Chapter 12

At least he had another day to think things over. His marriage was going smoothly enough. Dull at times, sure. Weren't all marriages? Jennifer and he didn't have that much in common, as it had turned out. But they were good humored, and they shared a disposition to make the best of things. He had his responsibilities; she had hers; they avoided confrontation. He was genuinely fond of her. And they had Emma. Emma was a delight, a little like each of them, although she took after him in looks. He should have been on top of the world, compared to most people.

So--why was he reaching for Suzanne? There was something coiled inside him, a force that he wasn't sure he could control. Intuition told Oliver that if he ran from it or pretended it wasn't there, he would be in even bigger trouble.

He was at work before Suzanne arrived the next day. He watched her drive in and walk toward the front entrance. Even at that distance and under a parka, her body radiated a compact grace. Her hair was gathered and held by a red scarf that hung to the nape of her neck. She hadn't done anything drastic. He waited a few minutes and went to her office. His heart was beating fast.

"I'm sorry," he began.

She shook her head. "It's my fault, Oliver. You're married and you have a child. I lost control. I'm--not a good woman."

"You're a wonderful woman."

"I've been praying," she said. "I don't pray like the rest of them, but God hears everyone."

Oliver pulled at one ear lobe, off balance.

"I'm asking Him to take this want out of me." Suzanne's voice trailed off. "I don't think I can do it by myself." Oliver's cheeks grew hot. "I was going to cut my hair practically off, but I couldn't."

"I'm glad you didn't."

She looked at him, helpless again. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Oliver said. "I have the want, too."

Suzanne smiled for the first time. "If you've got it like I do, one of us is going to have to leave the state."

"Maybe there's some other way," he said. "Tell me how much you love disco."

"I hate disco," she said apologetically. "I like old time country music. And jazz. Coltrane."

"Oh swell," Oliver said. "Have you ever been to the Cafe No, in Portland?" Suzanne shook her head. "Terrific place to hear live jazz." He stopped, frustrated.

"I'll leave if you want me to," she said. "I ought to be able to get a job somewhere else."

"Don't do that." He didn't know what else to say. "Don't do that."

"Maybe if we didn't talk," she said. "Only just about work."

"O.K.," Oliver said. "I'll try. I'd hug you but I think something would catch fire."

"Burning already," she said, trying to smile. Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His feet felt like they were in cement. He dragged them up, one after the other, and left.

He finished a small project but couldn't bring himself to start the next one. He drove into Portland without saying goodbye to Suzanne. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought. He went to Gritty's for party kegs. They brewed ale downstairs and pumped it directly from the bar. He didn't know how many people would come to the housewarming--some would rather drink wine or the hard stuff. Five gallons of ale should be enough. He bought six, to be on the safe side.

He had lunch in Deweys, hoping to calm down. But the more he thought about Suzanne, the more confused he got. Mark came in and Oliver asked him, "What do you do when you've got a strong attraction going that isn't--appropriate?"

"You're asking me?"

"Well," Oliver said, "just an opinion."

"What does she look like?"

"Nice looking. Nothing unusual. My size. Great body." Oliver thought. "I guess what's unusual about her is how _connected_ she is. I mean, her body is in her face. She walks the way she feels. She's all one piece."

"_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing. _" Mark said. "Ellington."

"Hmmm," Oliver said.

"If it's inappropriate--whatever that means--and you go ahead with it, you suffer. If you don't go ahead with it, you suffer anyway. You're fucked, man."

"Swell," Oliver said.

"Could be worse," Mark said.

"How?"

"You could be a zombie executive in suburbia."

"North Yarmouth is close," Oliver said. "Speaking of which--are you coming to the housewarming?"

"Saturday, right?"

"Yeah--middle of the day, anytime. Bring a friend."

"Friend? You think _you_ got problems? Later, man." Mark rushed off.

Suffer? Was it the male condition? I guess women suffer, too, Oliver thought. The human condition, then? He resisted this. Why _should_ we suffer? The "we" he had in mind, he realized, was mostly Suzanne. Jacky was in there somewhere, and Francesca, higher and in the distance. Jennifer wasn't there. Jennifer and he did not suffer. She was his partner. He admired her energy, respected her, loved her, even--in a general way. Wasn't that what marriage was all about?

_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing._

You're fucked, man.

Do something.

