarrhea since Paula had left but that Darryl checked him out, wormed him again and that not to worry, the puppy was now fine. She smiled thinking of them. Looking around the kitchen, she left the cup of coffee standing on the kitchen counter and headed out to McDonald’s on Sixth Avenue to get coffee and an Egg McMuffin.

*   *   *

Paula called Roger again as she hovered with coffee and food in her hands, waiting for an elderly couple to gather their things and vacate a booth so she could sit. His phone immediately went to voice mail, this phantom husband of hers.

“Hi, call me,” she said. “I’m thinking of inviting Tony and Celeste over for a welcome back dinner and to show off the house. If I don’t hear from you by ten, I’m inviting them and shopping for food.”

Roger called after a few minutes.

“What a great idea,” he said. “I’ll invite Jackson and Heather, too, and a few others. Call the caterer. Their card is up on the fridge—it’s a magnet. Are you home enjoying the kitchen?”

“Yeah,” she lied, looking around as if to tell everyone within earshot to keep it down.

“Who’s talking?”

“It’s just the radio.”

“What radio?”

She ignored the question. “If the caterer can’t on short notice, maybe they can recommend.”

“Last night was amazing,” Roger said. “You’re amazing.” His tone made her blush.

“How come you left?”

“Had to go in early.”

“How early?”

“Early,” he said. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

She wanted specifics but left it. The familiar muzzle of silence fell over her.
Don’t ask or push. Don’t be the pain-in-the-ass wife; turn the other cheek and let it be.

“Let me know what happens with the caterer,” he said. “Say, dinner for ten at eight tonight. I’ll invite some of the Foundation people.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“Me too.”

Paula ate quickly and then hurried back to the brownstone. The caterer’s magnet was right where Roger had described. Luckily the caterer had a last-minute cancellation and was only too happy to recoup the lost work, plus the previous client’s cancellation fee.

Paula phoned Heavenly, telling her about the dinner party. “So can you guys come?”

“Uhh … sure,” Heavenly said.

“Well, you don’t sound too excited about it.”

“I was thinking a more casual dinner and not the Coronation. You know, pants with an elastic waist, braless, but for you, my darling”—Heavenly used one of her funny voices—“anything.”

“I owe you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Paula said. “I searched the place—nothing. Recognized some of his parents’ antiques, but the junk’s gone.”

“Hmmm.” Heavenly was thinking. “I’ll call around, see what I can find. I’ll ask Tony. Sometimes he hears stuff around the precinct.”

“Thanks,” Paula said. “Maybe you can pick up some sort of ‘vibe’ from him tonight, you know, that old-lady Sicilian village thing,” Paula said, half-teasing, half grasping for answers.

“You miss it, don’t you?”

“The junk?”

“No, genius—being out there. Your birds.”

It came from out of the blue, catching Paula off guard. “What makes you ask that?”

“You know, that old-lady Sicilian village thing,” Heavenly said. “I can … hear it.”

Paula was quiet.

“I know you do,
miksa mou,
” Heavenly taunted her.

“Yeah, Heav, I do,” she said, not wanting to sound ungrateful for their friendship. “More than you know.”

*   *   *

The caterer arrived promptly at five and began with preparations. It felt like crashing someone else’s party and Paula didn’t know what to do with herself. She wasn’t used to watching people work. Several times she’d offered to set out plates, silverware, anything, but the staff looked annoyed. Instead she slinked upstairs and paced, biding time by e-mailing Rick until Roger came home. She asked about Eleni, Fotis, the eagle and the new cases that had been admitted since she’d left. She asked about Maggie and Ephraim and Marvelline. Rick e-mailed Paula right back, having been up all night and day with a newly admitted eagle patient that had lead poisoning. The levels were so high they didn’t even register on the lead analyzer. Rick was trying out a new method of detoxing another rehabilitator had recommended, and it was going to be another long night. She could picture it all so clearly, the smells, the sound of the analyzer when it was off the charts. She missed it. Heavenly was right.

*   *   *

Roger came home by six and Paula met him at the front door as if she were Fotis greeting her after a long day.

Swinging from Roger’s index finger were dry-cleaner hangers covered with plastic. He kissed her and she followed him up to the master suite, leaning on the doorframe of his closet near the newly hung clothes, listening to the sound of shower water hitting the tiles. As he was drying off from the shower she remarked. “So, uh … what’s happened to all of your clothes?”

