Miss u
The backlight faded from her phone's screen, from illuminating his message, as she glanced at the clock, a slow smile on her face. A few more hours until she would see him again. He had not consulted her before the choosing of plants for the backyard, however, and she wanted to go look them over, see what they were, if she would need to worry about raking year-round or excessive pollen or what.
Maybe they were very thorough landscapers. They kept a shrouded shed in the back of the yard. She hadn't even seen them construct it; she had come back from work the day construction had started to see a black tarpaulin rectangle against the fence. Maybe it had windows at the top to feed the plants, maybe they were planting a herbaceous border but were waiting for something to bloom or come into season.
"Don't mess with it," Ned had said, over his morning paper, when she'd asked about it. "Probably full of pesticides, or something."
But she would find out. Maybe if she beat him home, maybe he had told them to plant rosebushes, she would love that. Some sort of birthday surprise. Other than dinner together in some subtly-lit restaurant, understated respectful waiters, square plates and caramelized vegetables and shared dessert with their feet entangled under the cloth.
Miss u 2, she typed back, painfully slow. Dinner 2night?
His eyes had been sparkling when he'd awakened her that morning, and even though she had reduced him to tears by tickling his ribs, he hadn't given any plausible reason for the mischief.
"It's just because you look so damn good, birthday girl," he said, and at that she had melted, but the five minutes late she had been to work had been worth it. Because, as usual, his daily present to her was himself. To make up for the time.
He would respond if she asked but she usually didn't like to, because of the sudden guarded half-hurt look in his eyes when she casually asked about something he'd done in the time they had been apart. She felt it too. Most of the time her life without him was in her memory like a neutral tapestry, casual flirtations, chasing missing or suspicious people to the ends of the earth, and always wishing there was somewhere else to go once she found herself there. Before, while with him, she had felt almost any guy had the uncanny ability to turn her head; after Ned, the heavy knowledge that on some forgotten piece of paper they were joined in a way that her return of the rings had belied, absolutely no one could manage to excite even a quickened pulse or glimmer of interest from her. She'd seen the way male eyes could burn when she plied them with drink, asked pointed casual questions about acquaintances or friends, teased them with the pale smear of her lipstick on their skin, and she remembered one case in particular where she had rinsed her hair in black, dressed in mink and silk, and had attracted the eye of her mark, cigarette holder between her slender fingers, utter disdain in her eyes. Oh, he had been desperate for her, to possess her, despite himself, but she had felt cold inside, all the better, all the better to just do it and get it over with, his sprawled pale limbs in a tangle as she waited for his eyelashes to stop fluttering once he had downed the spiked drink, and in the morning he would wake with a roaring headache, find the unused panties she had planted strategically and believe he'd had a night too good to remember.
She was too good to remember, all scarlet lips and smoky eyes and a cold core they would never touch. Much different. It made sense now, the fade and creeping disdain of her confidence, if every year Jean had taken her, if every year had made her more displaced from Ned, the miasma of Ned's imagined anger so terrible that the cold was the only way to respond. One birthday she had been in the tangle of cool flesh, long limbs, disinterested gazes, the veritable heatlamps behind the stage, photoflash catwalk
sequins
, and it had seemed fitting. Because none of them knew who she was, in elaborate eye makeup and some slouching gown from a haute couture design house, as she tried to find out who could possibly threaten the leading model of the show (and the answer, of course, was anyone who was even a passing acquaintance, she had discovered). She had been cool, serene, utterly poised, and totally unlike the girl Ned had woken up to this morning, giggling and flushed, still taken aback by the unabashed adoration on his face.
That had been who she was.
She wondered who he had been. She wondered about his birthdays during the five years, without cable-knit sweaters or the latest electronic gadget given him from her swelling bank account, whether he had spent them watching girls gyrate on poles with the same coldness as she in his heart even while his school buddies laughed and drank and pushed dollar bills under the strobe lights. Whether it had been dinner with the parents who had wished her good riddance after the hasty shotgun
oh God, if only it had worked
exchange of vows on a black beach by moonlight, if even then Edith had been asking about any nice girls at his firm, ones who might make beautiful grandchildren. She felt like there was no solid earth beneath her feet when she thought about it. She remembered his apartment, the solid smooth box, the velvet that had held their rings, their premature joining, the circlet she wore even now like a dud bullet, smashed metal jacket, talisman of a near-death experience, lifejacket and good luck charm. She whether he had found anyone who could make him laugh the way she could, during that exile.
