Dear Emily

by Fern Michaels

  They were kids again. After the hot dogs they’d make out in the back seat. She giggled.

  “Right.”

  “But,” he whispered, “we’ll go home and make love in bed. Is that okay with you? I think we’re both too old to scramble around in the back seat.”

  “Give me a clue, Ian. About the surprise.”

  “Nope. It’s something you have to see. No clues, no hints.”

  “Will I like it?”

  “You are going to love it. It’s taken me almost two years to get…that’s all I’m going to say. You’re just going to have to wait and see it.”

  Later, when Ian carried six hot dogs with the works, plus two giant root beers, back to the car he said, “I’m going to be awfully disappointed in us if our eyes and memories are bigger than our stomachs. Five bucks says you burp first.”

  “Ha!” was all Emily said. Oh, God, this was so wonderful, she thought as she chewed her way through her three hot dogs. Ian finished his and gulped down his soda. She deliberately waited, knowing the fizzy soda would indeed make her burp. She cackled with glee when Ian, red-faced, finally couldn’t hold it in a moment longer. She held out her hand for the five dollars. He paid up. Emily leaned across and tapped the horn for the Salvation Army volunteer to come over to the car for the money.

  “That was a damn nice thing you just did, Emily Thorn.”

  “It was damn nice of you to pay up, Dr. Thorn.”

  “That’s because we’re just two damn nice people. Sometimes I lose track of that, Emily.”

  “I know, Ian, I do too.” Either she was dead and in heaven or this was all a dream. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to end. Days like this, times like this, over the past years were so few and far apart she could count them on both hands. At that moment she knew she’d sell her soul to the devil if she could have wonderful moments like this every day for the rest of her life. Well, it wasn’t going to happen, so she didn’t need to concern herself with it. Instead she would enjoy today and pray that sometime soon another day such as this one would come along. She hoped it would be during the Christmas holidays.

  “Well, if you’re ready, we’re off to my surprise. Actually, Emily, it’s sort of a surprise and a Christmas present all rolled into one. It’s for both of us. I know how women are about such things so I said it was for you, but I meant it was for us to share. I think you’ll understand when we get there.”

  All Emily heard were the words share and together. A unit like cream and sugar, salt and pepper. Ian and Emily. A couple. Don’t let this end, don’t let it come crashing down around me, Emily prayed silently.

  Twenty minutes later, Ian swung the car onto Watchung Avenue. They were driving past the clinic, but Ian didn’t bother to even look out the window. They went through the traffic lights and up the hill. She couldn’t make out the street signs at all.

  “This is Sleepy Hollow Road. It’s nice back in here, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe we should think about looking here for a house when we’re ready to buy. I could see us living here, Ian.”

  “I can too,” Ian said cheerfully. “We’re here.”

  “Who lives here?” Emily asked in awe as she stared at the brightly lighted English Tudor with the huge Christmas wreath on the front door. “Ian, if this is a party, I’m not dressed. We reek of onions and sauerkraut.”

  Ian literally dragged her from the car and hand in hand they ran to the front door. Ian continued to play the game by knocking on the door and then ringing the doorbell. “C’mon, open up,” he bellowed.

  “Ian, shhhh,” Emily said.

  “Guess I’ll have to open it myself.” Emily watched, her eyes round, as her husband fitted a shiny new key into the lock. The door swung open.

  Before she knew what was happening, Ian scooped her up and carried her over the threshold. “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Thorn.”

  “What?” Emily squealed as Ian set her down. “Ohhhhh, Ian, this is too much. I know I’m dreaming.” Ian pinched her rump and she squealed again. “Is this really ours?”

  “In a manner of speaking. It belongs to the corporation, but technically, yes, it belongs to us.”

  “How? Where? I don’t understand. It’s wonderful. It’s beautiful. Did you do all this yourself?”

