Into the Quiet

by Beth C. Greenberg

  “Dammit, Q. Just give me the facts.”

  “I’m afraid I might need you to watch Ruthie’s dog for me.”

  “You called me to dog-sit? This is your emergency?”

  “I volunteered to take care of her while Ruthie and Zach are away, working out their problems,” Cupid said.

  “Have you forgotten how your little foray into babysitting turned out last time?”

  “How could I?” Cupid sighed, forcing away memories of squealing tires and metal-on-metal. “Look, I didn’t have a choice. Ruthie needed to leave quickly, and I’ve been living here, so I said I’d—”

  “That’s where you’re living? Un-fucking-believable.”

  “Look, Pan, if I’m here, I can watch her, but if I vaporize, it’ll be kind of tough. I really don’t want Ruthie’s dog to die of starvation or pee all over their house.”

  “I don’t understand. Did you fuck up, or did you fix it?”

  “I don’t know. I tried to kiss her—”

  “Fucking hell! What did I tell you about that?”

  “I know, I know, but the thing is, she didn’t let me.”

  “Well, good for her, but that’s not gonna change a damn thing for you.”

  “I know. It’s okay, though, because I think she and Zach are gonna work it out now. So, even if I get”—Cupid paused to rub his heart—“punished again, I can handle it if Ruthie’s okay.”

  “You are really something else, you know that?” It didn’t sound like a good something else, but at least Pan was still on the line.

  “Pan, I’m so sorry, for everything.”

  “Q.” A weary groan filled Cupid’s ear.

  “Did you get the wine I left for you? Not that a bottle of wine fixes everything, but I just didn’t want you to not see it in your truck or have someone sit on it by accident.”

  Pan chuckled, and Cupid pictured him with the beginnings of a grin. “It was very lovingly tucked in under the seat belt, thanks.”

  “Okay, phew.”

  “Dammit, Q, I’ve missed the hell out of you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Pan. So much. I know I probably shouldn’t have come to Ruthie’s after you and I had our fight.” Remembering that awful conversation brought a hollow feeling to the pit of Cupid’s belly. “I swear, I never meant to stay here longer than one night, but Ruthie was so kind, and I was so alone.”

  “I’m sorry I got so angry at you. I usually have better command of my emotions, but you just seem to get under my skin like nobody else.”

  “I’m trying to follow the rules, truly I am. But it’s all so confusing sometimes, and I’ve only been doing this for a little while.”

  “Fifty days.”

  “You’re counting?”

  “I have a chart for all my fallens.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t count days for any of the others,” Pan offered, a life preserver to a drowning man.

  “So, I’m still your favorite?”

  “Yes, you idiot.”

  “Thanks, Pan. You’ll do me this favor, then? You’ll take care of Pookie if I ascend?”

  “Of course. What do I have to do?”

  “Could you come over and meet her, just so she’s not scared? And I can show you where they keep the food and where she likes to pee and everything.” And it would be so great to see you again.

  “Yeah, okay, I can do that.”

  “They have a lot of really big TVs. We could hang out. You could bring that wine, or I can pick up some beer.”

  “You hate beer.”

  “Yes, but you don’t.”

  “How long are they gonna be away?”

  “Until Sunday if all goes as planned. Hey, maybe you could set up Ruthie’s computer.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “And help me hang the curtains?”

  “Any other manual labor I can do for you?” Pan was definitely grinning now.

  “Yes, actually. There are about ten boxes filled with books I need to move and load into the bookcases.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Sounds like a blast.”

  Damn, it felt good to talk to his best friend again. “I thought so too.”

  Pan chuckled. Oh, he was kidding. “Do I have time to make a few calls first? I have some other irons in the fire.”

  “Sure. Ruthie’s about to land in Chicago, and she has to switch planes. The flights are awful.”

  “Nothing beats having your own set of wings, eh?”

  “To be honest, I’m not that eager to have my wings back. Or anything else.”

  “Q, careful . . .”

  “Right. She’s going straight to the event tonight. Zach doesn’t know she’s coming.”