She felt like she had never smiled again, not until she had spotted him across that restaurant, snatches of unintelligible rising and falling conversation around her, another Valentine's day. Not just another Valentine's day.
Not just another mark who could lay his fingers on her skin but never sink inside, never know her. She used to cry when she got drunk; if anything, her control was tighter, her eyes more searching. She used to look at the gun she occasionally carried, now she carried a gun all the time, and would think of ways and means and hollow-point and her father's concern, because if she had been able to fool anyone she had never been able to fool him. Now that felt unreal as some movie that she had watched in the safety of his embrace, to be dissected and judged by their conversation.
Ten minutes before five o'clock she finished dressing under the unflattering fluorescent lights in the women's bathroom and refreshed her makeup, spritzed herself with a palm-sized perfume, then pulled her trenchcoat tight over the satin gleaming in her favorite color, the dress she had picked out over lunch, the transformation worthy of Bess's admiration and her own best record.
"Happy birthday again, Nancy," Samantha Ellison said as she pulled her coat off the back of her chair and leaned over to check something on her computer monitor.
"You getting out of here early too?"
Samantha gave her a half-smile. "Have to go pick up my nephew," she said. "My sister couldn't make it."
Her fingers were ringless, and she was always up for a stakeout. She listened to baseball on the radio and drank water all day long. Nancy remembered that, her own version, her own dark flavor of it.
"You gonna make it to the poker game this week?"
There it was, the rare smile, the lighter expression, and Nancy wished Sam would smile more, and that she would give something other than one-word answers to the guy in the ballistics department. Maybe he'd come too. Maybe.
If she tried to play matchmaker too much more, they would need to build onto the house just to have room for poker nights.
Ned's eyes were stormy when he picked her up, but they cleared upon seeing her. "What's wrong?" she asked, tossing her work outfit into the trunk and joining him in the car.
"Nothing," he replied, gazing at her. "Nothing now. There might be when we get home, though."
"Oh?"
He shook his head and put the car in gear. "It'll be all right."
Nancy put her fingers gingerly against her hair to prop her head as she leaned against the car door. "So, where are we going?"
He shrugged. "I thought we'd just drive around until we find somewhere with valet parking, how does that sound?"
She smiled faintly. "Smashing," she replied, drawling the word slightly.
"Mom said she's making you a cake and she's gonna bring it over this weekend."
The words came out before Nancy could stop them. "As long as she's not having it blessed for increased fertility or anything."
He darted a glance at her. "I doubt it," he said mildly.
Nancy stroked her fingers very lightly over her forehead. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"Because I'm still not pregnant," she said, and she realized with sudden startling clarity that it was true.
He reached over and squeezed her hand briefly before he shifted gears again. "And that is why, my darling," he said, putting on his best impersonation voice, "we are going to drink a bottle of champagne and flirt very openly, not worrying about babysitters or angry parents, and act like we're dating until we go home together and you put on your birthday present and we have very loud, shameless sex on the kitchen table."
"Oh, so the present is something I can put on?"
"You can put it on," Ned said. "I've tried it on the floor a few times, and the floor seems quite happy with it. And, since it is your birthday, I guess you can wear it. For a minute or two."
"That's quite generous of you," she replied.
"What can I say," he said. "Only the best for my girl."
Nancy tilted her head back and studied the sky, the fingers of pastel over the horizon. "If we don't get pregnant next month," she said, fingers stroking over the cool glass, "maybe we should star t thinking about adopting."
"We'll see what happens," he replied. The refrain.
She grinned, wickedly. "At least we'll get a lot of practice in."
--
Nancy could always follow Ned when he was home first. He left every room he had been through flooded with light, windows aglow and welcoming, and she followed him in, saw her suit tossed over the back of the couch, their cars purring each other to sleep in the driveway. He was standing at the kitchen sink, gazing out into their backyard.