  Ian held up his hands. “Remember Mrs. Waller? The house belonged to her estate. The time was right, I guess, and no, I did not do this myself. I hired a decorator, and before you can think it much less say it, decorating isn’t your forte nor is it mine. I told the woman what you liked and what I liked and this is what we got. Of course, if you don’t like it, you can change it. She even put up the Christmas tree. The front door wreath was a gift from her. We have to decorate the tree. I know how you like to do that. I had some boys bring all the stuff from the basement over this afternoon. It’s in the garage. I thought we’d do it later after the hot dogs digest. Do you like it, Emily?”

  “Oh, Ian, I love it. However did you keep this from me?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Ian said jovially. “Why don’t you look around while I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. Emily, I’m trying to keep my promise to you to give you everything in the world. This is a start. Would you like a fire?”

  Emily threw her arms around her husband. “Oh, Ian, I love you so much. Thank you for this, thank you so much. Yes to the fire and yes to the champagne.”

  When Emily returned from her inspection of the house, Ian said, “Did you go down to the basement. No! Half of the basement is for you so you can plant in the winter. I had them install grow lights. There must be at least a thousand flats down there and every seed known to Burpee. I expect some wonderful salads this summer with flowers in every room of the house. I’d appreciate it if you’d plant a lot of tulips, every color they come in. Will you do that?”

  “Of course. Ian,” she said, dropping to the floor next to him in front of the fire. “Why are we sitting on the floor?”

  “I like sitting on the floor in front of a fire. I thought we could make love here. It’s toasty and we need to christen our new house.”

  “Sounds good. Hit me,” she said, holding out her wineglass. “Do we have any more of this. I like it.”

  “Two more bottles. One’s for Christmas Eve, though. I want you to do something for me, Emily. Don’t look like that, I’m not going to say I changed my mind about something. This concerns you,” he said, handing her a pen and a paper napkin. “Write down every single thing you could ever possibly want. Everything, no matter how big or small. There’s no limit. If you need two napkins, that’s okay, too.”

  “Everything, Ian?”

  “I promised you whatever your heart desires. Start writing, honey.”

  “My very own wish list. I don’t know where to start. I guess I don’t have to put down a house since we already have it. I’ll start big, okay?”

  “Whatever you want, Emily?”

  Emily wrote steadily for what seemed like a long time. When she had finished, she handed the list to Ian. It was a shy gesture, her eyes looking everywhere but at her husband.

  Ian read the list aloud, to Emily’s embarrassment. “Beach house, Sunfish, three vacations a year, Mercedes convertible for weekends, a Porsche for weekdays, pearls, every length, diamond earrings, diamond bracelet, lots and lots of diamonds. Mink coat, a sable coat, a fox coat. Three Chanel handbags, a live-in housekeeper to take care of us and wait on us, my very own checking account that I do not have to account for, money for my college tuition, a baby that looks just like you, and you, for all the rest of my days.”

  “That’s an impressive list, Emily. Now here, sign it.”

  “This is fun,” Emily said, scrawling her name. “Is there anything on the list you object to?” she asked, fear in her eyes.

  “Not a thing. Those three vacations a year might be a problem if you want me to go with you. Both of us can’t be away, but if you’re speaking for yourself, then I can definitely guarantee them.”

  �
�Vacations are no fun alone,” Emily said, sticking her tongue out at him.

  “I’m serious, Emily. Will you settle for going alone if I can’t go?”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Emily said, puzzled by his tone.

  “Of course I’m serious. I made a promise to you and I intend to honor it. What’s it going to be? If I can’t get away, will you go alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s settled.” He leered at her as he stuffed the napkin in his shirt pocket. “C’mere.”

  “This is nice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s wonderful,” Ian said. “What are you going to do with all your free time, Emily?”

  “Well, now that you don’t need me anymore…”

  “Wait just a minute, Emily. Where did you get the idea I don’t need you anymore? No, no, that’s not what this is all about. You hung in there with me and now it’s your turn. All you have to do is put in an hour each day at each clinic. That doesn’t mean I don’t need you. I don’t ever want you to think that. You said you wanted to go to school. Just out of curiosity, what were you going to do?”

  “I’ll read, sleep late for a little while, watch some television, garden a lot, study if I go to school, wait for you to come home. Ian, are we making a lot of money now?”

