FROM HOUSECALLS TO HUSBAND

by Christine Flynn

  Hoping that was about to change, she glanced past a pair of long, black snow skis and a set of poles propped against one of the white entry walls. Her eye was immediately drawn to the cathedral-ceilinged living room. The walls there were mostly glass. Black glass, since it was seven o'clock at night. But the room's focal point was the striated rock fireplace that stretched from floor to ceiling like the side of a narrow, jagged cliff.

  The huge room was magnificent, but not a single stick of furniture broke the sweep of neutral wall-to-wall carpeting. The only object in the soaring space was a telescope on a tripod. It stood like a sentry where two of the glass walls met, its long, tubular shape pointed toward infinity.

  "Where are the fabric samples?" she asked, entering the almost equally austere kitchen. This room was blinding white. But at least it sported a few signs of life. A toaster. A gleaming black coffeemaker. The water bottle from Mike's gym bag.

  Mike was bent in front of the open refrigerator. From what she could see from where she'd stopped at a cabinet, the pickings inside it were pretty slim.

  He reached for the bottle of wine between the orange juice and the milk. "The what?"

  "Fabric samples." Crystal clinked as she removed two goblets from his meager collection of glassware. "You didn't cancel your appointment with that interior designer your mom recommended, did you?"

  "No," he muttered blandly. "I didn't cancel. I sent her away." The door closed with a nudge from his hip. "The woman had barely walked in when she started talking about how the house was 'speaking to her.' When she got to the dining room and started waxing poetic about how perfect it would be with an Isfahan hunting tapestry on the wall, bowls of pussy willows on a sideboard and chairs with open, vase-form splats, I told her I had an emergency and that we'd have to cancel. I had the feeling she was more interested in how the place would look in a magazine spread than in what I might want."

  Katie could tell he expected an argument. Or, possibly, defense of the designer's artistic abilities. He wouldn't get either from her. She might have championed the idea of a designer, but after hearing the part about communicating with the house, she'd have sent the woman packing herself. "With open what?"

  "Vase-form splats. Apparently that's designer-speak for a vase-shaped back on a chair. Like the Chippendales at my folks' place."

  "I didn't know that."

  "I didn't, either. And personally," he added, pulling a corkscrew from a drawer, "I didn't care."

  "She obviously doesn't know she's supposed to be working with your tastes, not hers. You should call someone else."

  "I'm not calling anyone," he informed her flatly. "The only reason I called to begin with was because you and Mom kept nagging at me. The place is fine the way it is."

  "Michael, this house is as sterile as a surgical suite. You've been in here six months—"

  "Five," he corrected, refusing to let her exaggerate.

  "Fine. You've been in this house five months and the only room you've furnished is your office."

  "I have a bed."

  "Have you bought a bedroom set yet?"

  "I don't need one. The closet has plenty of drawers in it."

  She couldn't argue with that. She'd seen his enormous walk-in closet when he'd given her the grand tour after he'd moved in. It had more drawers than she had in her entire duplex.

  "Well, you need furniture everywhere else," she insisted, wondering how he kept from going mad in all this echoing space. "You need something comfortable to sit on. You need tables. You need pillows." She motioned behind her. "You need something in that entry way."

  "There is something in the entryway."

  Katie eyed him patiently. "You need plants. You need art. Those," she said, vaguely indicating the skis propped against the wall, "do not constitute art. They're sporting equipment."

  "Those are there because my brother is picking them up sometime this week. I meant the little paper bird my niece made for me. It's sitting in the niche by the front door." He gave her a smug look and hoisted the unopened bottle. "Do you want this now, or do you want to wait until the food gets here? We can eat while we go over the data."

  He was changing the subject. He wasn't being particularly subtle about it, either. Not that he ever was with her.