Nancy joined him, putting her purse on the countertop and following his gaze. She scowled. "So they aren't done yet," she said, her eyes on the black rectangle still shrouded in black against the fence. "I thought they were. I don't like having them here. And I thought for some reason that you were getting the yard done for my birthday."
"I was," he replied, absently. He turned his face toward hers, searched her eyes. "Your present's on the table."
She ripped through the paper, shooting him a glance every now and then, and pushed back the tissue to reveal a delicate lilac silk slip. A necklace was nearly hidden in the shine of the fabric, and she lifted it, slender chain supporting a thin pendant of sparkling gems. For a moment she had thought it was a navel ring.
Her fingers trailed over the fabric, the necklace hanging, swinging slightly, from her stilled hand.
"Let me," he said, delicious familiar shock of skin against skin as he fastened it behind her neck, let her hair fall down her shoulders like a gleaming curtain. She turned around and wound her arms over his shoulders, tilted her face back, and he obliged her with a kiss.
"What do you want for your birthday?"
He gazed at her. "I'm easy to please," he said. "Good dinner, some beer, and you."
"You remember when you asked about my belly button not being pierced?" She saw the same wariness in his eyes. "Should I get you that, too?"
"What, a ring to wear in my belly button?"
"No, one in mine," she said. "My tongue, my ear, my nose..." she leaned up and breathed hushed words into his ear, and he shivered.
"Isn't that against agency regulations?"
"Only if they know about it," she said, and that look was on her face again, low-lidded purring self-confidence; it drove him nuts to see it. "You'd be the only one who would."
He nuzzled against her face, the faintest hint of stubble on his cheeks, his lips parted in hot breath. "Let me show you something," he said into her ear.
"Mmm," she said. "I can't wait. Not after that excellent bottle of champagne. I should get on my knees just for that."
"Dammit, Nancy," he murmured, backing her up into the table, his mouth claiming hers hungrily. She knew what he wanted to do as his fingers slid hesitantly over the back of her new dress, the unfamiliar fastenings, but he resisted the urge and just rested his hands there as they parted. She was smiling.
"I love doing that to you."
"You can do it plenty in a minute," he said. "I'm going to warn you, I'm not sure how much they've finished."
"Plants?" she asked, as he led her outside, the sun sunk low on the horizon. "This trellis..."
"That's going to have roses," he said. "And those trees, those are the ones you like so much..."
The delay was sweet, his hand in hers, fingers interlaced, as they toured the yard. Ned walked toward the tarpaulin, gave it an experimental tug.
She wrinkled her nose. "Are we going to see if exposure to dangerous pesticides results in genetically altered superpowers?"
"Maybe next year," he said, and with one tug the curtain came down. The walls were indeed glass, set in antiqued iron. "Recognize it?"
She squinted in the dusk, then gasped. "No," disbelieving.
"Yeah," he said, smiling.
He opened the door and they stepped inside, the whisper of speeding cars and wildlife damped and quiet, the hushed noise of aerated water rising in the stillness. Everything in verdant green, lush and almost dewy, and she slipped out of her shoes, for the holiness in the place.
"Yeah, it's not done," he said, and even his voice was subdued. "They're finished with the bones of it, but I wanted you to be able to decorate."
"It's... it's beautiful, Ned."
He must have made a copy, she realized, belatedly. He must have made a copy of the painstaking scaled blueprint she kept in their study and given it to these guys, and they had finished it, down to the selection of plants, the symmetry.
The fish were bobbing at the top, and he led her past the pool, the leaves sliding over her bare arm, back to the bench. Behind it was a square of sand, blank, waiting canvas, with a metal rake nearby. The wall ended just before the fence. She threw her head back and glanced up at the sky, through the peaked roof. When she turned back to him, her eyes were shining.
"It's perfect," she breathed.
He couldn't disguise the pleasure her response was bringing him. "I'm glad you like it," he said simply, his arms sliding around her waist. "I wish they'd finished it sooner."
"What else would there be?"
"Anything you want," he said. "Fountains, statues, a lamp-post..."