He drove back to North Yarmouth. "I'm home!"

"Hi, Sweetums. What's the matter? Here." Jennifer thrust Emma into his arms. "Watch Emma for a while, will you? I'm glad you came home early; I've got some things to do at The Conservancy. Oh, good!" She did not wait for an answer. "Tell me later--bad day at work?"

"Nah," Oliver said. "Never mind. How's Precious?"

"Precious had a good nap. See you in a couple of hours."

"Down," Emma said. "Down."

"O.K.," Oliver said. "Down, it is." He put her on her hands and knees in the center of the living room rug. He heard the Volvo start and race down the driveway. Too fast, he thought--hard on the front end. Emma made a laughing sound as she crawled around in a small circle, the way Verdi used to chase his tail. She rolled over, sat up, and looked at him with delight.

"What a show off!" he said. "Very good crawl. Very good. Want to try the toddle? Try the walk?" He got to his knees and closed her hand in his fist. "Try walk?"

"Da Da," she said. He pulled her slowly to her feet. Her other arm went out for balance and she sat back down.

"Very good!" Emma smiled victoriously.

"She almost stood up," he told Jennifer when she got back. "I'll bet she's walking in a couple of months."

"I hope you're not pushing her."

"The Olympic Trials are right around the corner."

"Oh, Oliver. The Germans always win the baby walk."

Oliver laughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Pizza--pesto and chicken."

"God," Oliver said.

"Oh, something good happened at The Conservancy. Jacky Chapelle dropped by--remember Jacky? She's in town for a week. She said she'd come to the party."

"Ah . . ." Oliver cleared his throat. "I like Jacky."

"I thought you did."

"Surprised she isn't married," he said, "a bit bossy, I guess." He shook his head sadly, reactivating the "creep" sign.

"Well, you're taken."

"Quite so," Oliver said. "Just another hungry breadwinner."

"Half an hour. Oh, Precious, did Daddy make you walk?"

"Mama," Emma said as Oliver retreated to the barn.

It was good that Jacky was coming, Oliver decided; it meant that she had forgiven him or gotten over it or something. Maybe she had a new lover. That was a cheerful thought. He was in a good mood when Jennifer called him in for dinner.

In the following days, Oliver stayed away from Suzanne as much as possible. The few times that they were by themselves were uncomfortable, but at least they could show the hurt they felt, even if they didn't talk about it. Passing in the hallway was harder. Others would notice if they tried to ignore each other; they were forced to be friendly in a phony way, as though they didn't feel the force drawing them together. Suzanne began to look strained. Oliver kept his head down and worked hard.

The day of the party was gray and drizzly, warm for late fall. Oliver stood in the open door of the barn, holding a paper cup of ale and welcoming guests. By mid-afternoon, cars were parked around the first bend of the driveway. Thirty or forty people were milling about in the house giving Jennifer advice and admiring Emma. Jennifer was flushed and pleased. She kept the conversations lively while she brought appetizers in and out of the kitchen. Porter had come through with a quantity of scones, apricot--walnut and cranberry--orange. Oliver took special pleasure in pouring a Glenlivet for Arlen. They stood in amiable silence as rain dripped from the barn roof.

"Couple of cows and I'd be right at home," Arlen said.

"I've been thinking of getting a little John Deere."

"Well--they can come in handy."

"I guess." Oliver's thoughts drifted to Jacky. She appeared, on cue, walking up the drive. He met her with a hug. "Jacky! You look great." She held him tightly and then stepped back, knuckling the top of his head.

"How's married life?"

"Fine," he said. She looked at him closely.

"I'm thinking of trying it myself," she said. "I don't know."

"Uh, Jacky, this is my buddy, Arlen."

"How do you do," Arlen said, extending his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you," Jacky said. "What's that in your glass?" Arlen held his glass up for inspection. Jacky bent forward and sniffed. "Sarsaparilla!"

"Quite good on a rainy afternoon," Arlen said.

"Yumm," Jacky said.

"Oliver, sarsaparilla for the lady."

"Right away. Does the lady like water with her sarsaparilla?"

"Half and half."

"Yes," Arlen said approvingly. Oliver prepared her drink and handed it to her.

"To your new family and your beautiful old house," she toasted.

