“Do you get calls at home now?”
“Occasionally. But my number isn’t listed, so not all that often.”
“Do you get a lot of crazy calls?”
She nodded. “I think all columnists do. A lot of people call the paper with stories they want printed. I get calls about people who are locked up in prison who shouldn’t be, I get calls about city services and how the garbage isn’t being picked up on time. I get calls about street crime. It seems like I’ve gotten calls about everything.”
“I thought you said you write about parenting.”
“I do.”
“Then why would they call you? Why don’t they call someone else?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure they do, but it still doesn’t stop them from calling me. A lot of people begin their calls with, ‘No one else will listen to me and you’re my last hope.’ ” She glanced at him before going on. “I guess they think I’ll be able to do something about their problems.”
“Why?”
“Well, columnists are different from other newspaper writers. Most things printed in the newspaper are impersonal—straightforward reporting, facts and figures, and the like. But if people read my column every day, I guess they think they know me. they begin to see me as a friend of sorts. and people look to their friends to help them out when they need it.”
“It must put you in an awkward position sometimes.”
She shrugged. “It does, but I try not to think about it. Besides, there are good parts about my job, too—giving information that people can use, keeping up with the latest medical data and spelling it out in laymen’s terms, even sharing lighthearted stories just to make the day a little easier.”
Garrett stopped at a sidewalk store selling fresh fruit. He picked out a couple of apples from the bin, then handed one to Theresa.
“What’s the most popular thing you’ve ever written about in your column?” he asked.
Theresa felt her breath catch. The most popular? Easy—I found a message in a bottle once, and I got a couple of hundred letters .
She forced herself to think of something else. “Oh . . . I get a lot of letters when I write about teaching disabled children,” she said finally.
“That must be rewarding,” he said, paying the shopkeeper.
“It is.”
Before taking a bite of his apple, Garrett asked: “Could you still write your column even if you changed papers?”
She considered the question. “It would be hard to do, especially if I want to continue to syndicate. Since I’m so new and still establishing my name, having the Boston Times behind me really helps. Why?”
“Just curious,” he said quietly.
* * *
The next morning Theresa went into work for a few hours but was home for the day a little after lunchtime. They spent the afternoon at the boston commons, where they ate a picnic lunch. Their lunch was interrupted twice by people who recognized her from her picture in the paper, and Garrett realized that Theresa was actually more well-known than he had thought.
“I didn’t know you were such a celebrity,” he said wryly after the second person walked away.
“I’m not really a celebrity. It’s just that my picture appears above my column, so people know what I look like.”
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”
“Not really. Maybe a few times a week.”
“That’s a lot,” he said, surprised.
She shook her head. “Not when you consider real celebrities. They can’t even go to the store without someone taking their picture. I pretty much lead a normal life.”
“But it still must be odd to have total strangers coming up to you.”
“Actually, it’s kind of flattering. Most people are very nice about it.”
“Either way, I’m glad I didn’t know you were so famous right off the bat.”
“Why?”
“I might have been too intimidated to ask you to go sailing.”
She reached over and took his hand. “I can’t imagine you being intimidated about anything.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Would you really have been intimidated?” she asked sheepishly.
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“i guess i’d wonder what someone like you could possibly see in me.”
She leaned over to kiss him. “I’ll tell you what I see. I see the man that I love, the man who makes me happy . . . someone I want to continue to see for a long time.”
“How come you always know just what to say?”
“Because,” she said quietly, “I know more about you than you would ever suspect.”
“Such as?”
A lazy smile played over her lips. “For instance, I know you want me to kiss you again.”
“I do?”
“Absolutely.”
And she was right.
* * *
Later that evening Garrett said, “You know, Theresa, I can’t find a single thing wrong with you.”
They were in the tub together, surrounded by mountains of bubbles, Theresa leaning against his chest. He used a sponge to wash her skin as he spoke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked curiously, turning her head to look at him.
“Just what I said. I can’t find a single thing wrong with you. I mean, you’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, Garrett,” she said, pleased nonetheless.
“But you are. You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you make me laugh, you’re intelligent, and you’re a great mother as well. Toss in the fact that you’re famous, and I don’t think there’s anyone who can measure up to you.”
she caressed his arm, relaxing against him. “I think you see me through rose-colored glasses. But I like it. . . .”
“Are you saying I’m biased?”
“No—but you’ve only seen my good side so far.”
“I didn’t know you had another side to you,” he said, squeezing both of her arms simultaneously. “Both sides feel pretty good right now.”
She laughed. “You know what I mean. You haven’t seen my dark side yet.”
“You don’t have a dark side.”
“Sure I do. Everyone does. It’s just that when you’re around, it likes to keep itself hidden.”
“So, how would you describe your dark side?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’m stubborn, and I can get mean when I’m angry. I tend to lash out and say the first thing that pops in my head, and believe me, it’s not pretty. I also have a tendency to tell others exactly what I’m thinking, even when I know it would be best just to walk away.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You haven’t been on the receiving end yet.”
“It still doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Well . . . let me put it this way. When I first confronted David about the affair, I called him some of the worst names in the English language.”
“He deserved it.”
“But I’m not sure he deserved to have a vase thrown at him.”
“Did you do that?”
She nodded. “You should have seen the look on his face. He’d never seen me like that before.”
“What did he do?”
“nothing—i think he was too shocked to do anything. Especially when I started in with the plates. I cleaned out most of the cupboard that night.”