She stretched on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I have all I want, right here in front of me," she murmured, secure in the physical memory of the first kiss they had shared in over five years.
The joy on his face was almost painful. "Happy birthday," he whispered.
--
Nancy wore the necklace the next day. Agent Stone found himself staring at it. She was in a grey suit, cream-colored shirt underneath, and the necklace fell like an arrow to the shadow between her breasts. She had her hair gathered over one shoulder, and it hung down in shining strands, her polished fingernails on the highlighter. He wanted to say something, maybe bring her a cup of coffee, so he could endure the slightest glance of her blue eyes.
The diamond on her finger caught the light just then and he sighed. Sam was going over transcripts, her lips pursed in a frustrated pout.
Suddenly Nancy glanced up, lips rounded with surprise, and he endured two seconds of returning her gaze before he flushed, looking anywhere else.
"Has anyone pulled the ATM surveillance tape?"
"There is no ATM near there," Critcher responded.
"Yes there is," Nancy replied. "I've been by there before, there's a standalone not attached to a bank."
Critcher grabbed his coat. "I'm on it."
Nancy sat back, her lips curling ever so slightly upward. "That's it," she said. "That'll be it."
Ellison tossed the bound transcripts onto the desk. "Good," she said. "I'm starving."
Nancy glanced at her watch. "Call me on my cell when he gets back," she said. "I'm going to go grab some lunch, want me to get you anything?"
She adjusted the sleeve of her shirt and shrugged into her grey jacket, and Stone found himself utterly incapable of intelligent communication. He managed a shrug while Samantha reeled off her order, and Nancy nodded when she was done, no paper in her hands, no notations made.
"Why are all the good ones taken?" he managed, once she had been gone for a few minutes.
Samantha laughed. "Come to poker night sometime and you'll see," she said. "She's married to a damn GQ model."
Stone groaned. "All the more reason," he said.
--
The office jerk had started it as a joke. Nancy had been new to the office and knew she shouldn't have participated in the gift exchange, but she had, and now a plastic My Little Pony was next to her computer monitor. She had taken it with good humor, though, the play on her new last name. But it had caught on, and now she tossed the throw pillow depicting a horse in cross-stitch onto the guest bed. Ned had received his share of similarly themed gifts, so redecorating the room hadn't been very hard at all.
Nate had promised he would take Ned to the next major football game if he and Nancy would watch the kids for the night. And so Stephanie stood in the doorway with her hand in Nancy's, surveying the room. "It's pretty," she said.
"You like horses," Nancy said.
Stephanie nodded. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"
Nancy considered. Stephanie had been unhappy to learn that her place in the master bedroom was contingent upon how Nancy felt with the master of the house, and since Nancy was quite happy with her new garden, Stephanie could choose from anywhere in the house but Nancy's side. The phone rang, and Nancy crossed the room, leaving Stephanie to climb up onto the bright coverlet. "All right," she agreed. "Hello?"
"Hey."
"Hey George," Nancy said. "What's up?"
"Not much," George said. "I'll be in town for a few days and wanted to see what you guys were up to."
"Well, since it's Bess and Nate's anniversary, we are delighted to be watching two kids tonight."
"All night?" George chuckled. "Nate must be promising something serious for Ned to have been okay with that."
"Football tickets," Nancy admitted. "Come on over, we can... play dress up and compare My Little Ponies."
"Sounds like a blast."
"Besides, you haven't even seen my garden yet."
"Garden?" Stephanie piped in from the bed.
"You wouldn't like it, it's boring," Nancy said to Stephanie, her hand cupped over the mouthpiece, listening to George laugh. "Anyway, yeah."
George glanced at her watch. "Give me a few minutes."
--
"Soon, right?" Ned called from the couch.
"Yes, soon," Nancy called back, setting the table. Stephanie had her own place setting, as did Madison, all in shatterproof plastic. "You about ready?"
"Been ready," he said. "I'm starving." On his way into the kitchen he scooped up Madison, who had crawled nearly to the linoleum floor, and kissed Nancy on the cheek. "George?"
George was flipping through one of Nancy's magazines, and looked up inquisitively at Ned, dark eyed gaze meeting his. "Oh good."