  Katie picked up the glasses. For some reason that totally eluded her, Mike was peculiarly obtuse about furnishing this place. She knew he'd bought it because he couldn't stand the confines of the apartment he and Maria, his ex-wife, had moved into when he'd returned to Honeygrove. Yet, once he'd moved in the few things Maria hadn't taken when she'd left, he'd done nothing else. She didn't know if he simply wasn't into aesthetics, or if making the place more livable had psychological consequences he wasn't sharing. What she did know was that this house was not a home.

  Apparently he caught the grinding of her mental wheels. "This bothers you more than it does me, Katie," he informed her, clearly wishing she'd drop the subject. "Forget it. Okay?"

  "I just think you'd be happier if it was more comfortable."

  "I'm not here enough to be uncomfortable. And I'm not unhappy."

  Moving beside him, she set the goblets on the counter and indicated that he should pour. He might think he wasn't uncomfortable, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. "Maybe you should ask your mom to do it herself. She'd be thrilled."

  The creases bracketing his mouth deepened with a grimace. The expression spoke volumes.

  "You're right," she conceded, watching his hands as he deftly worked the corkscrew from the bottle. He had beautiful hands. Strong, capable and far too masculine for the delicate work she knew he did. "I can't picture you living with oriental rugs and gilded mirrors. You're definitely more the natural colors and tactile fabrics sort. Maybe a few pieces of marble sculpture here and there. And a place for your car in your bedroom. Guys love their cars."

  "You could always do it for me."

  She brightened. "You'd give me carte blanche with your checkbook?"

  He was teasing. So was she. Yet his blue eyes suddenly went dead serious.

  "You're probably the only woman I would trust with it." He handed her a freshly filled goblet, filled the other for himself and snapped a wine saver onto the bottle before he stuck it back in the fridge to keep it chilled.

  "Come on," he murmured, picking up his glass, "we've got a few minutes before dinner gets here. We can get started on that data."

  He took two steps before the phone rang. "Please don't let that be the hospital," he said on a sigh, and snatched up the phone under the counter.

  Katie could tell immediately that he didn't get his wish. Not wanting to eavesdrop—not once she'd figured out that the patient he was discussing wasn't anyone she knew, anyway—she took her wine and moved into the foyer. For a moment she waited to see if Mike had to go back to the hospital, but then she kept going, stepping into the living room, rather than heading back to his office with its walls of books, photos of rafting and sailing trips and the computer on his desk that linked him to the hospital.

  She was thinking of what he'd said moments ago about trusting her, and feeling oddly touched by the thought, when she stopped beside the telescope in his living room.

  There was no way to see anything through the powerful scope. Not with the heavy clouds tonight. But she stood by the instrument anyway, trying to judge the direction it was pointed, and trying to figure out what star or constellation Mike had been looking at the last time he'd used it. She wondered if he actually made time to use it anymore. Or if it was only a pastime he resorted to on restless, and cloudless, nights.

  Thinking of Mike being restless conjured an image of him leaving his bed and standing where she was, looking out at the night sky. The thought of him being unable to rest was what bothered her, but thinking of him naked except for his briefs or whatever he slept in, disturbed her in other ways entirely. She was sure the image had formed only because of the little inventory she'd taken the other day, anyway—the mind's habit of recalling od
d bits of memory. So, she banished the errant thoughts and listened to the muffled rumble of his voice while she sipped her wine and remembered the first time she'd ever looked through a telescope herself.

  She'd been nine years old. Mike had just turned thirteen.

  "Can I look through your birthday present, Mike? Can I? Please?"

  The tall, skinny boy with the unruly dark hair didn't move from his perch on the redwood deck. Keeping his back to her, he sighed with impatience. "It's dark. You're not supposed to be out here."

  "Mom said I can be because you are."

  The word he muttered was one he wasn't supposed to use. Katie would have told him so, too, but he'd turned around to frown down at her. It wasn't a frown, really. Not the kind his younger brother Tommy gave her. He didn't slug her the way Tommy did, either. But then, Tommy hadn't slugged her all summer. Mike had belted him the last time he'd done it and they both got grounded.

