Leaving Normal (11 page)

"I can't stay long. I have to…"

She didn't have to do anything.

Today was Sunday. Her store was closed. All that was waiting for her at home was a house to clean and laundry to wash.

Tony took the bottle of sauvignon blanc from her, then stepped aside. She urged her feet forward. She held back a little, letting him take the lead and bring her into the house.

Instantly grateful for the warm interior, she shivered off the outdoor cold that lingered behind her. She wore soft-washed jeans and a pale-pink knit sweater, the weave clingy over her arms and breasts.

The front entry and subsequent living room created a spacious area, made more so by the lack of furnishings. All that was left was a wide-screen television and a sound system that looked as if it cost a small fortune. The walls were bare except for one lone picture of a landscape. Where the sofa had been, there were four imprints of furniture legs in the carpet pile…some candy wrappers and coins scattered about on the floor. „

The symbolism of an empty space was more than just what met the eyes. She felt the disconnection… she relived her own moment in time when this had happened to her.

"I'm sorry," she repeated as he went into the kitchen.

The sentiment seemed too trite for the occasion, but she uttered it a third time just the same.

His back was to her as he set the bottle of wine on the countertop. "What are you going to do?"

She took a second to process his comment and not take it literally. "I suppose you'll get on with your life."

"Yep."

Natalie watched as he rummaged through the cup-boards.

Tony looked at her across his shoulder. "She took the wineglasses. All I have are these."

He poured the wine into two drinking glasses and offered one to Natalie, then took a sip of his before setting it down. She noted that he already had an open beer. Moisture rolled down the amber bottle, his hand holding on to the neck as he brought it to his mouth for a drink.

As he swallowed the beer, his throat tightened. His neck muscles were taut, rigid. He was so tense, he could snap that bottle in two with little effort.

A gray T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest; his lean legs were encased by dark denim. He wore white socks that, for some reason, made her smile.

Captured by his compelling presence, she couldn't help staring, watching as he moved.

"I'd offer you a seat but I don't have any," he said, leaning his backside against the counter.

"That's okay. I can't stay long."

"She took the things we bought when we got married—couch, lamps, table and chairs. It's just stuff, I really don't give a shit. At least I have my TV." The latter was spoken with a quirk to the corner of his mouth, the first hint of amusement she'd seen on his face since he'd opened the door.

"It's a big television." She left the kitchen, glanced at the large, dark screen in the living room.

"I don't watch much television in the summer, but the wintertime is different."

"Football," she surmised.

His smile broadened a little. "That and HBO.
The Sopranos
."

"Hmm." She had cable, but never really watched much of anything. Working six days a week she was al-ways too tired at the end of the day to do anything more than have some dinner and go to bed.

Tony took a seat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall and brought one knee up. The black remote control for the TV unit was at his hip. "Sit down?"

Reclined against the wall, the window above him, she studied him in the winter's light. Awash in muted grays and vague shadows, he still had a monopoly on virility.

He hadn't shaved today. A dark bristle dusted his jaw and chin, his upper lip. Once more, she noticed a thin scar line on his temple, and wondered about it. His brown eyes were now leveled on her. He was looking, and not casually, either…but sort of intently regarding Natalie as if he were wondering or thinking…

Natalie squirmed inside.

She managed to sit next to him, an arm's length away. She left her legs out in front of her, one hand in her lap and the other holding on to the glass, the wine warming beneath her fingers.

They sat in solitude—quiet for a long moment. The scent of his warm skin came to her, a muskiness that filled her head and mind with his presence. Even three feet away from him, she felt too close. Too intimate. She shouldn't have come, but now she was powerless to leave. Not yet.

When he finally spoke, she almost started. "She was having an affair."

At the same time, shock, surprise and sympathy were all etched on her face. "How awful for you."

"I suspected it for a while."

"That still wouldn't take away the disappointment."

She gazed at his profile, the strength of his jaw and cut of his nose.

Tony sighed. "I'm not all that disappointed. I'm relieved."

"I think I know what you mean. I felt the same thing."

