A wave of misery washed over her as she silently turned left instead of right. She heard her name, heard him call a hello, but she didn’t want to see him, felt betrayed, and ridiculous for feeling that way. What did she expect, she asked herself as she rounded the corner, that he had fallen in love with her? That he had no life and was waiting at home for her to appear?
You are being childish, she berated herself, then: You are a married woman; what on earth are you thinking? She was stunned at the depths to which she sank, so quickly, merely from seeing a man she didn’t really know with another woman. What business is it of mine? she muttered, forcing her thoughts to her loving husband, which didn’t make her feel better at all, the entire day clouded in misery.
At the Hub, at the end of the day, she picked up a postcard and sat on a bench, writing to Richard. Darling Richard, she wrote. Aunt Judith is fine, and we’re starting to organize tomorrow—have been getting over jet lag! Sun is shining and lovely, but I miss you terribly. Your loving wife, Audrey xx.
Her spirits were lifted somewhat in writing this, as if writing down she was a loving wife, would make it so: would change the fact that she was sitting on a stoop deep in misery at a perceived rejection by a man who wasn’t her husband.
She took the postcard to the post office to stamp and mail, feeling better.
Richard.
She must think about Richard.
How lucky she is, what a good life they have.
Deep in thought, she walked out of the post office, and straight into Brooks.
“Audrey!” He frowned, reaching out his hands to steady her. “I came to find you. Didn’t you hear me? I called to you from the porch, but … you didn’t hear.”
“I’m so sorry.” Audrey took a step back, glancing at him, then over his shoulder, as if she had places to go, people to see. “I must have been in another world.” She didn’t want to look at him too closely, didn’t want to give him back the power he had over her earlier today, when the rest of the world dropped away, when all she could look at was him.
“She’s a client,” he said quietly. Urgently. “The wife of a client, actually, buying a painting for her husband’s office.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was business,” he said simply, as Audrey flushed a deep red. “It wasn’t anything else.”
“It’s none of my business,” Audrey said eventually, shuffling with discomfort, unable to look him in the eye.
“It is, though,” he said. “You and I both know it is.”
After that, Audrey had no idea what to say, the glimmer of warmth in her body spreading and growing until she felt bathed in sunlight and happiness, all over again.
“Do you want to go to the Club Car?” he asked. “We could have cocktails.”
Audrey, not trusting herself to speak, nodded as they set off down the street, neither of them looking anywhere but straight ahead.
* * *
Halfway into her second Gibson, Audrey realized she was drunk. Her third was untouched, sitting off to the side; she knew if she ventured further, she might well fall asleep.
As it was, she was filled with a gorgeous, happy buzz. She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, astonished at how she was glowing.
She walked carefully along the side of the bar, concentrating on walking in a straight line, on placing one foot in front of the other, and sat on her stool, giggling.
“I’ve had too much to drink,” she said, playing with the stem of her glass, not wanting this to be the end of the evening, but knowing she couldn’t handle any more.
“Really? You’re a lightweight,” said Brooks, who didn’t seem even tipsy, despite coming to the end of his third. “One more for the road?”
“For you,” she said, sliding her third glass over to him. “Not for me.”
“What about some food?” He peered at her. “That will help soak it up if you’re feeling bad. They have great fish here. Want to eat?”
Audrey realized suddenly that she was starving, but Aunt Judith would be waiting. “I can’t,” she said. “Aunt Judith. I have to get back.”
“I saw her on the way out. I told her if I found you I might whisk you out for cocktails. She knows. She’ll