After the meal Nancy and George went out in the backyard. "It's not quite finished," Nancy said, "I ordered a few last things that haven't come in yet."
"It's nice," George said, running her fingers over one of the broad, flat leaves. "Out of the wind."
Nancy nodded, then sat down on the bench. "They're going to do some lights for me."
"They?"
"He had professionals come in and do it."
"Some birthday present," George breathed. "And this?"
Nancy turned and swept her hair over one shoulder as she critically studied the square of sand against the rear wall. "I wonder how badly it would mess up the zen if I let the kids play in it."
George laughed. "You're not...?"
Nancy shook her head. "No, we aren't. Not yet. I told Ned that in a month, if still nothing, maybe we could look into adopting."
"That's a big turnaround," George commented mildly.
"From what?" Nancy dug her toes into the raked sand. "I mean, it was his mom who had that nursery all ready for me before I'd even moved in."
"So Ned says," George commented. She picked up one of the flat stones in her palm and studied it.
Nancy looked away. "I'm not saying it makes any sense," she murmured. "We talked about it a long time ago, and I didn't feel ready, and..." she sighed.
"And now you do?"
Nancy laughed nervously. "Is anyone ever, really?"
George shrugged and sat down beside her. "I can't answer that. I don't know."
"The only thing is that it's so frustrating to take the kids anywhere, I keep having to borrow cars."
George laughed. "Usually it's the other way around, not 'the tiny Jag is keeping us from being able to raise children.'"
"I'd love it," she admitted. "I'd love to have to go buy some SUV or minivan, I'd love to buy little clothes and have Ned look at me the way he looks at those kids…"
George was staring at Nancy. "What is it?" Nancy said.
George shook her head. "You have no idea, do you," she said. "I have never seen anyone look at another person the way Ned looks at you."
Nancy blushed and looked down at her hands. George tossed the rock back into the sand and it skidded a few feet, then stopped.
"This isn't for Edith or Carson or even Ned. This is for you."
Nancy pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them there. "Then it is."
"And that's what you want?"
Nancy nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "I want to have a baby."
"Even with the back pain and morning sickness and elastic pants and two-hour feedings?"
The smile broadened. "Yep."
George patted her on the back. "Then I wish you luck, my friend. Just not while I'm in the house, if you don't mind."
Nancy grinned wickedly. "If Ned starts talking about putting the kids to bed, you might want to exit the premises as soon as possible."
They could see Ned's silhouette clearly from halfway through the yard, his hand cupped over his brow as he peered through the glass, out at them. Stephanie was attached to one of his legs, and Madison was on his opposite hip, clutching at his shirt. "Please tell me it's bedtime," he said to Nancy when she opened the door.
George dissolved into laughter.
--
Three days beforehand, enough lead time for those with children to scramble for babysitters, Ned would send out an email to those who had merited a standing invitation to poker night. For those whose babysitters were less forgiving, the entire group, or as much of it as could, would meet at a prespecified location, usually one with a large drinks menu. Participants were encouraged to pay cab fare if they were proceeding to the house, and thereby prevent a glut of cars from choking off the neighborhood thoroughfare, and the chaos of slightly inebriated driving.
Nancy always cleaned. Everything. She kept the house tidy, but things were spotless before a poker night. And because they were his tradition, Ned had actually purchased a steam cleaner for the carpet, for the inevitable horrified gasp and inebriated apologies.
People were always invited as couples now. All the better to match-make, because Ned's frat buddies weren't bad guys, and Nancy knew eligible girls, even though...
They were all segregated again. Most of the girls were more content to play less competitive games, and the guys were in the poker games for blood. Ned was at the main table, and even though Nancy usually loved to play with him, tonight the drinks had just made her feel surly.
Maybe because she could feel the bands of warmth across her belly, signifying that the window had passed again.
Sam Ellison had shown up, dragging Stone in tow. He was in the poker game now, playing a few seats down from Ned, and he had to agree with Sam's assessment of his competition. The unattached girls in the room, at least those unaccustomed to the rules of the evening, were cooing, watching Ned's every move, offering him drinks or anything else he might want, though they pulled back whenever Nancy entered the room, their eyes glittering and watchful on the movements of the one who had won him. He was never disrespectful or impolite, but he was always firm in his refusals. The look on Nancy's face was petulant, but she didn't say anything as she sat down in his lap, one arm curved around his shoulders, her cheek against the crown of his head.
