Brick by Brick (7 page)

The same someone he wanted.

Someone who wasn’t going to call.

Chapter Nine

“The good news is,” I said, “today the scab fell off my knee. At last, huh?”

“The bad news is,” James countered with a crooked grin, “you’re telling me just to tell me, not offering me hot doggie-style sex.”

“Don’t rule it out.” More than three weeks after the argument and its makeup sex, we hadn’t made love once. I’d have hung from a trapeze if that’s what he wanted.

“I need to work on some drawings and update the books. After?”

“Yeah, like you’re not going to take until nine, then be tired. I wish you’d get a computer. It would mean more time for us.”

“And less money.”

That was the crux of it. James never shared his worries about our finances, but we had to have fallen way behind before the Rosenfeld job. He’d worked at Cynthia’s and Doug’s for weeks, and done gorgeous work, but costs had mounted and his temper frayed.

He was never going to work with this salvage yard again. His first brick order arrived ruined by sandblasting they hadn’t mentioned, and its replacement was not the color specified. James’s crews had excavated, then laid the gravel and sand layers before the brick arrived, only because James paid extra for expedited shipping. I’d overheard him on the phone to Manny, his longtime employee, saying expenses were so close to the estimate he now hoped to break even.

“You don’t have the time to learn how to use it anyway, right? Someday, if you get one, I’ll take a class and you won’t have to mess with it. I could be the bookkeeper.” I thought he was a little scared of computers, and felt foolish for not being computer literate, but I didn’t say so. We’d had this discussion over and over.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he said. “Next time Daniel offers me their old computer because he’s got a new one again, I’ll take it, okay?”

“Really?” James’s fraternal twin never let an opportunity to prove himself superior go past. I was not surprised James hadn’t mentioned the offers he’d refused. Daniel had money, but James had pride.

“And Sunday you and I will go out to breakfast, then come home and work it off in bed. Sleep like stuffed pigs, then wake up and do it again.”

He kept his word, but the occasional Sunday doubleheader wasn’t enough. For me, anyway.

* * * *

Cynthia and I met at Crave once a week. At first, we mostly talked about books over our coffee, but as we became friends, we talked about ourselves just as much.

“Look,” she said one afternoon in May, laying her hand almost on my napkin.

Was the watch new? One of the rings? “Wow. When did you grow an arm?”

“I’ve got a tan, silly. First time in years.”

“It’s hard to avoid if you go outside.”

“I’ll have to show you my little garden out back. I was surprised at the tan, because I do all the work right after Doug goes to the office, before it gets too hot. You can see how high my gardening gloves go.” She saw through my forced smile. “Honey, I can’t help but notice the glow is gone. Are things okay at home?”

“Sure.”

“Try harder to convince me.”

“He’s just busy, working hard so I don’t have to.” James left early, returned late and tired, ate dinner listlessly. The meal gave him a burst of energy that he devoted to plans and paperwork, not me.

She nodded. “For every month of that crazy passion we talked about, there’s a year of blah.”

“A whole year?” I could endure a year without lovemaking, but not without James’s attention.

“No, no, I’m exaggerating. Still, when a husband’s professional life is speeding along, the wife had better find something to keep herself happy.”

“You mean have an affair?”

“Who said anything about cheating? I meant find something that makes you feel good without involving James at all, and do it. I volunteered at Legal Aid back in New York, filing and phones. It was beneath me, of course, but they needed office workers, and I met some wonderful people. And contributed something to ‘justice for all,’ I think.”

“I could do more than I do.”

“More of what?”

“I volunteer at a school library. I read out loud and help the kids find books that I hope will make them love reading. It’s easy for the little ones, but I’m getting to be the go-to person for the seventh- and eighth-graders.”

We talked about books for kids until Cynthia had to go. When I got home, I called the volunteer coordinator and told her I wanted more hours, during the big kids’ library times.

The following Sunday James shaved, which meant we were going out to breakfast, which meant he expected sex, a nap, and sex again. I didn’t have any say about it. This was the only window of opportunity I was likely to get, and I could take it or leave it.

Irritated, I left it. “I’m not hungry.”

“Not hungry? What, is that code for your period again already?”

“No. It’s code for not in the mood.”