  Tommy got grounded yesterday, too. He'd locked her in her dad's garden shed during a game of hide-and-seek, and then forgotten about her. Mike had rescued her. Probably because he'd heard her screaming.

  "One look, then you go home."

  "I don't have to go home. Mom and Dad are inside with your parents."

  The Brennans and the Sheppards lived next door to each other, their Tudor-style homes separated by an expanse of lawn and a low hedge with an iron gate. The adults liked to spend time together on Saturday nights, but Mike and Tommy didn't want her hanging around much anymore—except when they wanted her to watch their baby brother for them so they wouldn't have to do it. It wasn't like it used to be when they'd shared the play pool in their underwear when they were younger. Mike and Tommy had turned into … boys.

  Katie could forgive them for that as long as they didn't tease her and make her cry. Since Mike never did, she liked him better. "What are you looking at?"

  "A star."

  "Which one?" she asked, climbing onto the redwood deck to stand by him.

  "The North Star."

  "I know where that is."

  "Yeah. Right."

  "I do!"

  He stepped back from the tripod. "Show me."

  She did. Not with the telescope, because she didn't know how to use it. She tipped her head to the velvet black summer sky and pointed straight to the Little Dipper and the bright star in the end of its handle. She thought stars were fun because there were stories that went with the constellations—legends of hunters like Orion and pretty ladies like Cassiopeia. She'd learned them from her Aunt Claire, her mom's sister. Aunt Claire had taught her a lot of things, like ballet positions and how to whistle through her teeth.

  Mike already knew how to whistle through his teeth, and he thought ballet was for girls, but her knowledge of the constellations kept him from making her go away. He already knew quite a few of the formations himself, and once he showed her how to focus the telescope, something that had her grinning like a Cheshire cat, they took turns looking at the brightest stars in the constellations they knew. She liked that he didn't treat her like a dumb little kid. But then, Mike had always been nice to her. It was almost as if he looked out for her sometimes.

  And she'd adored him for it.

  Katie touched the cap covering the lens, her thoughts caught in the twenty-year gap between then and now. By the end of that summer, she and Mike had discovered a few of the more obscure star groupings and both had become thoroughly hooked on what the night sky contained. Amazingly, that interest had held despite a disparity in ages that, at that time in their lives, should have left them with nothing in common at all. But that single thread bound them in a comfortable friendship as talk of stars expanded to talk of galaxies and the universe and, ultimately, as they grew older, to their places in it. They never talked of such things anymore—of their dreams, their hopes. They hadn't for a very long time. But the bond remained. For her, anyway.

  "Ready?"

  Katie turned with a start, nearly spilling her wine. She caught the drip that ran over the rim with her finger. "Sure. Is everything all right?"

  "I don't have to leave, if that's what you mean. The resident can handle it."

  She watched his eyes follow her hand as she touched the tip of her finger to her lips. Her movement was natural, completely unconscious. At least, she hadn't been conscious of it until she realized it had drawn his glance to her mouth, and that he wasn't looking away. Even as she lowered her hand, his focus stayed right where it was.

  The odd intensity in his eyes caused her heart to bump her ribs, but he was already shifting his attention to the telescope.

  "What are you doing?"

  She shook her head, shaking off the strange yearning sensation that had come out of nowhere. "Just wondering if you ever use this anymore. I can't remember the last time I looked through one."

  "I can't, either. I don't even know why I keep it."

  A soft smile touched her mouth as she shrugged. "Maybe it reminds you of a simpler time."

  He got that look again. The same one that had turned his eyes so serious when he'd alluded to how much he trusted her. "Maybe," he said, forcing a smile himself. "Life was pretty uncomplicated back then. Come on. I don't want to keep you here until midnight."

