The Prize by Jill Bialosky Page B

meal to overpower him. It was completely dark inside and the only beings that greeted him were Simon and Trudy, their dogs.
    He climbed the stairs with his suitcase, the creak on the wooden steps breaking the quiet, dumped his dirty clothes from his suitcase into the hamper, let out of the luggage bag the suit he’d worn his last night in Berlin—he smelled the lingering scent of Julia’s perfume in the fabric and for a moment thought of her. There was something about her; he couldn’t quite name it, exactly. He stamped the suit into the bottom of the dry cleaner bag along with his shirts and pulled the drawstring. He’d drop it off on his way to work in the morning. He showered, changed into a pair of weekend khakis and a sweatshirt, and went downstairs, slowly readjusting to the nuances of being home. Everything around him looked a little dull and colorless without Holly and Annabel.
    He’d gotten in late on Saturday afternoon. Holly had left him a note pinned to the refrigerator saying they’d gone to the coffee shop for dinner and then to the barn to see the new pony that had been born a few days ago.
    â€œY OU ’ RE HOME ,” H OLLY said when she opened the door a few hours later and entered the kitchen with Annabel.
    â€œHi, Daddy.” Annabel stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “How was Berlin? You were in Berlin, right?”
    â€œYes, Bell. Berlin.”
    â€œDid you get dinner?” Holly said, kissing him quickly on the lips. He smelled the pungent and familiar odor of horsehair.
    A tightness passed across his face. Now that they’d returned, he found it difficult to get past the fact that they had not been at home waiting for him.
    â€œWhat is it? What’s wrong?”
    â€œI thought we’d have dinner together. I was looking forward to it.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t know what time your flight got in. I’ve been preoccupied with Daddy. And Annabel wanted to see the new pony.” Immediately he was sorry. He had forgotten about Holly’s father.
    â€œHow’s your father?” Edward asked.
    â€œThe same,” Holly said.
    â€œWhy don’t we go into the city tomorrow and see them,” Edward said.
    â€œWe’ll see. Bell and I went in to see them yesterday.” It hadn’t occurred to him until they walked through the door that Holly and Annabel might prefer his absence. They had their own routine. When they weren’t at the barn, they liked splurging on manicures or going for tea at one of the fancy Manhattan hotels. He remembered how the air in his house would clear when his mother left for her bridge group. He and his father watched a James Bond film together—his father had a passion for what he called Bond’s “magisterial elegance”—or they’d toss a football in the backyard. Sometimes he wondered what he and Annabel would have to talk about a year or two from now. Annabel liked getting dessert at the cafeteria after a tour around a well-chosen gallery, so he could stillpersuade her to join him. Every now and then he had wished they’d tried harder to have another child.
    â€œIt’s fine about dinner. I made a sandwich.”
    After Annabel hung up her coat she had gone racing upstairs to her room.
    â€œI can barely keep my eyes open,” Holly said, and started for the staircase. “Are you coming to bed?”
    â€œI’ll be up soon. You holding up okay, Hol? You look tired.”
    â€œI have to be.” Holly yawned. His eyes moved to the tender skin above her throat. He reached toward her but she continued climbing the stairs. “We’ll catch up tomorrow,” she said, covering another yawn with her hand. “I’m glad you’re home.”
    He lolled into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of scotch, and climbed the stairs to his third-floor study. They had procured an antique walnut desk and a Victorian velvet