She looked right, like that. The expression on her face, the attitude of her limbs, was entirely different from the professional mask Stone had never seen her without. She didn't have a partner, and Agent Roberts had described her as a contracted consultant, who could name her hours and, to be honest, work pro-bono for them. He believed it. With the suits she wore, the car she drove, the obvious understated wealth of their tasteful home, he fully believed that she could sit at home all day, letting that beautiful mind waste through hours of soap operas and inane conversation. Her eyes were sharp as she studied Ned's hand, the bets he was placing, but never did she make any sign that she disagreed with his decisions. He wished for an instant that one of those refused girls would come sit in his lap that way.
He didn't recognize any of them, and he wondered if maybe it was all an elaborate game on Ned's part. Maybe he invited all the girls at his workplace who showed any interest in him here, so they could see what he had, what he would be giving up if he returned their flirtation, and all in all the speechless intensity of his relationship with his wife. The careful delineation between what they could have and where they could never follow him. Maybe two visits was all they needed to see that he was as untouchable as the moon.
Stone was convinced after two hours of the treatment.
Bess, one of the favored ones who always merited an invitation, stood in the doorway, a silent question in her eyes. Nancy pressed a kiss to Ned's temple, and even though he made no outward response Stone caught the tightening in his arm before Ned released her. She walked over to Bess with careful steps.
"Do you mind who goes in the garden?"
The kitchen table was a liquor and dessert buffet. The perishables were in an ice-filled cooler at the end of the table. Stone mixed himself a drink while Sam settled on the couch, watching two guys play a video game. "I play winner," she announced, then leaned back.
The entire house was like that, the rooms he wandered through. A group of girls was in the guest bedroom just off the living room, playing music loudly enough to be heard out at the poker game. These were the girls who occasionally wrapped an arm around a poker player and offered another plate of finger food, another fresh beer. The refrigerator held enough beer to keep a frat party going for at least a few hours, and Sam had told him a lot of the guys were frat boys. He looked through the medicine cabinet, but found only generic pain medications and first aid supplies. Of course, in the guest bedroom. He looked at the stairs, but the thought of it made him shudder, and no one else seemed inclined to explore the way he did.
A dark, serious-looking guy with a stylized cane had taken over Ned's hand, when Stone passed through again. Sam had tired of watching the game on the screen and was sitting in Stone's place, though she offered it back to him, but he waved it off. "I'm going to get some fresh air," he said, then stepped out onto the back deck, looking in the direction of the greenhouse at the fence. He could see people moving around inside it.
He was in the middle of the last sip of his drink when he heard some tiny organic noise, and he froze, tilted the cup back a little bit, turned ever so slightly. A shadowed irregular figure seated on the deck resolved itself into two embracing bodies as he studied it, and he flushed, glad for the darkness.
Ned was seated there, on the bench, Nancy on his lap facing him, her palm on his cheek. That had been the noise, the sound of her skin over the stubble on his face. Ned's eyes were closed, Nancy's forehead against his jaw, his arms wrapped around her waist.
As Stone stepped back inside and closed the door, Nancy was just tilting her face up, her lips just meeting Ned's. He mixed himself another drink and took the first sip hurriedly.
"This isn't a wading pool, right?" he heard someone call from out in the darkness.
The guy in Ned's spot caught Stone's eye as he walked back into the living room. A brunette woman with laughing eyes was standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders. "They're out there making out again, aren't they," he said, and a few of the other guys at the table laughed.
"Yeah," Stone admitted, feeling a sudden inexplicable relief. A few of the girls suddenly stood and left the room, and Stone lowered himself into one of the newly unoccupied chairs.
"Don't worry, at least one person has to walk in on them every time," he said. "I'm Mike."
"Jeffrey Stone," he replied. "I work with Nancy."
"No kidding," a tall black man said. "FBI?"
"Yeah," Stone admitted.
