Mrs. Esther did not serve, though she did remain to clean up afterward. So we were all busy passing dishes and butter for a few minutes. Then Mother asked Aubrey to say grace, and he did with sincerity. I poked at the food on my plate, unable for a few minutes to enjoy it. I stole a quick glance across the table. He was freshly shaved; I bet he’d needed to, he was probably a hairy man. His hair must have been black before it turned white early, his eyebrows were still so dark and striking. His chin was rounded, and his lips curved generously. I wanted Martin Bartell so much it made me sick. It was a dangerous feeling. I had always been wary of dangerous feelings.
I turned to Aubrey, who had chosen this evening of all evenings to tell me about his sterility. To tell me how lovely Emily Kaye’s little girl was. To warn me that he wanted children and couldn’t have them with me, but that Emily already had a child who could be his in all but name. I had always theoretically wanted a baby of my own, but-I thought now-if I loved Aubrey enough, I would have forgone my own children. If he had loved me enough.
This was not going to happen. Aubrey was not going to hold me fast to his anchor while the danger of Martin Bartell passed by. He was going to cast me adrift, I thought melodramatically. I took a bite of my roll. Martin looked at me, and I smiled. It was better than smoldering at him. He smiled back, and I realized this was the first time I’d seen him look happy. My mother eyed us, and I took another bite of roll.
An hour later we were all protesting how full we were and that the cake had been the clincher. Chairs were pushed back, everyone stood up, my mother swept into the kitchen to compliment Mrs. Esther, Barby excused herself, and I walked back into the living room. Martin fell in beside me. Behind us Aubrey and John discussed golf.
“Tomorrow night,” Martin said quietly. “Let’s eat dinner in Atlanta tomorrow night.”
“Just us?” I didn’t mean to sound stupid, but I didn’t want to be surprised when he turned up with his sister.
“Yes, just us. I’ll pick you up at seven.” His fingers brushed mine.
After thirty or forty more minutes of polite conversation, the little dinner party broke up.
Aubrey and I went to his car after Martin and Barby had pulled away, and we exclaimed over how cold it was and how soon Thanksgiving seemed, all of a sudden. Talking about the food lasted us until my place, when he courteously got out to walk me to the door. This was where our dates usually ended; Aubrey wasn’t taking chances on being swept away by passion. Tonight he kissed me on the cheek instead of the lips. I felt a surge of grief.
“Good night, Aubrey,” I said in a small voice. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, sweetheart,” he said with some sadness. He kissed me again and was gone.
I dragged myself up the stairs to the bedroom and undressed, moving slowly with an exhaustion so deep it was like a drug. Once I’d washed my face and pulled on my nightgown, I crawled into bed and was out when my head hit the pillow.
I woke up slowly the next day. It was sunny and cold. The tree on the front lawn of the townhouse row flicked its bare branches at my window. I was house-hunting this afternoon and had a date for the evening: that made it a very crowded day indeed, by my recent (non working) standards. I pulled on an old pair of jeans and a shirt, some thick socks and sneakers, and made myself a big breakfast: biscuits, sausage, eggs-Then I had three hours before Eileen picked me up. Rather than wander around restlessly thinking about Martin, I began to clean. Starting with the downstairs, I picked up, scrubbed, dusted, vacuumed. Once the downstairs was done to my satisfaction, I moved to the upstairs. The guest bedroom was full of boxes of things from Jane’s I’d decided to keep, and another bedstead was leaning up against the wall; so cleaning wouldn’t be of much use. But in my bedroom I really went to town. My sheets got changed, the bed was perfectly made, the bathroom shone with cleanliness, the towels were fresh, and all my makeup was put away in the drawer where it belonged instead of cluttering the top of my vanity table. I even refolded everything in my chest of drawers.
Then I decided to pick out my clothes for the evening, in case I had a lot of houses to look at today and got home late. What did you wear to a presumably fancy restaurant with a worldly older man you had the hots for?
I’d recently discovered a women’s clothing place in the city that stocked things just for petites. My purchases there were among my best and most becoming, because my friend Amina’s mom’s shop, Great Day, just didn’t carry that many petites. Now that I had money, I could buy things even when I didn’t need them at the moment. I had one dress I’d been saving for something fancy, if only I had the guts to wear it. It was teal and it shone; it was a little above the knee and had a low neckline and was cut exactly along my body. I took it out of the closet and eyed it nervously. It wasn’t what I thought of as indecent, but it certainly complemented my figure.
Now came the indecent part. On the same day, I’d bought an amazing black lace bra and a matching garter belt. This was being seriously naughty for me, and I had been very embarrassed at the cash register. With a sense of casting all caution to the winds, I laid out these garments on the bed, along with some sheer black hose and high-heeled black pumps, and hoped I wouldn’t disgrace myself by falling over in them. I wasn’t at all sure I had enough confidence to wear this ensemble, but the time was now, if ever. I would aim for this, and if my confidence seeped away during the day and I wore more ordinary undergarments, no one would know I’d chickened out but myself.
It was now almost time for Eileen to come, and I walked through the whole townhouse checking it for details. Everything was clean, orderly, and inviting. I only hoped I wouldn’t run into Martin today, since I looked my worst right now.
The doorbell rang at one o’clock on the dot, and when I opened it with my purse in hand and coat halfway on, I was relieved to see Eileen wasn’t wearing one of her “realtor” outfits, but a pair of nice slacks and a blouse, with a bright fuchsia jacket and sneakers.
“Hi, Roe! Ready to start looking?”
“Sure, Eileen. Is the wind blowing?”
“You bet, and colder than a witch’s tit.”
At least it wasn’t raining or snowing. But by the look of the leaden sky and the way the trees were tossing, it felt as if it would be raining before long.
“You seemed unsure about what you really wanted,” Eileen began when we were buckled up, “so I just called around and found out what I could show you today, in your size and price range. We have five houses to see.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Yes, better than I expected at such short notice. The first one’s on Rosemary. Here’s the sheet on it… it has three bedrooms, two baths, a large kitchen and family room, a formal living room, small yard, and is all electric…”
The house on Rosemary needed new carpet and a new roof. That was not insurmountable. What struck it off my list was the narrow lot. My neighbors could look right in my bedroom window and shake hands with me, if they should be so inclined. I’d had too many years of townhouse living for that. If I was going to own a house, I wanted privacy.
The next house had four bedrooms, which I liked, and a poky kitchen with no storage room, which I didn’t.
The third house, a two-story in a rather run-down part of Lawrenceton, was most attractive. It needed some renovation, but I could pay for that. I loved the master bedroom, and I loved the breakfast area overlooking the backyard. But the house next door had been divided into apartments, and I didn’t like the thought of all the in-and-out traffic-there again, I’d had enough.
The fourth house was a possible. It was a smaller house in a very nice area of town, which meant it cost the same as a larger home elsewhere. But it was only ten years old, was in excellent shape, and had a beautifully landscaped, low-maintenance yard and lots of closets. Also a Jacuzzi in the master bath, which I eyed with interest. It was over my price limit, but not too drastically.