  “I think it’s safe to say we’re making a kingly amount.”

  “Can we start a baby, you know, can we start trying?”

  “Don’t see why not.”

  Everything suddenly felt flat. Ian didn’t need her anymore. He was agreeing to everything; he was being so nice it was now suspect. She felt like a tired, old workhorse being put out to pasture. She didn’t mean to say the words, but they tumbled out of her mouth.

  Ian stared at her for a full minute, his jaw dropping. He cupped her face in his hands. “Emily, what do you want? What do you really want? I don’t know you anymore. No matter what I do or when I do it doesn’t make you happy. I thought you would be overjoyed, that all this was what you wanted for so very long. It’s my turn now to pay you back and suddenly you make me feel like I’m doing something dark and ugly. You’re spoiling things again. You, Emily, not me.”

  “I’m too old to start college now. Look at me and tell me I’ll fit in. Go ahead, say it.”

  “You might not be as young as the freshmen, but there are a lot of people older than you who go to college. You don’t want that degree very much, Emily. Either you want that degree or you don’t. It’s clear sailing for you, Emily. No loans to pay, you can buy your lunch or dinner, you can drive to class, come home and someone will be here to cook for you, to do all the chores. I never had it that good and neither did anyone else I know. I said three hours because I thought you wanted to keep your hand in the business. If you want to work all day, feel free. It’s your choice.”

  “I don’t know how to choose. There I was working sixteen and sometimes seventeen hours a day, trying to do my best. Then instead of being weaned away from that killer load I’m suddenly out in the cold. At least that’s how I feel. I guess I just don’t know how to react. I didn’t expect this, wasn’t prepared. I appreciate it. All I’ve ever known is work and more work.”

  “And now you don’t have to work anymore. Now you can have your legs taken care of. All the things you couldn’t do before, all the things you said you wanted to do. I think you need to finish this wine by yourself and think about things. I’m going to bed. By the way, I’m taking the green room at the top of the steps. Yours is the yellow one. This way I won’t wake you up with my middle-of-the-night departures and the phone ringing.”

  “But Ian, I thought we…” Don’t beg, Emily, please don’t beg, she pleaded with herself. “Good night, Ian,” she said quietly.

  Separate bedrooms. My God, she thought. So it’s come to this. She couldn’t help but wonder if the try for the baby would be a one-shot deal or if he’d back off from her all together. She looked around at her new house. There was no way in hell she was climbing those stairs and sleeping in a yellow bedroom someone else had decorated.

  God, what was wrong with her? Maybe she needed a shrink. Well, she could certainly find the time now to visit one. In secret, of course. Ian would explode if he thought a colleague was hearing her troubles. Maybe she could go into New York and give a false name and pay in cash. Maybe she’d get pregnant right away and she wouldn’t have to do anything but take care of the baby. That would be blissful heaven.

  She finished the wine before she curled into a tight ball and slept on the hard, new sofa that smelled of packing materials.

  Emily woke to silence that was so total she shook her head to clear it. At first she felt disoriented, sluggish and then fearful. A faint amber glow from the streetlight outside gilded the middle of the room. Then she remembered where she was and why she’d fallen asleep on the scratchy new sofa. From somewhere in the house a clock chimed the hour. She counted one, two, three, four, five. Five o’clock in the morning.

  The smelly pillows she’d been sleeping on caught her as she flopped backward. How could something beautiful and wonderful end so disastrously? Unless that was the way Ian had intended the evening to end. Separate bedrooms. Hers was yellow. She started to shake, was unable to stop, and there was no quilt, no afghan to cover herself with. She didn’t even know where the thermostat was. She wanted to feel anger, to go upstairs and demand Ian tell her exactly what was going on in their lives.