  “Wow. Brave lady.”

  Sigh. “Yeah, I’m so proud of her. Anyway, Zach is making some big speech, plus they have a lot of issues to work through, so I don’t think it will happen right away.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there in a bit. Have they got anything to eat in that mansion, or should I pick up a pizza?”

  33

  Glover Dinner

  There she stood at the precipice of the tallest cliff she’d ever considered diving off, or at least that’s how Ruth felt, teetering on skinny, impractical heels and clutching her tiny, impractical handbag at the entrance of the grand atrium of the Hay-Adams Hotel. This was about the bravest thing Ruth had ever done.

  Oh, she’d written the grand gestures up and down the page. After all, where would a romance be without them? But to be that girl who jumped on a plane, shimmied into the sparkly dress purchased only hours before, and walked into a thousand-person event where the only two people she knew were the husband she was determined to win back and the woman trying to steal him away? That took guts.

  “Okay, Zach. Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Ruth sing-songed under her breath, lest the good folk of the Glover Foundation think her insane.

  It was uncanny how well her Zach-dar worked, the two of them had often remarked, and boy, did it come in handy at these massive events. No sooner would they arrive than Zach would be drawn away to press hands with some donor or investor, or Ruth would wander from his side to check out the silent auction items up for bid. They both rather enjoyed moving independently through the crowds of fellow philanthropists, to regale each other with their separate adventures when reunited. If worse came to worst, they would always find each other at the dinner table, but Ruth much preferred their private game of cat-and-spouse, especially when Zach would light up with, “There you are,” as if he’d been missing her terribly the whole twenty minutes they’d been apart.

  She leaned onto her tiptoes and scanned the room—nada—before stepping boldly forward into the abyss. Chin up, smile on. The important thing was to look like she had a destination. Thank goodness, there was always a bar.

  Once she started moving, she felt less awkward and out of place though she was both. Either she’d find Zach before she reached the bar, or she’d soothe her nerves with a generous pour of chardonnay—a win-win scenario. She wasn’t quite prepared for option C: coming upon Zach from behind and discovering Joan’s perfectly manicured hand resting possessively on his shoulder.

  How dare she put her dirty mitts on my husband? Not that he discouraged her.

  Gather your wits, Ruthie. You didn’t come all this way to make a fool of yourself.

  No, she’d come to stand by her husband’s side, and as another woman had apparently claimed one of Zach’s sides for herself, Ruth had arrived none too soon. She steeled herself, waited for a lull in the conversation, and stepped into the gap between Zach and the gentleman to his right.

  The stranger greeted Ruth first, with a warm handshake and introduction, which Ruth forced herself to return.

  “Ruth Miller, eh?” the man said with a grin.
“Any relation to this guy?”

  The moment of truth.

  Zach shifted. The tux jacket that brushed her arm was a rental; he smelled of foreign bath products. If she were honest, Ruth would have to admit she didn’t really know this particular Zach in this unfamiliar crowd in this unfamiliar city. Though she wanted to believe she knew his heart as well as she knew her own name, Ruth had no idea if Zach would be happy to see her or bummed that his wife had intruded on a perfect evening with his mistress.

  “Ruthie?”

  Her mouth locked in a tense smile, she spun to face Zach. “Surprise!” A twitchy jazz-hands routine ensued while Ruth attempted to regain control of her extremities and facial features.

  Joan’s hand slipped off Zach’s shoulder. And good riddance.

  “You came!” Zach’s expression contorted from shock to pure delight. He was that boy in the lecture hall again, setting eyes on her for the very first time. She might have been the only other person in the room. Had she been a fool to question her marriage, or had her spontaneous appearance reset their romance?

  “I came,” she echoed quietly. “I’m so proud of you.”

  That old pilot light of theirs still burned, after all. A loyal, beleaguered soldier standing at attention through thick and thin, waiting for Ruth’s grand gesture to ignite this fire. The evidence was as plain as the glow heating up Ruth’s insides and the flames licking behind Zach’s eyes. You done good, Ruthie.