He startled at the sound of her voice. “Oh.” He chuckled. “These were at the dry cleaner’s.”

“I can see that, Roger. I’m talking about everything else.” She felt like she was speaking to someone who could only read lips. “Did you forget them in France?”

He looked at his closet door and then glanced back at her, his face an open question mark.

“It’s empty,” she framed it for him. “Did the personal organizer ditch them?”

Paula gestured at the two pairs of pants and three hanging shirts. “When I left you had more than this. Remember? We went shopping last spring.” Funny she should be scolding him for having too little of something; the irony was not lost on her.

“When the organizer called,” he began, “she said so many of my pants were ratty and outdated she asked to toss them.”

“Ratty?” Paula raised her voice. “They were new.” Who was this personal organizer? Paula imagined the woman had put them in a resale shop or else had a husband that size who was walking around in Roger’s clothes.

“I told her to toss whatever she thought,” he said, holding up both hands in a
don’t shoot
gesture. “I brought shorts and jeans to France,” he said. “When I came home, this was what was left.” It sounded plausible. Roger always sounded plausible, though now a bit nervous with Paula’s cross-examination.

“She got rid of
everything
? Look.” She twirled around in the empty closet, exaggerating to illustrate the empty space.

He shrugged in a way that said it was out of his hands.

“How come she didn’t throw out any of mine?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe you have better taste.”

She stared at him in disbelief, her face incredulous. “So now we have to go shopping to repurchase what we bought you last May,” she said.

His face looked almost gray, as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen Roger look. “I don’t have time now.” He frowned, drying off his legs and arms from the shower, and then draping the towel around his waist.

“You need clothes, Roger.” She scowled in a wifely way and her voice got louder. “You spend umpteen hundreds of thousands of dollars creating this palace; you can’t go walking around in shorts and a T-shirt.”

“I don’t have time for this.” He raised his voice along with his hands, urging her to calm down and lower her voice. “As soon as this photon project—”

Whatever.
She turned into the bathroom, closed the door and stripped down, standing on the cold tile in the shower, trying to figure out how to turn it on.

*   *   *

The dinner went as planned, Roger entertaining the Foundation crowd as if he always stood poised in the living room this way. He was graceful and at ease, seamlessly moving around with an assurance that made her curious about the man who got so agitated if she moved one of his piles or questioned him about where something was. It was like a magical pill had cured whatever it was that had kept him stymied for so many years. And the more relaxed and comfortable he seemed, the more out of place she felt.

He turned on the gas fireplace insert in the living room with the flip of a switch and leaned against the marble mantel with a glass of wine, swirling it about as he laughed with a colleague. She couldn’t look at him. A whole well of resentment rose from nowhere and she felt like she could hurl one of the vanilla-scented candles at him.

Paula looked at her watch. Where the hell were Tony and Celeste? Just as she felt ready to scream, the doorbell chimed. One of the caterers moved to answer it. “I’ll get it,” Paula sang, and raced from the room.

“Oh thank God you’re here.” She stepped out into the doorway and clutched them both.

“Jeez, party’s that good, huh?” Tony said.

Paula laughed as she shifted to hug him tightly. “Thank God you’re here,” Paula said again.

“Jesus Christ, let go, Paula; I can’t breathe,” he joked.

Paula ushered them in, giving a tour of the house.

Celeste tapped her arm in the master suite and pointed. “Isn’t that your couch?” she whispered.

“Yup. You don’t have to whisper.”

“Yeah, I know, but I feel like I should,” Heavenly whispered back.

“This is fucking gorgeous, Paula,” Tony said. Both he and Celeste stood ogling and not believing their eyes.

“Yeah, no meth labs, huh, Tone.” Heavenly elbowed him. As they walked down from the third floor, both Paula and Celeste stopped to sit on the stairs.

“It’s all very odd,” Paula said.

Tony sat on the step below, looking at the creases in his hands. “You know, Paula, for all the years you’ve lived here, this is the first time I’ve ever been in this house.”

“I’m so sorry, Tone.” She leaned over, hugging him and kissing the side of his head. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be; I swear.”