Promises by Belva Plain Page A

it filled. It meant a lot to Margaret. She always said that “Once you start feeding birds, it is cruel to stop because they depend on you.”
    At the office he told his secretary to screen his calls carefully. “I especially do not want to talk to a Mrs. Bunting,” he explained. “She sells real estate, and she’s been a pest.”
    At the end of the day, after learning that Mrs. Bunting had called three times, he started home. And catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, he saw that he was frowning. Clearly, Randi had no intention of forgetting him. It didn’t make sense to think that any woman would, after a night like the last one; that she would just let it pass as if it had never occurred. A hot flush of shame crept over him; he had sneaked away as if he were afraid to face the light of day.
    Yet he knew that he was very afraid. He knew that what had happened might well happen again, knew that he would argue against it and that he would lose the argument.
    He was also aware that he must keep his head. And with this resolution he arrived home and set about his usual routines as if they were some sort of therapy: finished mowing the grass, ate a good dinner of Margaret’s curried chicken, fed the dogs, and read the mail.
    There were the usual advertisements and bills. From the children there were picture postcards of dramatic mountain scenery, and from Margaret, a moving letter.
    I should have made you go with us. It is so beautiful, and you would love it. I think of you, with all you know about nature and trees, missing this. I worry because you work too hard. You never complain. I’m going to make you take better care of yourself. Oh, Adam, do you have any idea how much I love you?
    The telephone rang. “So you’re hiding from me,” Randi said gaily.
    He had not thought she would dare to call him at home. “Where did you get this number?” he demanded.
    “From the phone book, stupid,” she replied, still gaily.
    “You shouldn’t call me here at home,” he said.
    “Why not? You’re alone. And you wouldn’t talk to me at your office.”
    “I was busy. I’m sorry. It was a hectic day.”
    “Adam, stop it. You poor soul, I really believe you’re filled with guilt. I was awake this morning. I heard you creeping away.”
    “I didn’t want to disturb you. I was being considerate.”
    Randi laughed. “You amuse me, you really do. But never mind that. What I want to know is, did you have fun?”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” he said.
    “I know I did. It was exactly like old times. I’m not too proud to admit that I haven’t had anything as good in all the years since. How about you? Never mind. I know you won’t answer. Of course you won’t. You’re a married man, a married gentleman, although, of course, not all married men are gentlemen. But you are.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” he repeated.
    “Can’t you say anything else? Listen, I’m phoning only to tell you not to worry. I’m not going to complicate your life, because that’s the last thing I want to do to my own life. I’ve had complications enough to last me a long time. What I’m looking for is a nice single man with no strings attached. I’ll marry him and settle down in my house and we’ll watch the stars together from the bed. We can lie there naked in the moonlight, and no one will be able to see unless he climbs a tree.”
    He was quite aware that she was taunting him, yet he could not refrain from asking, “Why? Have you got any special single man in mind?”
    “There are a few around. I haven’t really made up my mind.”
    “You said you never had anything as good since—”
    She interrupted. “Sometimes, darling boy, one has to settle for second best in life.”
    He was confused, angry at her and at himself for having a conversation like this one, here in the heart of his home. It was as if he were defiling it. At the same timehe felt a strange exhilaration, the vivid thrill of illicit risk.
    “So,