The Consequences by Colette Freedman Page B

shirt, and the knot on his pale charcoal silk tie—one she had bought him—was dark where grubby fingers had tugged it. When he stepped past her, she caught the faintest odor of stale perspiration. And that shocked her more than anything else: Robert was, if nothing else, fastidiously clean.
    Stephanie closed the door behind him, took a deep breath to calm her suddenly thundering heart, and followed him up the stairs into her apartment, into the living room. She found him standing beside the chair, looking down at the Christmas presents he’d brought last Tuesday.
    â€œIt’s good to see you again,” he said, his voice flat, emotionless.
    Stephanie nodded, unsure what to say. She finally fell back on the old reliable. “Would you like some tea or coffee or something stronger?”
    â€œTea would be great, thank you.”
    Stephanie disappeared into the kitchen, and Robert took up his usual position, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. It looked as if he was trying to hold himself upright. As she filled the kettle with water from the Brita pitcher, she was aware that he was watching her.
    â€œYou got back this morning?” he said finally.
    â€œA couple of hours ago,” she said shortly.
    â€œI’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you. . . . Believe it or not, I didn’t check my e-mails.”
    â€œI believe it,” she said evenly.
    â€œFlight was okay?”
    â€œFine. I booked a last-minute ticket and came in via Detroit, so I had to stay overnight, but I checked into the Westin and treated myself to a massage so I was able to relax a bit.”
    â€œGood. Good.”
    Stephanie found a cup for herself and a mug for Robert—he preferred mugs to cups—and hoped she had enough milk for the tea. It was low-fat, which he hated, but he would have to make do with it. Looking into the fridge, watching him out of the corner of her eye, she asked, “How was the removal? Were there many people there?”
    â€œYes. I was surprised by how many. Shocked. I think Jimmy would have been too. He made a lot of enemies over the years, but far more friends it seems. They all came out today.” His voice broke then, and Stephanie saw him fumble in his pockets for a handkerchief.
    The water in the kettle started to boil, and Stephanie concentrated on making the tea, deliberately not turning around, not wanting to look at him with tears on his face. She had imagined this moment a dozen times since she had decided to come back to Boston; she had rehearsed her speech, first in Madison, then on the plane to Detroit, and then again at the airport hotel, and knew exactly how she would handle this encounter. She would be cool, controlled, as unemotional as she could be. There would be no recriminations. They—she and Robert—had a situation to resolve, and all they were talking about was the most practical and logical way to go about it. That was the plan. But from the moment she had seen him standing on the doorstep, looking sick with exhaustion, she’d felt her resolve start to slip away. And now, listening to him trying to compose himself and not show emotion, to do that stupid thing men did, she felt all her carefully thought-out plans begin to fragment. And she suddenly—unaccountably—felt guilty that she’d been so hard with him earlier.
    â€œTea’s ready.”
    He’d managed to compose himself by the time she turned and passed over to him the steaming mug of tea.
    â€œI’ve added two sugars.”
    â€œSorry,” he mumbled. “Been an intense few days; I haven’t had much sleep.” He followed her into the living room, taking up his usual position on the couch facing her.
    Stephanie made herself another cup of tea. She cradled the tiny porcelain cup in the palms of her hands and sipped. “Tell me what happened?” she asked. Although she really wanted to discuss her