August would be quieter, since Congress was on recess then. But when August came, Joanna worked harder than ever to contain an erupting scandal—something about a campaign worker who’d sent a libelous anonymous letter about their political opponent to a newspaper. Unfortunately, the campaign worker had used the office fax machine, making its source easy to trace. It was an embarrassment for the senator, and Joanna headed up the investigation determining who was at fault. She was quoted in the paper as saying the worker had been terminated on the spot.
She seemed willing to do anything to quash potential hurt to the senator, yet when Bob stayed home for almost a week with a bad flu that threatened to turn into pneumonia, Joanna hadn’t missed a moment of work.
Was there something going on between Joanna and the senator? Abby sometimes wondered. She’d seen him on the news more than once; he was a good-looking guy, an avid squash player with a head of pure white hair and piercing eyes. Of course, he was twenty years Joanna’s senior, but Abby sensed that wouldn’t matter to Joanna. The silver-tongued, smartly dressed senator was the kind of guy Abby thought Joanna belonged with, not Bob, with the Snoopy tie he’d bought because Annabelle loved dogs, and dress shoes with a hole worn through the bottom of one that was visible whenever Bob propped up his feet on the coffee table.
Abby wondered if Bob ever thought about her relationship. She hadn’t brought Pete by the house, not once, and it bothered her that this didn’t bother either of them. Pete was a nice guy, an accountant who worked for a big firm downtown. He loved Adam Sandler movies and his fantasy football league and extra-hot chicken wings. He was kind and decent, but he didn’t give her the shivers. Their relationship had become so predictable: They went to dinner and watched TV with her feet up in his lap. On summer weekends, they drove to Ocean City, where they lay side by side on the beach, each engrossed in a book, then strolled the boardwalk and ate saltwater taffy and rode the Ferris wheel. They were content, and Abby knew it wasn’t enough. She expected contentment after forty years of marriage, not after a couple years of casual dating.
But being with Pete was so easy; he never picked fights or pressured her. He opened car doors and brought her red roses for no reason at all. Abby had thought about breaking up with him just last week, as she glanced over at his profile in thedimly lit movie theater. His dark hair was starting to recede prematurely, but he lifted weights three times a week and had powerful shoulders and biceps. A lot of women would be grateful for a steady, even-tempered guy like Pete . . . but Abby had to admit he bored her.
He’d turned to meet her eyes. “Everything okay?” he’d whispered, and a sob had unexpectedly caught in Abby’s throat.
“I guess so,” she’d finally said, hoping he would see something in her face that would make him understand how she felt. If he did, maybe it would mean they were more connected than she’d thought. They could leave the movie, go somewhere quiet to talk . . . but he’d just nodded and gone back to crunching a handful of popcorn and, a moment later, erupted in laughter at a dumb joke on the screen as Abby felt the sudden heat of tears behind her lids.
Now she wondered if Bob felt an absence in his life, too, an emptiness that kept growing. But he seemed happy. He smiled a lot, and he lit up around Annabelle. If he had complaints about his marriage, they weren’t transparent.
“More lasagna?” he asked.
“Did you know I’m a quarter Italian?” Abby asked. “I think I’m genetically incapable of undereating lasagna.”
He laughed. “Then we’re a perfect pair.”
He reached for the spatula and delivered another helping to her plate. It was sensational; he’d roasted the vegetables first, then folded them between layers.
She noticed his wrists were
She seemed willing to do anything to quash potential hurt to the senator, yet when Bob stayed home for almost a week with a bad flu that threatened to turn into pneumonia, Joanna hadn’t missed a moment of work.
Was there something going on between Joanna and the senator? Abby sometimes wondered. She’d seen him on the news more than once; he was a good-looking guy, an avid squash player with a head of pure white hair and piercing eyes. Of course, he was twenty years Joanna’s senior, but Abby sensed that wouldn’t matter to Joanna. The silver-tongued, smartly dressed senator was the kind of guy Abby thought Joanna belonged with, not Bob, with the Snoopy tie he’d bought because Annabelle loved dogs, and dress shoes with a hole worn through the bottom of one that was visible whenever Bob propped up his feet on the coffee table.
Abby wondered if Bob ever thought about her relationship. She hadn’t brought Pete by the house, not once, and it bothered her that this didn’t bother either of them. Pete was a nice guy, an accountant who worked for a big firm downtown. He loved Adam Sandler movies and his fantasy football league and extra-hot chicken wings. He was kind and decent, but he didn’t give her the shivers. Their relationship had become so predictable: They went to dinner and watched TV with her feet up in his lap. On summer weekends, they drove to Ocean City, where they lay side by side on the beach, each engrossed in a book, then strolled the boardwalk and ate saltwater taffy and rode the Ferris wheel. They were content, and Abby knew it wasn’t enough. She expected contentment after forty years of marriage, not after a couple years of casual dating.
But being with Pete was so easy; he never picked fights or pressured her. He opened car doors and brought her red roses for no reason at all. Abby had thought about breaking up with him just last week, as she glanced over at his profile in thedimly lit movie theater. His dark hair was starting to recede prematurely, but he lifted weights three times a week and had powerful shoulders and biceps. A lot of women would be grateful for a steady, even-tempered guy like Pete . . . but Abby had to admit he bored her.
He’d turned to meet her eyes. “Everything okay?” he’d whispered, and a sob had unexpectedly caught in Abby’s throat.
“I guess so,” she’d finally said, hoping he would see something in her face that would make him understand how she felt. If he did, maybe it would mean they were more connected than she’d thought. They could leave the movie, go somewhere quiet to talk . . . but he’d just nodded and gone back to crunching a handful of popcorn and, a moment later, erupted in laughter at a dumb joke on the screen as Abby felt the sudden heat of tears behind her lids.
Now she wondered if Bob felt an absence in his life, too, an emptiness that kept growing. But he seemed happy. He smiled a lot, and he lit up around Annabelle. If he had complaints about his marriage, they weren’t transparent.
“More lasagna?” he asked.
“Did you know I’m a quarter Italian?” Abby asked. “I think I’m genetically incapable of undereating lasagna.”
He laughed. “Then we’re a perfect pair.”
He reached for the spatula and delivered another helping to her plate. It was sensational; he’d roasted the vegetables first, then folded them between layers.
She noticed his wrists were
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