The Notebook (The Notebook #1)(55)

“I was thinking,” she said, “of heading up to New York to spend some time with Joseph.”

“Won’t he be here for the holidays?”

“Yes, but that’s not for a couple of months. And since he didn’t make it home this summer, I thought it might be nice to visit him for a change.”

I reached for my wineglass. “That’s a good idea,” I agreed. “We haven’t been to New York since he first moved there.”

In the back of my mind, I noted that it might do us some good as a couple to get away for a few days. Perhaps that had even been the reason for Jane’s suggestion.

Jane smiled briefly before lowering her gaze to her plate. “There’s something else, too.”

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re pretty busy at work, and I know how hard it is for you to get away.”

“I think I can clear up my schedule for a few days,” I said, already mentally leafing through my work calendar. It would be tough, but I could do it. “When did you want to go?”

“Well, that’s the thing . . .” she said. “What’s the thing?”

“Wilson, please let me finish,” she said wearily. She drew a long breath. “What I was trying to say was that I think I might like to visit him by myself.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” she asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “He’s our son. How could I get upset about that?” As if to underscore my equanimity, I used my knife to cut another bite of meat. “So when were you thinking about heading up there?” I asked.

“Next week,” she said. “On Thursday.”

“Thursday?”

“I already have my ticket,” she explained.

Though she wasn’t quite finished with her meal, she rose and headed to the kitchen. By the way she avoided my eyes, I guessed she had something else to say and wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. A moment later, I was alone at the table. If I turned, I could just see her face in profile as she stood near the sink.

“Sounds like it’ll be fun,” I called out, with what I hope sounded like nonchalance. “And I know Joseph will enjoy it, too. Maybe there’s a show or something that you could see while you’re up there.”

“Maybe,” I heard her say. “I guess it depends on his schedule.”

I heard the faucet run, and rising from my seat, I brought my dishes to the sink. Jane said nothing as I approached.

“It should be a wonderful weekend,” I added.

She reached for my plate and began to rinse, her eyes still focused on her task.

“Oh, about that,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking about staying up there for more than just the weekend.”

At her words, I felt my shoulders tense. “How long are you planning to stay?” I asked.

She set my plate off to the side. “A couple weeks,” she answered.

I didn’t blame Jane for the course our marriage seemed to have taken. Somehow I knew I bore much of the responsibility, even if I hadn’t put all of the pieces of why and how together yet. For starters, I have to admit that I’ve never been quite the person my wife wanted me to be, even from the beginning of our marriage. I know, for instance, that she wished I were more romantic, the way her own father had been with her mother. Her father was the kind of man who would hold his wife’s hand in the hours after dinner, or spontaneously pick a bouquet of wildflowers on his way home from work. Even as a child, Jane was enthralled by her parents’ romance. Over the years, I’ve heard her speaking with her sister Kate on the phone, wondering aloud why I seemed to find it so difficult to display emotion. It isn’t that I haven’t made attempts, I just don’t seem to have an understanding of what it takes to make another’s heart start fluttering. I remember talking to her father about it once, and he suggested that I write a letter to my wife. “Tell her why you love her,” he said, “and give specific reasons.” I tried taking his advice, but as my hand hovered over the paper, I couldn’t seem to find the appropriate words. Eventually I put the pen aside. Unlike her father, discussing feelings has never been one of my strengths. I’m steady, yes. Dependable, absolutely. Faithful, without a doubt. But romance, I hate to admit, is as foreign to me as space travel.

I sometimes wonder how many other men are exactly like me.

While Jane was in New York, Joseph answered the phone when I called.

“Hi, Dad,” he said simply. “How are you?”

“Good,” I said. “It’s quiet around here, but I’m doing okay. How’s your mom’s visit going?”

“It’s fine. I’ve been keeping her busy.”

“Shopping and sight-seeing?”

“A little. Mainly we’ve been doing a lot of talking. It’s been interesting.”

I hesitated. Though I wondered what he meant, Joseph seemed to feel no need to elaborate. I finally cleared my throat. “Oh,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice light. “Is she around?”

“Actually, she isn’t. She ran out to the grocery store. She’ll be back in a few minutes, though, if you want to call back.”