Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,122

weekend, but first, they accompanied Andrew and Elisabeth to the Algonquin.

They were going to see a Broadway matinee and have an early dinner. Sam and Clive would babysit at the hotel, in the room, if they wanted, or in the spacious lobby full of plush velvet sofas.

The kid at the front desk handed Andrew two room keys. The four of them, plus Gil in the stroller, and all their bags, crammed into the elevator and rode in silence to the top floor.

Elisabeth had paid extra for a small suite.

When Andrew unlocked the door and pushed it open, Sam and Clive gasped.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Clive said. “Look at that bed, babe. We should get one like that.”

It was a four-poster, lifted high off the ground. Elisabeth was overcome by a sudden fear that they’d have sex in this room.

“This is the nicest hotel room I’ve ever seen,” Sam said.

“I booked online,” Elisabeth said. “I got a great deal.”

It wasn’t true. The room had been a splurge. She supposed she felt bad that Sam would likely be spending the weekend on a pullout couch or a futon.

She didn’t think Andrew was paying attention to the conversation. But just in case, she didn’t want him thinking about money right now. For the past two months, he’d been keeping close tabs on what they spent, worried in a way she’d never seen before.

He would periodically swing in the other direction and make a grand gesture that Elisabeth didn’t really need him to make. He bought her gold earrings for Valentine’s Day, and suggested the weekend away. At those times, it was almost like he was trying to convince himself that she hadn’t ruined them after all. That they could still have the things they desired.

But more often, Andrew was panicked.

“We have nothing saved,” he pointed out, again and again.

She thought it was passive-aggressive, how he made it sound like this was a circumstance that had occurred on its own. Like they had gone broke from natural causes. His refusal to come out and blame her when they both knew she was to blame only highlighted what Elisabeth had done wrong.

Clive picked Gil up and started dancing with him.

“You put your right arm in, you put your right arm out,” he sang. “You put your right arm in and you shake it all about. You do the hokey-cokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about!”

Gil shouted his approval.

Sam said, “In England, they say hokey-cokey.”

“What do you say here?” Clive said, still dancing.

“Hokey-pokey.”

He paused, then continued, theatrically, “You do the hoooo-key-cokey. You do the hooo-key-cokey.”

Elisabeth wished he would shut up. Why was cokey so much more annoying than pokey? But it was. The English and Americans were so often like this. Such tiny differences and yet they amounted to something. Brits had that tendency to slip into baby talk. Choccy bickies and all that.

“We should change,” Andrew said. “We don’t want to be late.”

Elisabeth unzipped her suitcase. Her dress was slightly wrinkled, but she couldn’t be bothered to take out the ironing board. She hung the dress on the back of the bathroom door and ran the shower. In an attempt to make a bit of an effort while she waited to see if this would work, she pulled out her makeup bag and applied eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara on top of her antiaging serum. She covered her dark undereye circles with concealer. She was adding lipstick when Andrew ducked his head in.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “The show starts in half an hour.”

Elisabeth slipped the dress on. She couldn’t tell whether the steam had helped.

Stepping back into the room, she told Sam, “Anything you need, text me. We’ll be back early.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said. “Have fun!”

She held Gilbert on her hip, so natural with him. He had recently entered a stage where being in the care of anyone other than his mother brought on tears. The only exception was Sam.

* * *

—

Elisabeth waited until they were outside to say, “Well, he’s terrible.”

Andrew looked around. “Who?”

“Clive!” she said. “He’s an old man!”

“I think he’s younger than us.”

“Compared to Sam, I mean.”

Andrew reached for her hand. They walked that way up Eighth Avenue. She’d hated hand-holders when she lived here, two people taking up an entire sidewalk in the name of love. But this was the first time he’d taken her hand in the last six weeks. Elisabeth didn’t want to break the spell, even if Andrew was forcing himself