He drank a slow swallow of beer, then licked his upper lip. "How long have you been divorced?"

"About two years." She organized her thoughts quickly, then spoke them before she had time to think otherwise. "I filed. It wasn't anything my ex-husband did. We just grew apart over the years. Sometimes that happens in a marriage. It's nobody's fault. I don't mean to sound callous, but there were moments when I wish he had had an affair, then there could have been blame, a definitive reason."

"I can see your thinking, but a reason still doesn't make it easier."

"Oh, I'm not saying it would. What you are going through must be horrible. I can't imagine. And the little girl…that has to be difficult."

"I have no rights to her. Just what I feel in my heart." On that, his voice weakened, barely discernible but she heard the change in his tone. It was enough for her to react without thinking—she reached out and touched his hand.

She settled her fingertips over his, a light pressure. A small measure of comfort. He was warm, his knuckles rough. She noticed he'd removed his gold wedding band.

Smiling reassuringly, she removed her hand, feeling self-conscious about the familiar gesture.

She drank her wine, welcoming the heat that fanned through her stomach and slowed the surge in her heartbeat.

Tony hunched his shoulders slightly as he reached for the TV remote and absently flipped it around through his fingertips. "She served me at the fire station yesterday."

"That was harsh," Natalie criticized, eyebrows raised in disapproval over a matter she wasn't personally involved with. Even so, she thought about the way she'd handled her divorce. She'd handed Greg the complaint at a local notary's office, not wanting to publically humiliate him at work. They'd been married for twenty-one years. A margin of respect for the vows that had lasted that long was the least she owed him, that and a semblance of civility.

"I'm going to need a lawyer," Tony thought aloud.

"I know of a good one." She thought about Chuck Hays, the man who had been her rock while representing her. "He isn't a lawyer who goes for the jugular, but he's fair. That's all I wanted out of mine. A fifty-fifty split, everything as amicable as possible."

"Kim's said she doesn't want to get into it with me. I don't know if I believe her. I made the down payment on this house. I'm thinking I should keep it."

"You'll have to ask Chuck about that. I'm sure he'll steer you in the direction that's best for you. I'll get you his number."

"That would be great. Thanks."

Tony rubbed his jaw, the rasp of a beard beneath his fingernails. "I have to buy a new bed."

The offhand comment was jarring, and the implication sent a clear image to her mind: His wife and her boyfriend must have been together in their bed.

She wished he didn't have to go through this.

He was big and strong, and yet she detected an emotional fragility to him right now. She'd seen it in the craft store, in Hat and Garden. The brief window of hurt that barely surfaced before he closed it off, removing all traces. She had so much empathy for him.

"Kim said I could visit Parker whenever I wanted, but that would mean going to her new boyfriend's house, and I can't trust myself not to kick his ass." Tony mistakenly punched a button on the remote. The TV came alive and he muted the sound. A picture spread over the screen. ESPN. "I know my wife isn't innocent, but I can't help wanting to get in his face. He knew she was married. Why did he pursue her? Or maybe he didn't. Hell, maybe she pursued him. She never gave me a real answer."

Natalie let him talk, sensing he needed to unload, get things off his chest. It was good to vocalize the feelings of resentment, of failure. She had done the same thing with Sarah.

"I mean, shit…something like this makes a man question what he was lacking. What was it that I couldn't give her?"

He grew quiet. She still didn't speak.

"A baby," he said beneath his breath. "I just couldn't do that."

His explanation was surprising. Infertility was the reason many marriages broke down. Her heart went out to him.

"I don't know anything about that, but there are doctors—"

"It wasn't a matter of getting her pregnant. I just didn't want to make a baby with her."

"Oh…" she murmured, enlightened. Now the topic was definitely quite intimate. No doubt he had his reasons. But she wouldn't ask.

He didn't elaborate and she was actually relieved not to hear the details of something between this man and his wife.

Tony clicked through the channels, as if needing something to do. He paused on an episode of
Gilligan's

Island
. When Mary Ann and Ginger screamed and ran away from headhunters, Tony cracked an amused smile. His interest in a show like this was surprising—until he elaborated.