  Zach set his hand on Ruth’s waist and leaned in for a kiss. Not one of those corporate air-kiss jobs and not even the welcome-home, Ward Cleaver variety. No, this was a kiss the likes of which Ruth and Zach had not shared in months: the kind that tingles your toes and tickles your belly and makes you forget you’re standing in the middle of a gigantic corporate event. Whoops. Ruth might have felt silly if Zach hadn’t looked so damn sheepish.

  “I’m excited you’re here,” he said, “in case you couldn’t tell.” They both chuckled. “Have I seen this dress before?”

  “Nope.” Ruth trembled in anticipation as Zach craned his neck to see around back. He’d always been a sucker for a halter top.

  “Wow, Ruthie,” he whispered. His fingertips skimmed across Ruth’s bare back, raising goose bumps all over her skin. “You look gorgeous.”

  How his words could still make her blush after all these years, Ruth would never comprehend, but moments like this validated every last one of her romantic fantasies.

  “I did the best I could, but I had a really early flight. I had to blow-dry my hair at six this morning.”

  “You know I love your hair down like this.” Zach’s wandering hand drifted up the back of her neck, disappeared into her hair, swept around the sensitive shell of her ear. If he kept this up, she’d need help standing. “I really can’t believe you’re here. How did you manage this? What about Pookie?”

  “Quentin’s watching her.”

  “Ah, Quentin. Of course.” Was that the sound of the coach turning back into a pumpkin?

  “Yes, Quentin, and as soon as we get back, he’s leaving, Zach.”

  Ruth watched the gears turn in Zach’s head. Ruthie was here; the hot handyman was leaving. Advantage, Miller.

  “Zach?” Joan, drawing him back to her world.

  “Right. Oh, Ruthie, let me introduce you to—”

  “Evan Walters,” Ruth said. “Yes, we just met.”

  Zach rubbed his adorably muddled head. “Of course.”

  Evan chuckled. “Looks like you two have a lot to catch up on. Pleasure to meet you, Ruth. Zach, we’ll talk soon.” He lifted his glass and faded into the crowd.

  Joan shot forward with outstretched arms. “We’re so glad you could make it, Ruth.” Ugh, always making herself into the plural of Zach.

  “Thanks, and congratulations.” Ruth dipped for the air-kiss do-si-do, which Joan delivered with an oppressive dose of eau-de-I’m-easy.

  “It was all Zach. He was amazing. I wish you could have seen him in action.”

  The erotica writer in Ruth couldn’t let that one go without arching her eyebrows at Zach. “I hope to later.”

  Zach grinned and slipped his arm around Ruth’s waist. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  “You’re not drinking?”

  “I have to give a speech after dinner.” Zach rolled his eyes, but Ruth knew better than to fall for it. While she thrived behind the computer screen, Zach adored the spotlight. He’d have the room eating out of his hand, and he’d love every minute of it.

  “I’ll stay sober in solidarity.”

  “Fine. We can get hammered together later.”

  “And stay up all night?”

  “I’m game.” Zach shot Ruth a look that melted her heart. There was no question he’d caught her reference to their all-night sex marathons in college. “C’mon, I can’t wait to show you off to the rest of the board. Joan, could you make sure they set a place at our table for Ruthie, please?” Without waiting for confirmation, Zach led her away from Joan, which was the exact direction Ruth wanted to travel.

  Zach navigated through the crowd like the pro he was, plucking out the bigwigs to introduce to his “better half” as the Glover folks gushed about how lucky they were to be able to back her visionary husband. Ruth had almost forgotten what a turn-on it was to watch Zach in his element—and in a gorgeous tux, to boot—but Ruth wasn’t just a bystander. Zach had turned her into the main event. Say hello to my wife. Look who surprised me!

  That hide-and-seek they liked to play during cocktails? Not happening. Zach wasn’t letting go. He wasn’t usually one for PDA, but Zach was different tonight. Even as they moved through the tight crowd, his hand warmed her back. He leaned in to share a private tidbit whenever the mood struck. His thumb traced a soft arc across her shoulder. He was sexy and attentive, brilliant and accessible, familiar and brand new. Ruth couldn’t wait to get him alone.

