by Bryce, Megan
Plenty of want.
He opened his eyes, bending to his computer and answering another email. “How’s Gus?”
“Alive.”
He waited for more and when none was forthcoming, he said, “Alive and well?”
Delia turned to face him, putting a hand on her hip. “I told you I wasn’t going to report to you about everything little thing she does.”
“I’m not asking for every little thing. I’m asking if she’s okay.”
“She’s okay.”
He blew out a breath.
Delia said, “She’s a few floors down. Go see for yourself.”
“I don’t want her to think I’m checking on her. I’ll see her at lunch.”
“Good. Because I told her I wouldn’t tell you what she was doing. I told you I wouldn’t keep track of her for you. And if you keep asking me about her I’m going to make up something to tell you, and it will be graphic and horrifying and you will want to rinse your ears out with soap after I’m done with you.”
Jack stared at her with his eyebrows raised. “You could have just told me instead of warning me. That seems more like you, actually.”
Delia shrugged. “Gus was a little worried about you weaseling her after-work activities out of me. So I told her what I’d tell you if you kept bugging me and she asked me not to. Because it’s pretty bad, nothing any little sister wants her big brother to think of her doing.” She pointed to her head. “I have a pretty active imagination.”
Jack looked up at the ceiling. He’d have to take a close look at what she was doing up there one of these days. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she had an overactive imagination.
Jack sighed and Delia said with a little less hostility, “She’s an adult and I will give her privacy. She needs to figure out what she wants all by herself. She needs to figure out who she wants to be without interference from us.”
He liked the idea of it; he was scared of the execution. But if his sister could figure out what she wanted from life she’d be ahead of him.
He had no idea what he wanted. He had no idea who he wanted to be.
He knew who he already was but he wasn’t sure he’d ever a choice.
He’d always done what he should. He’d always done what was expected.
Right now he could only think of one thing he wanted and it wasn’t what he should. It wasn’t what was expected.
But he would do that one thing and see where it led.
And maybe tomorrow he would find something else to want. Something else that would make life worth living, something to make him think life wasn’t slipping away unlived. Something that gave him purpose.
Today, Jack would do what he wanted.
He met Gus and Delia at lunch, slightly late. He sat down and Delia said, “I ordered for you.”
He chuckled. “Of course.” He looked at Gus, expecting her to look different, older, something. But she looked the same except her hair had obviously been re-dyed.
Jack said, “How are you doing?”
“Delia didn’t tell you?”
He cleared his throat. “No. She was pretty persuasive.”
Gus turned beet red and ducked her head.
Jack shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. Just said I’d prefer not to know what she can come up with.”
“Believe her. You do not want to know what she can come up with.”
Delia smiled and ate the smoked salmon pâté the waiter put in front of her.
Jack looked down at his spicy mussels fra diavolo. He smiled at Delia. “My favorite.”
Delia said, “I wanted to see you eat something with your fingers. You ate a chicken club sandwich with a fork.”
Jack said again, “How are you doing, Gus?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Why were you late?”
And that was it, that would be all he would be getting from the child he’d raised.
Jack shook it off and grabbed a mussel, holding it up for Delia to see him using his fingers. “I’ll show you after lunch.”
They ate, and before Gus could talk him into dessert, the maître d’ handed him a set of keys, saying, “Your car is ready, sir. It’s waiting for you downstairs.”
Jack nodded, rising. He jingled the keys at Gus and Delia. “This is what I was doing. I bought a car.”
They trooped down to the curb where his little red sports car waited.
Gus stared at it with her mouth open. “You bought a sports car?”
Delia walked around it, tracing its curves with her hand and grinning.
Jack said, “You want to take it for a spin, don’t you?”
“I do. I so do. But I can’t drive, I don’t have a license.”
“I meant as a passenger.”
“In that case, of course you did. And yes, I do.”
Gus pointed to the non-existent backseat. “We can’t all fit.”
Jack nodded. “That’s the real drawback of a two-seater.”
“Take Delia. Her boss is a real stick-in-the-mud and he gets cranky when she’s late.”
“And your boss doesn’t?”
“She expects it of me. I mean, I’m related to the CEO. That’s the only reason I got the job in the first place. I wouldn’t want to actually be dependable and confuse her.”
He opened the door for Delia and when she bounced into the seat, Jack murmured before she could, “Just this once.”
He put the top down, waving at Gus and blasting the heater, and drove right out of the city. Delia laughed, her hair whipping around her head.
He drove and drove, flying around corners, going faster than he should.
She sat, her eyes closed, her lips smiling. When the city had dropped away, when the suburbs had thinned to small villages surrounded by forest, he pulled to the side of the road and turned the car off. The leaves had almost all fallen off the trees and he could see into them just far enough to make him want to get out and walk just a little bit farther. Just keep on walking.