"Jacky! How nice!" Jennifer swept in and gave Jacky one of those lengthy woman to woman hugs, timed to the microsecond to communicate eternal devotion, unceasing turf vigilance, equality before the Great Sister, and other messages beyond Oliver's understanding. Arlen exuded calm; the two women might have been cows rubbing shoulders. "Come and see Emma." Jennifer led Jacky into the house.

Arlen and Oliver resumed their positions in the doorway. "I don't want to intrude, Oliver, but wasn't she the one . . ."

"Yup," Oliver interrupted. "She was."

"Interesting," Arlen said. "Very attractive."

"What do you think makes someone attractive?" Oliver asked.

"Hmmm. Physical health. Energy. Integrity is most important, I think."

"Integrity," Oliver imagined Jacky and then Suzanne.

"Of course, it's different for everybody. We all have our weaknesses. Little things. Porter's forearms, for instance--the way they swell up from his wrist. As soon as I saw them, I thought, oh, oh . . ."

"Lucky Porter," Oliver said.

"Olive Oil!" George bounced in from the ell. "Hi, Arlen, how're you doing?"

"Just fine, George."

"Bazumas, Olive Oil! My God! I thought I'd never see her again. I asked if I could paint her. She said yes but I'd have to drive to Maryland." George hung his head. "It's a curse--art."

"Maryland's just down the way," Arlen said.

"Arlen, my car!" George threw one arm in the air. "I'm lucky it starts. _Maryland?_"

"Life is hard," Oliver said.

"Food," Arlen said, heading for the kitchen.

"Yes," George said, following him. Oliver looked down the driveway and focused on a man walking slowly toward the house. The man smiled when he was closer.

"You must be Oliver. Ah, yes."

"I am. I remember you from somewhere."

"Ba, ba, boom," the man said and twirled around.

"Bogdolf!"

"Eric Hallston, actually. I'm an old friend of Jennifer's."

"You look so much younger," Oliver said.

"The miracle of make-up. When I do a Bogdolf, I use a lot of gray. People like an older Bogdolf."

"I'll be damned," Oliver said. "Well, come on in. What are you drinking? Mead?"

"Mead? Very funny. Horrible stuff. Scotch would be nice, but that ale I see would be fine."

"Glenlivet, right there." Oliver pointed to the table that was inside the barn. "Help yourself. Jennifer's in the house." Bogdolf Eric poured himself a stiff one.

"I have a surprise in here," he said, waving a manila envelope. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to accept. I'm sure Jennifer will, but you are Lord of your Keep."

"Bogdolf, what are you talking about?"

"Eric, please."

"Eric." Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photograph from the envelope. He handed it to Oliver.

"Last one left." A puppy with big paws and big ears stared up at Oliver. "She has her shots and everything."

"Cute," Oliver said. "What kind is she?"

"Mother is a golden. Father is a lab. Total retriever."

"Could bring me my paper," Oliver said, starting to slip.

"Might be nice for your daughter."

"Emma," Oliver said, brightening. "Come see her." He took Eric through the ell and into the kitchen. "Here we are," he said.

"Eric!" Jennifer hugged him warmly.

"Eric has a puppy for us."

"A puppy?" Jennifer looked at the photograph.

"Oh, how cute! How cute! Oh, Oliver, wouldn't it be just perfect for Emma?"

"Mmm." It was hard for Oliver to disagree.

"I can bring her any time you'd like. Sooner would be better--you know--bonding and all that." Jennifer nodded wisely and took Eric to see Emma who was in her playpen in the living room. Oliver went back to the barn. Christ, he said to himself. It was beginning to get dark, a relief.

"Gotta go, Handsome." Jacky appeared at his elbow.

"So soon?"

"Long day tomorrow. Driving back."

"I'll walk you down," Oliver said.

"Where's your coat? You'll get wet."

"I don't need one," he said. They walked down the driveway in comfortable silence. The light rain had gradually wet things through. Branches and leaves were dripping, and the drive was muddy in patches.

"You don't look so great," she said.

"I'm O.K."

"Terrific kid."

"She is. I don't know . . . It's the sex thing."

"I thought so," Jacky said. She was surprisingly sympathetic for someone who had been throwing wine glasses at him the last time he'd seen her.

"How's _your_ love life?"

"Improving," Jacky said. "I found a real nice guy. He works on Capitol Hill, actually."

"I'm glad," Oliver said. "You look mellower."