"I once had a call where a cross-dresser was made up like Ginger. He'd fallen off his platform heels and cracked his forehead open on the curb. When we got there, he was lying against the gutter crying because there was a hole in his gown."

"So
Gilligan's Island
inspires Boise's cross-dressers? I didn't know we even had any," she commented, trying to make light of the show, make light of the dark mood that had surrounded them prior to the television being turned on.

"I've come across a few. Seen other things I'd rather not have, as well. A lot of overweight people stuck on toilets."

In spite of herself, Natalie laughed. "Really?"

Tony gazed at her. "And they're always naked."

"Oh, my."

"That's not what I'm thinking." A half smile touched his mouth. "I have seen some things you wouldn't want to know about."

"I can only imagine."

Somberly, he replied, "You don't want to."

"Do you ever get depressed?"

"Absolutely."

"I admire you," she said, not withholding her true feelings. "It takes a special person to do what you do."

"Not really. You just have to pass some tests."

"Don't discredit yourself. You deserve the praise." She took a sip of wine, relaxing more. "Did you always know you wanted to be a fireman?"

"Nope. My parents got a divorce when I was in jun-ior high. My dad moved to Portland afterward and he wasn't a big part of my life. I wanted to play on the summer baseball team, but I didn't have a dad to watch me or coach me. So I asked my neighbor if he'd want to sponsor me, help me out. He said he would." A fond expression overtook Tony's features. "He was a firefighter and he took me to the station and I got to hang out there. After that, I knew that's what I wanted to be. A firefighter like him."

"That's a fabulous story."

"I met my best friend in the academy. Rockland Massaro. He's a good guy."

"Is it hard to become a firefighter?"

"Not really." Tony shrugged. "I passed the written, scored in the top one hundred. You're tested on English, math, reading comprehension. Some mechanical-aptitude stuff. Then you take a CPAT."

"What's that?"

"Candidate Physical Aptitude Test. It's a series of physical tests."

He tipped his face to the window, aid she followed his gaze. A light snow had begun to fall, the sunshine fading to a murky blue-gray.

The beer bottle in his hand lowered to rest on his knee. "You have to walk on a treadmill with seventy-five pounds on your back, then you drag some hoses. You can go down there and practice ahead of time. You drag a dummy. Hit some pegs with a sledgehammer, pull apart some ceiling tiles and crawl through an area that simulates a small space. Just basic stuff."

He made it sound so effortless, but she was impressed. She was sure not just anyone passed these tests.

His profile was sharp and confident. She wavered, trying to collect herself. Why was it whenever she was around him she felt out of sorts? She had to conquer these involuntary reactions to him. He might be separated, but he was still married and in for a long road ahead if he was really going through with a divorce.

Natalie tried to refocus her thoughts. "How long have you been a fireman?"

"Eight years."

"Can you see yourself doing the job until retirement?"

"Oh, yeah. Very few people quit."

They directed their attention back to the
Gilligan's Island
episode, and Natalie rolled her eyes at the outlandish comedic antics of Gilligan and the Skipper that, back when she was younger, she thought funny. Now the acting just seemed silly. "I remember this show from my day." Cutting off a gasp, she immediately cringed and ran the topic in a different direction. "Do you have cable or a dish?"

"Cable," he said shortly. His eyebrows lifted. "What do you mean—'my day'?"

She groaned and figured she'd just make a joke about her age. "Back when there were black-and-white televisions."

"Give me a break. How old are you?"

Natalie drew in a breath, expelled it, then closed her eyes a second. She wished she'd never brought up the subject. Bucking her composure, she stated in a bland voice, "Forty-three." Then slanting a glance at him, she dared herself to ask, "How old are you?"

No hesitation marked his reply. "Thirty-four." She gave a choked laugh, confused by her unexpected response. His age should have been of no consequence to her, and yet, her stomach flip-flopped. An unexpected heaviness settled in her heart and she faltered in the dry silence that engulfed them.