He looked down at his wing-tips. Not great walking attire.
He looked at Delia’s real Italian leather boots and thought she’d say no to the muddy forest as well. Unless she’d brought her booties.
Jack said, “Cold?”
She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Feeling better?”
He nodded, breathing in the crisp air.
She said, “Midlife crisis?”
“Apparently.”
“I like it.”
“I don’t. I bought a convertible. What am I going to do next?”
“Let’s pull out the midlife crisis list. Convertible? Check. Next up is extremely young girlfriend.”
His lip curled in a grimace. “I can’t. It’ll just make me think of Gus.”
“You don’t have to go that young. Late twenties? A model? Ooh, do a model. That’ll work.”
“I’ve dated models. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Delia leaned her seat back and stared up at the cloudy sky. “I was starting to feel sorry for you. Thanks for snapping me out of it.”
“You’re welcome. And all I meant was that there is something really satisfying about watching a woman eat a steak like it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten in her life. A woman who looks at a french fry and sees perfection. You don’t get that eating with models.”
“That was the best steak I’ve ever eaten. Have you had better?”
“It was delicious. I’d say top ten.”
Delia groaned and whispered, “Top ten? There are nine steaks out there better than that one?”
“There are two steaks in this city better than that one. You’d have to go a little farther out to get to the very top.”
“I do not often think that having lots of money is worth it, but I’m reconsidering that right now.”
Jack leaned his seat back as well and watched a cloud sprint across the sky.
Delia said, “That one looks like an alligator.”
He looked
where she was pointing. “I don’t see it.”
She traced the air with her finger. “Teeth, long body, tail.”
“It looks like a piglet. Fat body, skinny tail.”
“What about the teeth?”
“I don’t see any teeth.”
“Huh.”
He turned his head and stared at the gold leaf that was stuck in her hair.
He said, “Thanks for taking care of Gus. Even if you or she won’t tell me about it.”
“I’m not really. She’s taking care of herself and teaching me how to make spaghetti. You should come learn.”
“I can’t think of any reason to.”
“I honestly can’t, either. You can buy spaghetti in cans. But Gus likes knowing something I don’t, likes teaching me.” She folded her arms. “And that’s the last you’re getting out of me about Gus.”
Jack breathed in deep, the air chilly and moist. His sister would be okay. And Delia was probably right that she would be okay even if she was out there alone, but he felt better knowing there was someone there for her, just in case she wasn’t.
Delia said, “Can I drive back?
“You don’t have a license.”
“I’m thinking about getting one. I’ll need to practice.”
“You’re not practicing in my car.”
A puff of cold wind blew across the car and Delia pulled her coat tighter. “Now I’m getting cold.”
“Should we put the top up?”
She shook her head no and he turned the car back on, making sure the heater was blasting at her.
He put the car in drive and just sat there.
Delia watched him. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking Maine. I’m thinking lobster pulled fresh from the ocean. I’m thinking about not answering any more emails.”
“Here’s to no more emails.” She lifted an imaginary bottle his direction. “And I’ve never been to Maine.”
He smiled at her, then sighed. “I’m not ready for Maine. Thanks for coming out here with me, though.”
“I don’t remember you giving me much of a choice. I thought we were going around the block.”
He laughed and the sound surprised him. He should be getting used to it around her but he wasn’t. He was surprised his laugh didn’t sound like a rusty motor starting up after collecting the dust of a decade.
She said, “But you’re welcome, anyway. And next time I want to drive.”
He shook his head, grinning. He stroked the dashboard and whispered loudly, “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let her anywhere near you.”
He turned his head and there was that look on her face. That look that said he’d better knock that off. That there would be trouble between them if he didn’t stop making her like him.
He wondered briefly what trouble with Delia would be like. He thought it would be the kind of trouble that put a smile on your face and a spring in your step.
The kind of trouble a man going through a midlife crisis craved.
He looked at her and she looked back.
He lifted his hand, slowly moving it toward her, and she watched it, unmoving. He picked the leaf from her hair and held it out to her.
She took it, carefully not touching him, and stared at it.
She cleared her throat. “I’m too old for your midlife crisis.”
He nodded and looked away. Stopped thinking about her flaming hair spread out on his beige pillowcase.
She said, “And, more importantly, I’m not a model.”
“In certain circles, artists are more exotic than models. There’s a great Chinese place I’d like to take you for dinner.”
“No thanks, Jack.”
She knew what he was offering. She wanted him, he could see it on her face. She wasn’t being coy with her rejection, wasn’t playing hard to get.
She simply didn’t want to want him.
He said, “It might be awkward if Gus saw my boxers coming out of your bedroom.”
“Not boxer briefs?” She bit her lip and said quickly, “Completely awkward. Not to mention we’d have to keep working together in your office.”
