back to her place, and spent the night together before he left the next day. He even saw her tree.
When Adam got home that night, he handed Maggie a credit card. She was sitting over her law books and didn't look up when he came in. He dropped the credit card on the desk.
“What's that for?” she asked, without looking up. She was still angry at him over the trip. Their weekend with his kids had only been a brief respite from open warfare. Now they were back to the cold war.
“You need to go shopping,” he said, as he took off his tie and threw it on a chair.
“What for? I don't use your credit cards. You know that.” She threw it back at him, and he caught it, and stood holding it.
“You need to use it this time.” He set it down next to her again.
“Why?”
“Because you need a lot of stuff. You know, bathing suits, wraparounds, sandals, girl stuff, what do I know? You figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” She still didn't get it.
“What you need for the trip.”
“What trip? Where are we going?” She wondered if he was taking her to Vegas again, as a consolation prize.
“We're going to St. Barts on Charlie's boat.” He said it as though reminding her, and she stared at him.
“No, you're going to St. Barts on Charlie's boat. I'm not. Remember?”
“He called today and invited you too,” he said gently, and she stared at him and put her pen down.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am. So is he. I told him I didn't want to upset you, and I don't think he wants to upset Carole either. He's going to invite her too.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! OH MY GOD!!” She kissed him and ran screaming around the room and then jumped into his arms, as he laughed at her.
“Does that do the trick?” He could see that it did. And then some.
“Are you kidding? Oh my God! I'm going on a yacht with you to the Caribbean! Yes yes yes YES!” And then she turned to him with a grateful look. “Adam, I love you. I'd have loved you anyway, but I was so hurt.”
“I know,” he said, kissing her again.
“I really love you,” she said, clinging to him. “I hope you know that.”
“Yeah, baby…me too.…” And then he kissed her. Come December 26, they'd be off to the Caribbean.
23
THE ARGUMENT BETWEEN SYLVIA AND GRAY, OVER HIS seeing her children, continued until nearly Christmas. He was staying at his studio now nearly every night, and she wasn't pressing him to stay at her apartment. She was too angry at him. She understood that he had “issues,” but as far as she was concerned, he was taking it too far. He wasn't even trying to deal with them. Gilbert was arriving in two days. And Emily the day after. And Gray had dug his heels in. He was not going to meet them.
“If you're that upset about it, then go to counseling,” Sylvia had shouted at him in the course of their last fight. They were having them nearly daily. It was a hot topic, for both of them. “What's the point of reading all those goddamn self-help books, if you're not willing to help yourself?”
“I am helping myself. I'm respecting my boundaries, and so should you,” he said grimly. “I know my limitations. Families freak me out.”
“You don't even know mine.”
“And I don't want to!” he had shouted, and stormed out.
Sylvia was profoundly depressed over what had happened, and the position Gray had taken. It had been going on for nearly a month, and had taken a toll on the relationship. The joy that they had shared in discovering each other had all but disappeared. And when Gilbert arrived two days before Christmas, she hadn't seen Gray in two days. She tried to explain it to her son, when he asked about him, but it sounded nuts even to her. As she had pointed out to Gray, people their age were supposed to be saner than that, but apparently he wasn't, and was making no attempt whatsoever to get his neuroses in check. He was reveling in them. Like a pig in slop.
The only good thing about it, for him, was that he was so upset, it was driving him to paint more. He hadn't stopped painting in weeks, and had finished two paintings since Thanksgiving, which was fast for him. His dealer was thrilled. The new work was