  Alas, that wouldn’t happen for hours.

  Even as Ruth wished for the night to speed up, she was dismayed to hear the dinner chimes echoing through the room. Time for the dreaded sit-down dinner: forced conversations with assigned tablemates, endless thank-yous to corporate sponsors, mystery gravies, and rich desserts the skinny girls had no trouble pushing away. The speeches usually weighed down her eyelids, especially after a couple of glasses of wine, but tonight, she couldn’t wait to soak in as much information as possible. Ruth was beginning to understand how profoundly out of the loop of her husband’s life she’d been.

  Zach led her to a table right up front, where Joan sat waiting for him like the teacher’s pet. In typical fashion, Zach chose the seat between the two women warring for his attention. He pulled out the chair to his left, and as Ruth scooted into place, Zach’s palm grazed her backside.

  Took you long enough, she smirked at him. He always loved the feel of her barely-there panties under a fancy dress. If he could have, Zach would have happily left his hand right there all night. But he couldn’t, so he shook his head and grinned at her instead. My naughty girl.

  “Ah, you must be Ruth. I’m Peter Langston, big fan of your husband.” Ruth knew precious little about the man taking the seat next to her, but she quickly picked up on the fact that he and Mrs. Langston had made the most of the open bar.

  With Joan’s claws currently deeply sunk into Zach, Ruth had little choice but to engage the Langstons. Predictably, Peter started the conversation with, “So, what kind of work do you do?”

  Usually frustrated by this question, Ruth took advantage of the opening to talk about her volunteer work with Brighter Tomorrows. Langston nodded along, friendly and encouraging. Also predictably, Bunny Langston leaned over her husband’s filet mignon and dauphinoise potatoes—the proper potato term known to Ruth only because of the calligraphed menu left at each place—to ask about the Millers’ children. Peter choked and coughed and shook his head violently to t
ry to head her off. Fortunately for all involved, Ruth was well prepared with an answer that usually shut down the conversation, and while Peter was recovering from his coughing fit, she simply told Bunny, “We were unable to have children.”

  Just when Ruth might have pulled rank on Joan and used Zach as an escape, one of the evening’s production crew requested Zach’s presence backstage. He swiped his napkin across his mouth, turned to Ruth, and said, “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck. You’re a star.”

  He gave Ruth’s knee a squeeze under the table. Before she could recover from the shock, he winked. Winked!

  More to herself than anyone else, Ruth shook her head and muttered, “Boy, I need to bottle some of this DC water to take home with us.”

  Langston chuckled heartily. “Soon it’ll be running out of your taps.”

  Huh? “Sorry?”

  “I assume you’ll be following Zach here fairly soon? After tying up the sale of the Indiana house?”

  “Following Zach?” The sale of the Indiana house? Ruth’s head seemed to be shaking like a dashboard hula doll, but she couldn’t stop it.

  Langston’s jaw dropped. “Oh, dear.”

  A cold sweat broke across Ruth’s forehead. How long had Zach known? Had she really missed something this huge, or had Zach simply kept this detail from her, knowing how she’d likely respond? Wow.

  Her fight-or-flight instinct screamed, “Run for the hills!”—or at least, the ladies’ room—but how could Ruth leave with Zach climbing the steps onto the stage, waiting to be introduced? She reached a shaky hand for her water glass and forced herself to sip slowly, drew in and released a deep breath, dabbed her forehead with her napkin, and turned her attention to the stage.

  Except directly in Ruth’s line of vision sat the evil Joan, whose smug, calculating glare was fixed on Ruth. Whatever Ruth’s feelings—and she couldn’t decide between profoundly sad and ragey mad—the last person on earth she’d reveal them to was the vulture now scooting into Zach’s empty seat beside her. Ruth angled her chair toward the stage, slapped a neutral expression on her face, and lifted her gaze well above Joan’s head.