He blanked his mind before he could picture her hair spread out on the scaffolding and him painting gold paint down her limbs. Slowly and carefully, and then smearing that gold paint with his own body.
Yes, he stopped what he was thinking before any of those images could sear themselves into his brain.
He said, “Completely awkward.”
And then he gunned the engine, the wheels spinning on wet leaves and Delia whooping beside him as she grabbed for purchase.
He drove like the wild man he wasn’t, in his red car with a red-headed woman beside him. Still thinking of Maine. Wondering what kind of man could escape his responsibilities, what kind of man could talk the woman beside him into being completely awkward with him.
Eight
Jack had dropped Delia off at the office and left again. He’d played hooky for most of the day, deciding to just take the whole day to himself. He finally made it back home after eight and went to greet his mother.
She was sitting, like always, in the parlor and she held her cheek up for his kiss. She said, “Diane came by tonight. She said she couldn’t reach you at the office.”
Jack sat with a silent sigh. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, wondering if Delia could liven this house up like she’d livened his office.
“I was out of the office all day.”
Not that it would have mattered anyway. He was permanently busy for Diane Evans.
He continued, “And I told you I would think about it. I told you not to encourage her.”
“She would make you an excellent wife, Jack. She’s from a good family, has good connections.”
“Is that what makes a good wife? Family and connections?”
“Is that not what makes a good wife? I’d like to hear what it is you’re looking for.”
What was he looking for? Loyalty, certainly. To him, to his family. Perhaps not selflessness, but a care for others. He would like to be able to trust his wife. Trust that she wouldn’t always be looking to enrich herself at the expense of others. He could give his wife money and power, and he hoped that he could pick a woman who wouldn’t abuse either.
He hoped there was at least one woman in this world like that.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for, Mother. But let me look for a while before you pick one for me.” He smiled at her. “Let me enjoy my bachelorhood for at least a little while. Augusta has finally flown the nest and I would like just a moment to myself before you marry me off.”
She nodded regally at him. “Take your moment, Jack. Just remember that some women will not wait for you.”
“There is always another waiting in the wings.”
She looked away from him, sad, and he was sorry for being flippant. She said, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Maybe I feel that way because I just haven’t met the right one yet.”
She waved her hand, shooing that away. “A million women could be right; it’s not a matter of finding the right one. It’s a matter of picking one and then becoming something together. It’s not a matter of finding a woman you fit with; it’s a matter of looking at a woman and seeing how you could fit together.”
“And, presumably, liking how we would fit together?”
“Of course. But it will be different, Jack. You have to accept that it will be different.”
“It will be different anyway, Mother. I might not like the thought of it being different, and neither do you, but it will be. Augusta has moved out. I came home to help with her and now she’s grown. Neither one of us was prepared for that to happen but it did.”
She didn’t look at him when she said softly, “She won’t be coming back, will she?”
And Jack knew it was hurting her as much as it hurt him. An empty nest, and he hadn’t realized how bad that would hurt. He knew his mother wanted him to marr
y, to start a family, to fill that nest back up. She didn’t realize that he couldn’t stay. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t stay.
Jack shook his head. “She can’t come back.”
His mother said, “How is she doing with the painter? I still can’t believe you thought that was a good idea.”
“It was better than with the boyfriend. She’s doing fine. Delia will be a good influence on her.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
He laughed, thinking of Gus looking horrified and telling him he did not want to know what Delia could come up with.
“She will be, if only because now Gus isn’t the most shocking thing around.”
Catherine sniffed. “Wonderful.”
He stood, taking her hand in his. She looked up at him, questioning, and he said, “I bought a car today. And a condo downtown.”
Her hand jerked in his. “A condo?”
He nodded and she said, “But. . . Now you’re going to leave me, too?”
“You can always count on me for Sunday dinners, you know that. And perhaps Gus will be more inclined to show up now as well.”
“And I’ll be here alone the other six days of the week?”
“Yes.”
Jack wondered how long it would take her to find husband number three. Her ten years of mourning wasn’t quite up but he couldn’t imagine her lasting long by herself. His mother didn’t like to be alone.
He put her hand gently in her lap and walked out of the room.
Catherine Lowell Cabot Bradlee looked around the empty room with her mouth open and her eyes wide and she realized that for the first time ever in her life, she was alone. Completely and utterly alone.
The next day at the office, Delia greeted him as if nothing had happened between them, as if he hadn’t offered her a little fling and she’d turned him down flat.
He’d never been turned down flat before. Never. And while he hadn’t thought of himself as a prideful man, he realized it stung a bit.
Excuse me, Ms. Woodson, would you care for some hot sex with a man you look at like he’s God’s greatest creation?
No thanks, Jack.
Excuse me, Ms. Woodson, would you care for some butter?
No thanks, Jack.
