Page 72 of Lucky Night

Yes, just now. You don’t get to enjoy it, linger withit?

There’s definitely no lingering, he says. What did I mean? I appreciate her beauty. I see it. But I suppose…it doesn’t move me anymore. Not the way it usedto.

Maybe that’s why she’s thinking about the tuckpointing. She knows you’re not really thinking about her.

But Iam.

Not in the same way, she says. Not if she doesn’t move you.

He stares at her, irritated by her presumption. Until something changes.

His shoulders slump. He looks dejected.

You nailed it, Jenny. We’ve lost something, Caroline and I. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. I can’t seem to articulate it—I don’t know why I’m even trying. It’s not that her beauty, her body doesn’t do me any good. It’s that I don’t do her any good. She doesn’t touch me anymore. She hasn’t for ages, since long before you and I…

He’s on his feet now, heading for the minibar. But he changes his mind and swerves back to the bed.

It’s very difficult to bemoved,to be attracted to someone who has no interest in you, someone who…you know, sometimes I touch her, and she flinches? Actually flinches. We don’t embrace, or hold hands. But the worst thing about it—the very worst? It’s only when we’re alone. When we’re around other people, she touches me plenty. Flirts with me, even. Not because she wants to, or even to please me. She’s putting on a show. The Nick and Caroline Show—look at the happy couple! Which we are, that’s the killer of it all, we’re generally content. But in this one way, this one very vital, necessary way…

He sighs. Scratches his cheek. Frowns at the television without really seeingit.

It sucks, he says. To live with someone every day, she’s right there, and she doesn’t want to touch me. It really sucks.

She nods, taking that in for a moment.

Then she stands and comes over to him.

She takes his hand. She brings it to her lips and kissesit.

Well, I think she’s missing out, she says.

Twelve

She kissed his hand! And now she’s smiling at him. He doesn’t deserve her kindness, he’s been a thousand varieties of bastard to her tonight, but he’ll takeit.

He watches her move away, moseying to the window. Caroline would lose her mind if she knew Nick was telling tales about their sex life, especially to the woman who—okay, but Jenny hounded him into it. He feels a roil of unease, the sour aftertaste of having shared too much—oh, the horror!—and he’s tempted to flee to his mock-heroic mode, to kiss her hand in turn and saywhy thank you, kind lady, how gracious, how bounteous is your rueor some equivalent horseshit.

But he resists.

He didn’t hate laying it all out like that. He felt some queasiness, mild skin-crawling. Provoking her sympathy didn’t feel pleasant, in other words, he hasn’t seen the light and begun some transformation into a different person, a Good Guy, one of those sincere characters who go around being emotionally available and practicing gratitude and whatever the fuck else they do, he doesn’t know because he’s not one of them.

Still. He’s feeling okay right now.

Tell me something, she says.

And now she’s going to ruinit!

Why not make a change? she says. Find someone who can be all that for you—the worldview, and the compatibility, and the touch. Not me, obviously, but…marriages end all the time. If you’re dissatisfied, why stay?

I might not have a choice after tonight, he says. Jenny has no idea how comprehensively, how expertly Caroline is going to rake his ass over the coals if—when, come on, you know it’s when—the truth comes out. Yes, it’s going to be a big old Holloway barbecue, far toastier than anything he might encounter down on twenty-one.

Speaking of which. He glances at the television. The anchors are checking in with the hot reporter, but seem disappointed she has no juicy new details to convey. Should he call the number they gave him? No, it’s too soon. He doesn’t want to unsettle Jenny. Though he does wish that firefighter, or command coordinator or whatever the hell title the caller used, he does wish the guy had expressed a little more confidence about the situation. Been a bit heartier. He had the perfect New Yawk accent for bluff assurance. While he listened Nick could practically see his salt-and-pepper mustache bobbing up and down. But his words had been flat. Careful. Just the facts, sir.

Overall, the conversation hadn’t been quite as reassuring as he’d implied to Jenny. Not that he’d misrepresented anything—no more lies!—but there had been a hesitation. A hedginess.

Or he’s reading too much into it. Professional reserve, that’s what it was. A reluctance to be pinned down to specifics. He can relate.

It doesn’t matter. They’re going to be fine.

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