"I've been working my way through some of this sexual stuff," she said. "I'm not so different. I mean--I still like my equipment." Oliver put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "But it's not _so_ important. There are other kinds of bonds." She paused. "I think maybe you have some work to do in that area. But--leave it in the bedroom, Oliver." They walked on.

"I'm trying," he said.

"I think you have a little dom in you," Jacky said. Oliver realized that he was having a talk that actually meant something. He filled with gratitude.

"I love you," he said. "I can't live with you, but I love you." They reached her car.

"Thank you," she said. "That's sweet." She got in the car, started it, and rolled down her window. Oliver put both hands on the window and leaned over. "Be true," she said. "That's the main thing." He straightened.

"Take care," he said. He didn't kiss her; his mind was going too fast. Be true? To what? He fought for understanding.

"Bye, Oliver," she said. She backed out and continued backwards down the driveway at a good clip. Coordinated, he conceded.

"Bye, Jacky," he said, waving as she disappeared around the corner. The rain came a little harder. Drops washed down his face like tears. No wonder things can grow, he thought. The rain forgives them.

18.

Bogdolf Eric delivered the puppy two days later while Oliver was at work. Emma loved her and vice versa. As soon as Bogdolf's presence faded, Oliver loved her too. They tried "Jesse" for a name, then "Jesse Woofwoof." "Woof" was what stuck. She was good--natured and full of energy, forever trying to get Verdi to play. Verdi would tolerate her briefly and then swipe her in the nose. Woof would yelp and jump back, feelings hurt. Verdi would leap to a windowsill and ignore her.

Oliver stayed away from Suzanne, although he badly wanted to talk to her. He could have gotten out of the hospital Christmas party if he had made an effort. He didn't.

When the day of the party came, Jennifer was happy to stay home with Emma, Woof, and Verdi. Oliver put on a warm jacket and drove to the hospital where he passed a slow two hours exchanging glances with Suzanne. Various employees made speeches, and her uncle presented awards. Dan's daughters were a hit playing a fiddle and accordion medley of dance tunes and Christmas carols. Suzanne was wearing a caramel-colored cashmere sweater over a tight red skirt. She made an effort to be cheerful, but she seemed tense. Without either of them making an obvious effort, they moved next to each other.

"I've got to talk to you," he said quietly.

"Not here," she said.

"O.K."

A minute later she turned toward him and said, "Follow me when I leave." Her lips barely moved. He nodded.

When the party ended, she exited the parking lot, turned right, and drove slowly until he came up behind her. She led him seven or eight miles away from the coast and into the country before turning into a narrow driveway. They climbed between pines to the top of a short rise where a small house faced away from the driveway. Suzanne parked in the carport and got out as Oliver stopped. She waved for him to follow her and walked around to the front of the house. A screened porch looked out on a two acre field, a tangle of browns and yellows in the weak December sun. A rectangle of field near the porch had been made into a lawn. A flower border separated the lawn from the field.

"Isn't this pretty," Oliver said.

"I guess it'd be easier to live in a condo," she said, "but I like it out here." The way she said "I" and "out here" was instantly familiar to Oliver. She was comfortable with being alone, in the company of the trees and the field. A chickadee flitted to a large bird feeder and flew back toward the woods. The quiet hammered in Oliver's ears. He took a deep breath. Suzanne was looking at him in a concerned way. She was concerned about _him_, he realized--not their future, not their work, not their child--him.

His knees began to shake. She felt it and moved closer. "I need to sit down," he said. Suzanne looked at the porch. Oliver went to his knees on the hard ground. She bent over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I can fix us some tea," she said. Oliver closed his hand on her wrist and pulled her slowly to the ground beside him. She rolled gracefully to her back, her eyes wide open on his. Her other hand was on his arm, lightly holding him to her. Time slowed.

He brought his mouth down on hers. She softened and opened. He pressed harder, flattening her lips against her teeth. He could feel the ground through her head as he rocked in each direction. Her hand went to the back of his head, pulling him closer. Oliver's mind began to spin from not breathing. He started to pull away. Suzanne's head came up with his. She made a pleading sound and drew him back to the ground. His hand went to her hip. Heat spread across his upper chest and into his arms. He put one hand on each side of her head and held her down as he raised his body and gasped for air.