Howie shook his head. "Good for you," he said. "But then, not everyone can have a superbowl ring." Several of the guys picked up whatever they could find and started pelting Howie.
Sam grinned in Stone's direction. "Sure you don't want your chair back?"
--
Nancy was wearing her bathrobe when he came home from work. He sighed, put his briefcase on the hall table, took off his coat, and sniffed the air. "What's that?" he called to her.
She appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, beaming. "It's almost finished. Happy birthday again, honey."
Ned smiled tiredly. "Thanks. You're home early."
"Yeah," she said, still smiling. "I think there's a game on."
"I thought you said it was almost finished."
"It is. I'll put it on a tray and bring it to you."
Ned raised an eyebrow as he kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. "Wow. We don't have to eat at the table?"
"Not tonight," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
"Are you feeling all right? You're in your robe."
"I'm feeling great," she said. "Go, go watch some TV. I'll bring you a beer."
He changed clothes and settled in the recliner, his stockinged feet propped up, and turned on the television. Nancy had already put a cold beer on the table next to him. He cracked it, took a sip, and called in the direction of the kitchen, "You are the best wife ever."
Nancy pushed the swinging door open with her back and smiled at him over the tray. "You're too easy to please," she said, placing it over his lap.
He looked down, his eyes widening. "Ribs, potato skins... damn. Is this what you've been doing?"
"There's more in the kitchen," she said, walking around to pick up his discarded clothes and take them upstairs. "Just let me know when you want seconds or dessert. I don't want you to have to move."
"Come here," he said, when she came back downstairs, adjusting the belt of her robe. She walked over, a faintly inquisitive look on her face.
"Everything's okay, isn't it?"
"Everything is great," Ned said, reaching up for her, drawing her down to him so he could kiss her. "Thanks. I've had a rough day and this makes up for it."
She beamed at him. "I'm glad," she said, leaning down again to kiss a bit of sauce off the corner of his mouth, closing her eyes as he slipped his arm around her waist and held her there.
"Come with me," he said.
The air inside the glass house was still cold, but at least they were out of the wind. Nancy groped around and found the switch, and when she flipped it they were surrounded by fairy lights.
Ned kept his arm around her waist. "I've never been out here at night before."
She nodded and swept her hair back from her face. "It's beautiful."
He smiled and kissed her deeply. "Yeah," he replied, gazing into her eyes.
She ducked her head and pulled him with her along the stepping stones until they reached the redwood bench between the pool and the zen garden. Ned gazed down into the water and saw the orange goldfish bobbing up near the top.
"No golden dragons?"
She smiled. "I couldn't bring myself to be that faithful. There are a few stone angels around here somewhere."
"What do you think about out here?" he asked her, brushing her hair back from her face, which was pressed against his shoulder.
"Everything," she whispered. "And sometimes nothing at all, while I rearrange the rocks and scrape lines in the sand."
"Therapeutic?"
He felt her smile, heard it in her voice. "I doubt you'd find it so."
"Hey, I can be sensitive."
She turned her face into his still-stroking palm and kissed it. "Yes, you can."
Nancy kept her eyes open and he watchedthem gleam with interest at what she saw, through the glass. "It's so beautiful," she breathed.
He tilted his head back, fully aware despite the beer in his system that, with their eight-foot-high wooden fence, their only observers were the stars overhead. The moon was out of sight between the frames of foliage, and the stars twinkled in a sky tinged only at the very edges with the light pollution of their city.
"Yeah," he murmured in agreement.
The house was dark, security system armed, as he took off his clothes and crept into bed with her. She scowled in discomfort as she tossed her nightgown over the side of their bed.
"What is it?" he murmured, extending his arm to beckon her to him.
"It scratches my skin," she said, rubbing her palm over her reddened shoulder as she slipped into his embrace.
"That's a damn shame," he murmured. "But then you look even hotter with it on the floor."
She chuckled, her eyes closed. "You've tired me out, Nickerson," she mumbled. "Let me rest up for what you undoubtedly will want in the morning."
He brushed her hair back from her face, pressed his lips against her cheek. "Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too," she said, and yawned. When she opened her eyes, his were closed.
"Happy birthday," she whispered.
