Winter Garden
The second she had the thought, it calcified into a plan. Feeling excited for the first time in months, she changed into a sexy nightgown and went downstairs, where she made a fire and poured herself a glass of wine and waited for Jeff to get home from work.
At eleven o’clock that night, she was still waiting. And that sense of excitement had slowly melted into anger.
Where in the hell was he?
By the time he finally walked into the living room, she’d had three glasses of wine and dinner was ruined.
“Where the hell have you been?” she said, rising.
He frowned. “What?”
“I made a romantic dinner. It’s ruined now. ”
“You’re pissed that I’m home late? You’ve got to be kidding me. ”
“Where were you?”
“Researching my book. ”
“In the middle of the night?”
“It’s hardly the middle of the night. But, yeah. I’ve been doing it since January, Mere. You just haven’t noticed. Or cared. ” He walked away from her and went into his office, slamming the door behind him.
She followed him, throwing the door open. “I wanted you tonight,” she said.
“Well, pardon me all to hell for not giving a shit. You’ve ignored me for months. It’s been like living with a goddamn ghost, but now all of a sudden, because you’re horny, I’m supposed to change gears and be here for you? It doesn’t work that way. ”
“Fine. I hope you’re comfortable here tonight. ”
“It’ll be a hell of a lot warmer than your bed. ”
She walked out of the office and slammed the door behind her, but with that crack of sound, the anger left her, and without it, she felt lost. Lonely.
She should say she was sorry, tell him about her shitty day. . . .
She was about to do that when she saw the pale bluish light slide along beneath the door. He’d turned his computer on and started writing.
She turned from the door and went upstairs, crawling into their bed. In twenty years of marriage, it was the first time he’d slept on the sofa after a fight, and without him, she couldn’t sleep.
At five o’clock, she finally gave up trying and went downstairs to apologize.
He was already gone.
That morning, Meredith went for a run (six miles this time; she was feeling particularly stressed out), called both of her daughters, and still got to work before nine. As soon as she was at her desk, she called Parkview and spoke to the director, who was none too happy about Mom’s sudden exit. She learned—again—that they didn’t expect an opening in the near future. Things could change, of course (which meant someone could die; someone else’s family could be shattered), but there was no way to guarantee a spot.
Nina would never stay long enough to actually help. In the past fifteen years, Meredith couldn’t remember her sister staying at Belye Nochi longer than a week, ten days at most. Nina might be world-famous and renowned in her field, but she was not reliable. She’d even bailed as Meredith’s maid of honor—at the last minute, with no time to get a replacement—because of some assassination in Central America. Or Mexico. Meredith still didn’t know; all she knew was that one minute Nina was there for her, trying on bridesmaid dresses, and the next minute she was gone.
There was a knock at the door. Meredith looked up just in time to see Daisy waltz in carrying a manila folder. “I’ve got the field and orchardist reports here. ”
“Great,” Meredith said. “Just leave them on my desk. ”
Daisy hesitated and Meredith thought, Oh, no. Here it comes. She’d known Daisy since childhood, and hesitant she was not. “I heard,” Daisy said, closing the door behind her. “About Nina kidnapping your mom. ”
Meredith smiled tiredly. “That’s a bit overly dramatic. I’ll handle it. ”
“Of course you will, but honey, should you?” Daisy put the folder down on the desk. “I can run this place, you know,” she said quietly. “Your dad trained me. All you have to do is ask for help. ”
Meredith nodded. It was true, although she’d never really thought about it before. Daisy did know the orchard and its operation better than anyone except Meredith herself. She’d worked here for twenty-nine years. “Thanks. ”