“What does that even mean, not in the mood?” he said.

“It means don’t think you can ignore me thirty days out of the month and expect sex the thirty-first because you bought me a waffle.”

“I’m busy. And I’m tired. I’m busting a nut in the heat here, trying to make a good living for us both.” He sighed. “I’ve got so many people saying they’ll hire me, that they love the plans I draw up, but nobody’s writing me a check. I’ve got my crew pointing fucking chimneys, for people too old to get up on their roofs to do their own mortar repairs.”

“Should I get a job, something temporary?” We’d had the discussion about me working many times. James didn’t object to his wife working, but only if I loved it. I’d teased him that in some ways, he might as well be Italian.

Now he slumped as if I’d let the air out of him. “Not yet. I’m sure if I asked, Daniel’d make me a loan.”

“I know how hard you work. Things will turn around.”

“They’d better, or I’m going to have to go to Daniel. Shit. So, we going to breakfast or not? I’ve kind of lost my appetite too.”

“Forget trading waffles for sex. Let’s just do something together.”

“Want to go to Sabino Canyon? We can pack something, eat out there.”

And he tried, he really did. We hiked a little, had a picnic breakfast, took the tram a little, hiked a little more. He held my hand. We kissed. I smiled. He felt its phoniness.

We came home before the afternoon turned the canyon into a furnace. I encouraged James to nap on the sofa. We had perfectly nice but uninspired sex when he woke.

That night, I put Gage’s ruby stud earring in with my socks, safe but unseen. I didn’t want a reminder of how amazing and adventurous our sex life had once been.

Nevertheless, I moped a few days later when I found Gage’s bottle of wine mysteriously moved to the back of the cupboard. The hope had evaporated.

Fine. We didn’t need Gage Strickland. When James came home late for dinner that night, I’d set us a pretty table outside, where orange blossoms scented the air. I lit candles and uncorked my twelve-dollar pinot noir while he took his shower. When I heard the water stop running, I brought the food to the table in covered dishes, even though that meant more dishwashing.

“Nat?” he called from the house. “Where’d you go?” He stepped onto the patio, where everything for an elegant meal waited, but he didn’t smile. “Did I forget a special occasion?”

“No. I think I forgot how special you are. This is to show my appreciation.”

His sigh was long. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

“Why? Did you stop being special?”

“Maybe. I don’t have time for sex tonight. I have to work on my order, because if I don’t get it in tomorrow, then I lose the contractors’ discount, and I need—”

I held up my hand, stopping him. “This is just a nice dinner, no more.” Nothing like breakfast at IHOP. “Let’s just enjoy it, and each other.”

He gave his crooked smile. “That’s easy. For me, anyway. Tell you what. Tomorrow night, I’ll try to make it home by six, which means I’ll actually be here by six thirty. We’ll eat out and then, who knows? Where do you want to go to dinner?”

I grinned at him. “Don’t laugh, but I have a yen for junk food. Something bad for me.” Something we could afford.

“Then I’m your man.” James poured me wine, but none for himself. He lifted the lid off the garlic roasted potatoes. “Smells good. So how was your day?”

His smile warmed my insides more than any waffle. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.

Chapter Ten

The “personal shave” that would surprise James had taken much longer than I’d thought. I stepped into panties and decided minimal makeup would be fine.

Eyes lined and mascaraed, I’d found a bra and tank top and was pulling up jeans when the doorbell chimed. I hoped it would be James, ringing with his elbow because he carried a pizza. We could eat and get right to it without leaving the house. I zipped up and opened the door.

“Hi.” Gage was loaded with paper bags, most with handles. “Can you take this one? Thanks. He’s not home yet, huh?”

“No. Come in.” Gage was back! I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“He didn’t call?”

“I was out, and I never check messages. They’re always for James.”

“I tried the home number on James’s business card first. There’s a message from me. I got him at work.”

“Oh.” I’d play the messages every day from now on. “What’s in the bags?” My nose told me the basics.

“Hot-and-sour soup, spring rolls, shrimp lo mein, twice-cooked pork with vegetables. You guys aren’t vegetarian, are you?” Gage set the cartons on the dining room table as if he’d brought takeout a hundred times. “I’ll get plates.”

