O+F Part 42

"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.

"Should hold us for awhile," he said. Woof bounded into the house, wagging her tail. "You know," Oliver said, "we really ought to get a decent wood stove. More efficient. And if we have furnace trouble, it would be good to have something besides the fireplace."

"Maybe we could get the kind with gla.s.s doors, so we can see the fire,"

Jennifer said.

"They make good ones now," Oliver said.

"Let's go tomorrow."

"Solid," he said. Little by little, normality was returning, but he had to work at it. Luckily, he didn't have to go to the hospital until Monday.

19.

Sat.u.r.day morning, Oliver and Jennifer bought a stove and brought it home in the Jeep. Mark came out and helped move the stove from the Jeep to the living room in front of the fireplace. It would go in the corner when they put a chimney up for it, but, for now, they could use the old chimney. A hole for the stovepipe was waiting, covered by a decorated pie plate.

Sunday afternoon, Emma lay contentedly in her playpen near the new stove while a fire burned and Oliver watched the Patriots lose another one. Jennifer had driven in to The Conservancy for a couple of hours.

Woof was outside. Verdi was curled by a window. The stove had cost a bundle, but it was worth it, Oliver thought. They charged it on one of Jennifer's credit cards.

"Da Da."

"Yes, Emma." He lifted her and held her in the crook of his arm. She looked up at him steadily as he walked back and forth across the living room. m.u.f.fled snapping sounds came from the stove. He heard the wind outside and saw bare branches moving in the trees across the lawn. The sky was gray and darkening. "Here comes the storm, Emma," he said.

"Here it comes." He put her down in the playpen, turned off the TV, and played _La Traviata. _

Pavarotti's voice swelled through the house. "Listen to that, Emma!" He stroked Verdi and watched the lowering clouds.

Jennifer came home full of enthusiasm and plans. "Eric is having a party!"

"Hot diggety."

"It will be fun! And lots of Conservancy people will be there. I really _have_ to go. And I think it's good for Emma."

"Well, it's that time of year," Oliver said, giving in.

"We won't stay long."

"We'll stay as long as you want," he said.

They went to bed early that night. When Jennifer reached for Oliver, he followed her lead, waited for her, and tried to stay close. He floated away and brought himself back. She was uncomplicated s.e.xually. Thank goodness.

She rubbed his back. "Oooh, that was nice," she said. "You worked so hard on the stove. You're tired. Poor Sweetums."

"Mmmm," he said, nuzzling and hiding his face on her shoulder.

"Sweetums sleep now."

The storm dumped eight inches overnight, the first real snow of the winter. It was bl.u.s.tery and clearing when Oliver went outside in the morning. The Volvo was in the barn. Jennifer was staying home until the road was plowed. He cleared off the Jeep and crunched slowly down the hill. As the clouds shifted, the light changed from gray to white and back to gray. The Jeep slid around a little, not much. He had concrete blocks in the back, three by each wheel. The heater threw out a blast of hot air. Four wheel drive is great, he told the world. People were brushing snow from their cars and shoveling walks. Several waved as he pa.s.sed. The first snow was always a relief.

He couldn't stop thinking about Suzanne. It would be best not to see her. When he walked into his office, the first thing that he saw was an envelope on his desk. It looked like the ones that his paycheck came in. "Oliver," was written on the front. He opened it and took out a note.