  Well, she was going to find out and she was going to find out right now. Her trembling ceased and was replaced with ramrod stiffness as she mounted the steps to the second floor. She thrust open the door and peered into the darkness. The bed had been slept in, but was empty now. Ian must have gotten called out to one of the clinics during the night. She turned on the light, gathering one of Ian’s pillows to her chest. It smelled faintly of his after-shave, a potent concoction from a grateful patient. Tears dripped on the pillow. She brushed them away. Crying never helped. Crying gave her headaches. “Damn you, Ian.” She wanted a friend then more than she’d ever wanted anything. Someone to call up and talk to. Where was her old friend Aggie? For years they’d sent Christmas cards and then one year there was no card and she didn’t know where to send hers to so she’d scratched Aggie’s name off her list. Well, she was going to have a lot of spare time now. Maybe she could track Aggie down.

  Ian had his own bathroom. She looked around carefully. If she remembered correctly, this was the largest of five bedrooms—the master bedroom. The yellow room, hers, wasn’t quite as large. Ian had huge double closets. The yellow room had an oversize closet with a mirror on the door. And why the hell not, Ian needed more room than three women with all his shirts and suits. Her own wardrobe was meager compared to his.

  Who was going to clean this monstrous house? When was a housekeeper going to materialize? If that didn’t happen, she and she alone was going to have to do it. It would take her all day to dust and polish, to keep things the way Ian liked them. She’d need two vacuum cleaners, one for upstairs and one for downstairs. A set of cleaning supplies would have to go into the upstairs linen closet. Or would Ian expect her to lug things up and then down?

  From long habit, Emily made the bed, but she did it with anger in her eyes and murder in her heart. The linen closet in the hall was full of towels and sheets. There was no vacuum cleaner, no cleaning supplies.

  Emily opened the door to the yellow room. It was pretty enough in a frilly kind of way. She almost choked when she opened the closet door to see her clothes hanging neatly. She yanked at the dresser drawers to see her underwear, her stockings, her nightgowns neatly folded. She pawed through them. How dare Ian do this to her! Her personal things were no one else’s business. She did cry then when she saw her panties, the ones where the elastic was coming away from the material, all neatly folded on the bottom of the pile. Some stranger Ian hired had seen and touched her underwear. She felt ashamed, embarrassed that she didn’t have sexy, beribboned undies, the kind you bought from Victoria
’s Secret. She didn’t have time to shop for such things, and goddamn it, she liked cotton underwear. Size eight. She shuddered as she slammed the drawers shut.

  The yellow room had its own bathroom. It wasn’t as large as Ian’s and didn’t have a bidet and only one vanity. She fingered the apple-green towels that were larger than beach towels and twice as thick. They were called bath sheets in the Sears Roebuck catalog.

  There was a hollow feeling in her stomach when Emily made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She passed the thermostat on the way and turned it up to 80.

  It was a beautiful, modern kitchen complete with dishwasher, trash compactor, and garbage disposal. There was a center island with cabinets underneath, lots and lots of gorgeous oak cabinets, all of them full of new dishes and copper-bottomed pots and pans. A string of garlic hung from one of the beams, which had a little note attached to the bottom that said, “Good luck in your new house.” “Up yours,” Emily muttered.

  Everything was where it should be, just the way she would have positioned things if she’d decorated the kitchen herself. She made coffee, and while it perked, her mind raced. Down the hall and around the corner of the steps was a home office for Ian, completely outfitted. Suddenly it was important for her to see that office, to see what was in it.

  It was manly, professional-looking. An Ian office if there was such a thing. Wainscoting, deep leather chairs, chocolate-colored carpeting, a mahogany desk that was so shiny she could see her reflection in the top. Everything shrieked newness. It even had a fireplace, a neatly laid stack of wood waiting for a match to ignite it. Medical books lined the walls in what Emily knew were custom-made bookshelves.

  In their entire married life she’d never, ever gone through Ian’s things. Even at the clinics she’d never opened any of his drawers, never touched anything. She yanked at first one drawer and then another. Files, folders. Records. In the middle drawer where people had a tendency to toss bits and pieces because of convenience she saw a lone folder labeled Park Avenue Clinic. She read through it, stunned at what she was reading. When she was finished, she replaced it exactly the way she’d found it, closed the drawer, got up, gave the seat of the leather chair a hard smack to erase the indentation, pushed it back, and left the room.