“No, I—”

“This is my treat. I’ll find them. You could boil water, for tea.”

James arrived as I was setting chopsticks on napkins. “Go change. Gage will be here any minute. I left you a message.” To James’s credit, his tone didn’t contain a trace of
I told you so.

“He’s here already.” Gage emerged from the dining room and clapped an arm across James’s shoulders. James’s meaty arm wrapped Gage’s ribs, turning the manly embrace into a half hug. I hadn’t seen James look so happy in months.

“Good to see you, man,” Gage said. “Don’t make her change. She’s dressed better than I am already.”

Maybe I was. His jeans were new, but his faded T-shirt sported a hole at one shoulder.

“You always lay bricks in a suit?” Gage released James.

“I pick up checks in a suit.”

“You got the Rincon job?” I hoped, hard.

“Larry Kline’s giving me a trial run. Outdoor space on one executive suite. He loved the plans, even the water feature. Two minutes,” he promised Gage and me and trotted toward the bedroom.

“So how have you been, Natalie?”

“Fine.” I wanted to demand an explanation for his absence, but didn’t. “You?”

“Busy. Working.”

James reappeared in the jeans I’d thrown away. The ragged-edged splits in the denim revealed knees, thighs and a tantalizing glimpse of the lower edge of one buttock. Where was his underwear? “What do I smell?”

We ate, James and Gage talking and laughing as much as the night we’d shared too much Bordeaux. Gage opened his fortune cookie first and laughed aloud. “‘You will successfully renew an old acquaintance.’”

“Let me see that.” James wasn’t buying.

Gage refused, dropping it into the half inch of soup in the carton. I leaned forward, but the red letters had already bled into blurs.

“Open yours, Natalie.” Gage smiled at my cleavage.

“‘Two beautiful men will grant your heart’s desire.’”

“Why don’t I believe you, either?” James said.

“Because I lied,” I admitted at once, dropping my fortune into the soup. “Or did I?”

James read his. “‘If your wishes are not extravagant, they will be met.’ For real. See? Am I hoping for too much?”

“I don’t think so.” With a bashful smile, Gage averted his eyes and stood up, collecting plates and containers. “Don’t get up. This is my version of taking you out to dinner, without people bugging us.” He cleared the table and reappeared with a large green bottle and glasses. “Champagne in the living room?”

“What are we celebrating?” I followed him.

“One another?” Gage eased the cork out with a subdued whoosh rather than the pop and spew I expected.

“Must be the good stuff,” James said.

“It should be,” Gage said, pouring.

That meant he’d paid plenty. Well, why not? He could afford it. We clicked glasses and drank, the men smiling over the rims of the champagne flutes from our wedding, me over the thick lip of an everyday white wineglass.

“I owe you guys an apology, not calling sooner. Things got crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Then I had to go to work, on location.”

James waved his excuses away like so many gnats. “Where did you go?”

“Romania. While I was there, I must’ve picked up the phone to call fifty times.” Without meeting my eyes, Gage busied himself topping off our glasses, although they didn’t need it.

He’s unsure of himself, I thought, watching him center the stemware on the coasters, moving mine an inch closer to me, avoiding a direct look at either of us. Shy around us, after the things we did.

“Phone service not up to American standards?” James was practical.

“My manners not up to anybody’s standards is more like it. The time to call was soon. Next day. Only I didn’t, and the more time that passed, the surer I was what you must think of me. I’m not like that.” His smile twisted. “Only I was, you know?”

“I’m lost,” I said. “Can we start over, and go slower?”

“Sure.” Again Gage topped my glass, then James’s, although we’d only taken a sip. “Remember I couldn’t stay because of a call I was expecting? It didn’t go well. At all. I had to fly back to LA and rent a car, meet with people face-to-face. Kissing ass on the phone isn’t the same. You can’t really get your tongue in there and work it, you know?”

James grinned.

“So I get that straightened out, pretty much, and there’s still some time before Romania for me to figure out what I’ll need there, and pack. But I’m thinking, Hell, they sell stuff in Romania, right? I’ll just fly back to Tucson.” He shook his head, the shaggy dark hair swinging. “I was literally throwing a few things in a suitcase for here when my sister called. On something. Again.”