way the priest had put it up, as if he did it every week. If so, it was removed every week because I'd never seen it before,
"Faith, what are you doing?"
Startled, I turned to face my father. He was too close for me to hide the flyer. It only took him a moment to recognize it. "By all means, take that trash down and throw it away. Those people — we have to check the board vigilantly." The street door opened and several parishioners came in. "Put it in your pocket out of sight, for heaven's sake."
I did as I was told, folding the flyer into a small wedge and slipping it into the pocket of my sweater. Even when I was settled and clearing my mind to take Communion, which I felt I sorely needed, the flyer burned a hole in my pocket. I fancied I smelled sulfur.
* * * * *
With Eric still away, I found myself feeling rather low over the next several weeks. I began spending more time in my apartment making notes on my books and not going into my office every single day. I took pleasure in grocery shopping and making my apartment into a home, but I felt unsettled and out of sorts. James gave me a particularly vicious tongue-lashing for being what he called an indolent sloth.
Not having seen Sydney, I was able more and more successfully to forget how she had made me feel. And I did miss Eric. We'd gotten quite comfortable with each other.
He called me toward the end of his business trip just to say hello and explain that he had to stay in Hong Kong another week.
"Let's plan to do something fun on Halloween, though. I'll be back in plenty of time."
"I'd love to. I have a hankering to dress up like Eleanor just to get the feel of it," I admitted. "Something like what Katharine Hepburn wore in The Lion in Winter"
"I'll be Peter O'Toole, then."
"You have to yell a lot," I said. "Henry liked to address people at the top of his lungs." I pictured Eric in chain mail and a leather jerkin. He would look the part, except that he didn't have a chance of duplicating the swagger and sweat O'Toole had put into his portrayal of Henry.
"It's a date. Who knows where we'll go, but it sounds like fun."
We chattered for a while about football, a passion of his I was beginning to share, then he said he had a few more calls to make and then he had a meeting with his clients and their general contractor.
About five minutes later the phone rang again.
"Faith, this is Sydney. I'm on pain of death from Eric to make sure you're doing fine in your new apartment."
Her voice, light and friendly, shook me in an in stant back to that moment at the pool table and her arms around me. It was as if I hadn't spent the last month putting her out of my mind.
"I'm doing fine, really. I was just talking to him."
"He said he thought you sounded a little lonely and insisted I take you to dinner in his stead."
Irony is only funny when it happens to other people. I opened my mouth to say she really didn't have to worry and heard myself say instead, "That sounds wonderful. I'm getting tired of my limited cooking repertoire. I'm not in your league at all."
"I'm hardly cordon bleu. Can you make it this Friday night?"
"Yes, that would be great. Shall I meet you somewhere?"
"At the City Club. It's on the thirteenth floor of the Wrigley Building. Let's say seven-thirty. Don't worry if I'm late. They'll seat you and ply you with delicious little things to eat until I get there. Though I'll try not to be late," she added. "It's just that things come up."
"I understand. And I'm glad you called. It is nice to have something to look forward to."
She hung up with a cheery good-bye, and the phone rang again almost immediately.
"Faith, it's Caroline Van Allen. I hope I'm not calling too late."
"Not at all," I managed. Why on earth would Eric's mother be calling?
"I was just talking to Eric. He told me you and he had a desire to do fancy dress for Halloween."
"We decided it would be fun," I said, wondering where this was leading.
"I'm having a fundraiser at the
"Faith, what are you doing?"
Startled, I turned to face my father. He was too close for me to hide the flyer. It only took him a moment to recognize it. "By all means, take that trash down and throw it away. Those people — we have to check the board vigilantly." The street door opened and several parishioners came in. "Put it in your pocket out of sight, for heaven's sake."
I did as I was told, folding the flyer into a small wedge and slipping it into the pocket of my sweater. Even when I was settled and clearing my mind to take Communion, which I felt I sorely needed, the flyer burned a hole in my pocket. I fancied I smelled sulfur.
* * * * *
With Eric still away, I found myself feeling rather low over the next several weeks. I began spending more time in my apartment making notes on my books and not going into my office every single day. I took pleasure in grocery shopping and making my apartment into a home, but I felt unsettled and out of sorts. James gave me a particularly vicious tongue-lashing for being what he called an indolent sloth.
Not having seen Sydney, I was able more and more successfully to forget how she had made me feel. And I did miss Eric. We'd gotten quite comfortable with each other.
He called me toward the end of his business trip just to say hello and explain that he had to stay in Hong Kong another week.
"Let's plan to do something fun on Halloween, though. I'll be back in plenty of time."
"I'd love to. I have a hankering to dress up like Eleanor just to get the feel of it," I admitted. "Something like what Katharine Hepburn wore in The Lion in Winter"
"I'll be Peter O'Toole, then."
"You have to yell a lot," I said. "Henry liked to address people at the top of his lungs." I pictured Eric in chain mail and a leather jerkin. He would look the part, except that he didn't have a chance of duplicating the swagger and sweat O'Toole had put into his portrayal of Henry.
"It's a date. Who knows where we'll go, but it sounds like fun."
We chattered for a while about football, a passion of his I was beginning to share, then he said he had a few more calls to make and then he had a meeting with his clients and their general contractor.
About five minutes later the phone rang again.
"Faith, this is Sydney. I'm on pain of death from Eric to make sure you're doing fine in your new apartment."
Her voice, light and friendly, shook me in an in stant back to that moment at the pool table and her arms around me. It was as if I hadn't spent the last month putting her out of my mind.
"I'm doing fine, really. I was just talking to him."
"He said he thought you sounded a little lonely and insisted I take you to dinner in his stead."
Irony is only funny when it happens to other people. I opened my mouth to say she really didn't have to worry and heard myself say instead, "That sounds wonderful. I'm getting tired of my limited cooking repertoire. I'm not in your league at all."
"I'm hardly cordon bleu. Can you make it this Friday night?"
"Yes, that would be great. Shall I meet you somewhere?"
"At the City Club. It's on the thirteenth floor of the Wrigley Building. Let's say seven-thirty. Don't worry if I'm late. They'll seat you and ply you with delicious little things to eat until I get there. Though I'll try not to be late," she added. "It's just that things come up."
"I understand. And I'm glad you called. It is nice to have something to look forward to."
She hung up with a cheery good-bye, and the phone rang again almost immediately.
"Faith, it's Caroline Van Allen. I hope I'm not calling too late."
"Not at all," I managed. Why on earth would Eric's mother be calling?
"I was just talking to Eric. He told me you and he had a desire to do fancy dress for Halloween."
"We decided it would be fun," I said, wondering where this was leading.
"I'm having a fundraiser at the
Similar Books
