The Things We Keep(71)

“Nice place,” he says after a lengthy silence.

“Yes,” I say, surveying the expanse of brown décor. “I’m sure brown is coming back into fashion—I’m just a little ahead of the trend.”

Angus chuckles. “I love what you’ve done with the kitchen,” he says, taking a piece of whitefish out of a cool bag and resting it on the chopping board. I laugh and give him a friendly punch. He catches my fist and holds it for a long moment. A pulse of electricity runs through me.

“What are you cooking?” I ask, breaking the charged silence.

“Sea bass. And potatoes.”

I smile again. No jus. No ancient grain salad or Vietnamese greens. Just fish. And potatoes. Which, if done properly, is a meal entirely unto itself.

Angus finds a peeler in a drawer and declines my offer to help. In my kitchen, he seems so confident, so relaxed. His peeling hand is completely steady and smooth as it glides over the potato. But when I look down at my own hand, holding my wineglass, I notice it’s shaking just the tiniest bit.

*

We eat dinner at the small round table and afterwards move to the couch. There, Angus reclines, pulling me—in a way that is both natural and entirely terrifying—into the crook of his arm. For no reason in particular, I think about Anna and Luke. Did they once have evenings like this? Well, perhaps not exactly like this, but I can’t help picturing them together, on the couch in the parlor, talking, holding hands, enjoying each other. They deserve to have nights like this.

“Well,” I say, relaxing against him. “That was delicious.”

“I was pretty nervous,” he admits. “I haven’t cooked dinner for a chef before. I was hoping to impress you.”

“You did,” I say. “The last person to cook for me was Clem, and that was toast and a cup of tea on Mother’s Day.” I smile. “This was very special.”

“How’s Clem doing?” Angus asks.

“She’s…” I start to reel off the standard response—she’s coping, she’s strong—but I stop myself. “Actually, I have no idea. She’s up and down. I’m worried about her.”

“She’s a great kid, Eve.”

“Even though she told me I could never kiss you again?”

“Yeah, that was a shame,” he says. “But I like her. She’s feisty and she says what she thinks. But she’s also kind, which not all seven-year-olds are. The other day, after May’s visitors left, Clem sat beside her for a while and held her hand.”

I smile because I remember Clem doing that. Afterwards when I asked her why, she’d said, “I think May feels lonely after her family leaves.”

“She is special like that,” I say.

Angus grins and taps his head gently against mine. “Anyway, I have some news.”

“You do?”

“My sister, Kelly, is pregnant.”

I jerk up, look at him. “But I thought she couldn’t afford to do IVF because of—”

“Not IVF. She became pregnant naturally. She’s twelve weeks along. She had an ultrasound today, and it all looks good.”

I can’t believe it. Guilt and relief and elation all swirl through me at once.

“The funny thing is that they did IVF seven times and never had any luck. Then, after five months of no treatment, she became pregnant naturally!”

“I’ve heard of that happening,” I say. “It’s almost as though the body needs you to relax and forget about it in order for it to happen.”

“And that wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t lost their money.”

Silence. “Oh, Angus, I don’t think—”

“What your husband did was bad. But good and bad stuff comes out of everything. I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

He doesn’t. I’ve thought about it; good coming from bad. After all, if I hadn’t met Richard, I wouldn’t have had Clem. And yet …

“I’m not sure Richard should be taking credit for your sister’s pregnancy.”

“Maybe not,” Angus says, “but it’s a good reminder that people heal and move on with their lives. And they might even start a new chapter that they wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for what he did.”

“Yes. Maybe.”

“I must admit…” he says, reaching out to stroke my cheek, “I’m hoping that you and I are starting a chapter right now. And while I’d never wish what happened onto you or Clem, I have to say, I’m very glad to be sitting here with you right now.”

“Well,” I say, “I’m not glad we’re sitting here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’d be much happier if we were lying”—I point over Angus’s shoulder toward the bedroom—“right over there.”

Angus’s eyes follow my finger; then they start to twinkle. He stands, lifting me with him. “Your wish is my command.”





37

Anna

Nine months ago …

“Put this on,” Dad says, handing me a pair of blue doo-dahs for my legs. His cheeks are flushed, and that’s when I realize I’m naked, apart from a white sheet. He digs back into my closet and pulls out a pair of under-things. “And this. I’ll be in the dining room.”