Suzanne's eyes were closed. She was breathing rapidly through her mouth. Oliver got to his knees, took off his jacket, and spread it next to her. She did not resist as he lifted her hips and moved her onto the jacket. He lay next to her and put the fingers of one hand across her mouth. She kissed his fingers. He pushed up her skirt and reached between her legs with his other hand. Her knees fell open, and her mouth opened under his fingers. She tilted her pelvis, pushed against his hand, and helped him to remove her warm underwear.

He took off his pants and put his fingers back on her mouth as he lowered himself over her. As he slid into her, she took the heel of his hand between her teeth. When he withdrew, she bit harder. He came in deeper, and she lifted against him. Her arms were flung out wide, palms up. He was cradled in her hips. With each stroke, he felt the ground beneath her, felt closer and closer to home. Suzanne strained up, jerked twice convulsively, and sent a clear cry across the field. She wrapped him with both arms and urged him, helped him through the door. He fell headfirst, grateful, filling her as he fell, filling her for good and all.

He lay collapsed and quiet while his breathing straightened out. Suzanne giggled. "What?" he mumbled.

"I'm hot on top and getting cold below," she said.

He pictured them from above. "Ummm," he said, "spy satellites . . ."

"It's your ass going to be saved for intelligence," Suzanne said.

Oliver raised himself from her. "Enough to make a man put his pants on."

"I've got a shower big enough for two," she said.

Minutes later, they were trading places under a stream of hot water, soaping each other and rinsing off bits of grass and dirt. "Great breasts," Oliver said, rubbing each one respectfully.

"The Lord was in a good mood," she said, pushing against him.

"Oh, oh," Oliver remembered. "What about babies?"

"I'm on the pill," she said. "Have been ever since Donny."

"Donny?"

"He's the one I ran away with."

"Oh. Good about the pill."

"I wouldn't mess you up," she said. "Or me, either. I could never have an abortion. How about that tea?"

"Yes," Oliver said.

"You're a much better fuck than Donny," she said. Oliver was embarrassed and pleased. "Well look at you blush! Come on, Lover--here's a clean towel."

He dried himself and dressed. As he waited for tea, he thought about going home. Impossible. "We're in big trouble," he said.

"I knew that the first time I saw you," she said. "If my uncle finds out, I'm a goner. Milk and honey?"

"Sounds good."

Suzanne handed him a steaming mug. "I just don't get it," she said. "How can anything that feels that right be wrong?"

"I don't know," Oliver said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"I'm thirty-six."

"Perfect," Suzanne said. Oliver sipped his tea. The room was comfortable--clean and furnished simply.

"Leaving isn't going to get any easier," he said, a few minutes later.

Suzanne got to her feet quickly. "I know." Oliver took another swallow of tea and put his mug down slowly. He stood. Suzanne came into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, breathed deeply, and squeezed her. Her hair smelled of mint.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll do whatever you want." He squeezed her again in response and left, not trusting himself to look back.

He couldn't go home. He drove into the city and had a Guinness at Deweys. He called Jennifer and said that he needed strong drink after the non-alcoholic Christmas party and that he'd be back soon with a pizza.

Richard came in, and Oliver ordered another pint. "What's your definition of home?" Oliver asked him.

"Home is where you're most yourself," Richard said without hesitating. He looked comfortably around the bar.

"Ah," Oliver said. "Not necessarily where you sleep, then."

Richard raised his eyebrows. "Not necessarily. I have two homes--at the lab and right here."

"Lucky dog," Oliver said. Richard flashed his smile. Be yourself and you are home anywhere. Oliver drank up. "Well, I've got to be going."

"Have a good holiday, Oliver."

"You, too."

"You smell like Deweys," Jennifer said, when he walked into the kitchen. She took the pizza from his hands.

"Good old Deweys," Oliver said. "How's Precious?"

"Sound asleep. Oooh, it's getting chilly."

"I'll get some wood," Oliver said quickly. "Come on, Woof." They had a couple of cords stacked in the barn, cut to two foot lengths. He turned on the light and found the maul leaning against the corner where he had left it. He swung the maul and tossed the wood and pretended that Suzanne wasn't sitting in her quiet living room, pretended that nothing had happened. Woof sat attentively in the doorway. There was only the splitting, the thunk of the maul into the chopping block, the klokking sound of pieces thrown on the pile . . .

"Pizza's ready. My goodness, Sweetums, what a pile!" Oliver gathered up an armful.