  Mike kept her in his office until midnight anyway. But that was only because after they'd finished working, she'd asked if Paul, his youngest brother, had made it back to Southern Oregon State all right. Paul had been home for winter break. That inquiry had led to questions about the rest of his family, which led Mike to mention the mountain cabin his other brother, Tom, wanted Mike to buy with him. He'd told her he was considering going in on the cabin, mostly because he knew Tom and his family would use it and raising three kids on social workers' salaries, Tom and his wife couldn't afford it on their own. Then, Katie had reminded him that he'd once wanted a cabin surrounded by pine trees himself, and he'd warmed to the idea even more.

  He liked that about Katie; that she could sometimes make him see things he'd overlooked. Or forgotten. She was a good friend, good company. And there were times lately when he really hated to see her go. He just wished she'd lay off him about furnishing the house.

  He'd walked her to the door. Now, having waited on the porch until she'd driven off, he headed back inside. The day had been a long one and he automatically turned off lights as he worked his way down the hall to his bedroom. He was tired. His body demanded sleep. But his mind wouldn't shut off. Even after he'd stripped to his briefs, brushed his teeth and pulled back the hunter green comforter on his king-size bed to crawl between the sheets, he could still hear the echo of Katie's quiet concern.

  You'd be more comfortable. You'd be happier.

  What made her think he wasn't? he wondered, punching his pillow into a ball. He was happy. Downright blissful, damn it. And why shouldn't he be? He was doing the work he loved. He was building his practice and his skills, and he had a roof over his head. Just because there wasn't much under that roof didn't matter to him. The only reason he'd bought the place to begin with was because he'd needed more room, and this particular house had a great view of the woods.

  Katie was right. He had always wanted to live surrounded by pines. But just because she was right about that, didn't mean she was right about anything else.

  Maria would have hated the place.

  The thought of his ex-wife had him whipping the sheets back and dragging his hand down his face. He knew better than to attempt sleep when his mind was revved. He was better off doing something—anything—until his thoughts settled enough to keep him from fighting the blankets all night.

  He reached for one of the medical journals piled by his bed, only to toss it back and get up. Had there been a break in the rain, he'd have wandered out to the telescope to see if the clouds had parted enough for him to lose himself in the vastness of space. But he could still hear water dripping from the eaves. So he headed for the kitchen to nuke a mug of milk. There were some remedies modern medicine still couldn't beat without s
ide effects.

  Minutes later, mug in hand, he was standing on the thick carpet in his bare living room. With the interior lights off and the exterior security lights on, he could see rain puddled on the deck outside the window. Raindrops landed in the puddles, causing the water to shimmer and dance.

  Katie was right. He did need a chair. On nights like this, he could sit and watch the rain. Maybe when his drug study was finished, he'd use that freed-up time to do something about the house. He'd been so busy getting his professional feet under him that he hadn't taken time for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. He hadn't had a spare minute, it seemed, since he'd finished his residency eighteen months ago. That was when he'd been invited to join the partnership in Honeygrove, and when his marriage had started falling apart.

  He hadn't even seen the end coming. But then, he hadn't been looking for problems, and Maria had hidden her agenda well. As beautiful as she was patient, he'd been drawn by her easy smile and seemingly undemanding manner. She'd been enormously understanding of the long hours he'd had to put in as a resident. Being a pharmaceutical rep, she'd been away from home a lot herself. They'd both looked forward to having his residency behind them, to her cutting back on her hours, to building their future. Then, with the move to Honeygrove, Maria's true colors had slowly begun to surface.

  They'd agreed that the little apartment they'd moved into was temporary; that a house was a priority. They moved in one day and he had to start work the next, taking over most of a caseload from a retiring partner. Maria didn't go back to work at all. Instead of just cutting back, she quit her job completely and promptly started shopping for an architect to design them a house on a golf course. Her rationale for giving up her job had been that she wouldn't have time to work and oversee the details of having his home built. She'd also said she knew he'd be busy getting himself established, so she'd manage everything for both of them. She also needed to volunteer on the right civic and charitable committees to enhance his standing in the community, and that would take her time, too. Then, there were the hours she needed to spend at the gym and the salon staying beautiful for him.