Page 81 of The Night the Lights Went Out
A dark shape bounded toward her from down the long and wide corridor, startling her for a moment until she recognized the Blackfords’ dog. “Puddles,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t jump on her dress or make her spill her champagne. Just in case, she quickly finished the glass and placed it on a step behind her. “Hey, boy,” she said, leaning forward to scratch behind his ears. “Where’s your daddy?”
“In here,” called Dan from somewhere down the hallway.
She began walking, noticing the theater room on one side, a game room with pool table and bar on the other, an exercise room with sauna tucked in between, and then, finally, an opened glass door with the stale scent of old cigar smoke coming from it. She poked her head inside and spotted Dan, his tuxedo jacket hanging from the back of the wooden chair he sat in.
He half rose when he spotted her. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating the chair across the small table. An opened bottle of Glenfiddich sat in the middle, a half-empty glass sitting in front of him. “I came down to grab a few more bottles of wine for Heather, and I got distracted.” He grinned. “This was Heather’s anniversary gift. A ten-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch. Only the best for our Heather.” He raised the glass and took a long sip. “Want to try some?”
“I, uh, don’t usually drink scotch.”
“But this isn’t an ordinary scotch, Merilee. This is a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch. If I could think clearly, I’d calculate how much each sip is worth and then I bet you’d be impressed. Have a seat.”
She hesitated, knowing Heather was expecting her to bring Dan back to the receiving line right away. But there was something so forlorn in his expression, so lost and lonely, and so in need of companionship, that she decided to sit, if only for a few moments.
He stood quickly and walked behind the bar to retrieve another glass. “On the rocks?” he asked, placing two cubes from a freezer behind the bar into the glass without waiting for her answer. Sliding back into his seat, he poured three fingers’ worth into the glass and placed it in front of her.
“Slainte,” he said, raising his glass.
“Slainte,” she repeated, clinking her glass against his. She meant to take a small sip, but the ice cubes shifted and she swallowed more than she’d intended, making her cough.
He smiled at her. “Don’t spit it out or I’ll fine you.”
She laughed and took another sip to make him feel better, even though she was pretty sure she could drink a glass of Drano and not be able to tell the difference. She shivered in the damp coolness of the room, missing her stole, mothball scent and all. Dan stood and placed his tuxedo jacket over her shoulders before reclaiming his seat.
He noticed the ring on her finger as she placed it around her glass. “Did Heather give it to you?”
“No, of course not. She said it was too big for her—which surprises me because Gayla at the store said she’d checked Heather’s file for her ring size before she wrapped it—but Heather said she was afraid she’d lose it. So she gave it to me to hang on to until she had a moment to put it somewhere safe.” She began sliding it off her finger. “Here, why don’t you take it...”
Dan held up his hand. “No. You should hang on to it. If Heather asked you to do something, you’d better not disobey.”
She looked at him, not sure if he was joking or not, then slid the ring back on.
“Did she love it?” she asked.
Half of his mouth lifted. “I’m not sure. Probably not. She never likes anything I pick out for her. I tried to tell her why I’d selected it, but she was too busy making sure the flowers in the tall pots on the dock were just right. I probably should have waited until tomorrow.”
Dan stared into his glass, moving it from side to side to watch the colors change in the light, reminding Merilee of the fabric of her dress. “Did you know our chef used to work at the French Laundry in Napa? I can’t tell you what Heather did to entice her to come work for us, but nothing would surprise me. One of the chef’s jobs is to oversee the menu at Windwood—did you know that? I wonder how many schools have a French Laundry chef planning their menus.”
His words were slurring and she wondered how much he’d had to drink. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Heather gave this to me earlier this afternoon because she probably knew I’d be needing it. She said I should hide it in the wine cellar so I wouldn’t be expected to share.” He grinned his boyish grin, and Merilee felt younger, somehow. Like they’d both been swept back in time to when they were young and nothing mattered except winning the next football game and sitting with your best friends in the lunchroom. But then his face sobered and he sat up straighter, and the moment passed.
“It’s not that I’m antisocial or that I dislike any of those people upstairs. It’s just...” He stopped for a moment before continuing. “It’s just that I work hard all week, and when I’m done with work, I want to spend my downtime with my wife and kids. And dog.” He looked down at Puddles and scratched him behind two velvety black ears. The dog reciprocated the look of adoration as he tilted his face toward Dan. “I love quiet time with my family, playing cards or fishing. Or just... nothing. Enjoying each other’s company. Yet every moment of downtime is scheduled to the hilt. I can barely catch my breath.”
He pressed his forehead against the table. “I’m sorry. I’m really not complaining—I know I have a wonderful life. Surrounded by a terrific family and good friends. I’m just... tired. It’s been a very long week.” He looked up and smiled grimly at her. “I suppose I should go back upstairs.”
“Yeah, we probably both should,” Merilee agreed. She reached across the table and took his hand, trying to communicate that she understood his desperation probably better than most. “Whenever I’m faced with doing something I don’t want to do, I always tell myself that I can survive anything for a couple of hours or however long it’s supposed to take. Just think—this will all be over within a few hours, and your Glenfiddich will be waiting for you here, right where you left it.”
He nodded, his lips pressed together in grim determination. “You’re a very smart woman, Merilee. Just like Heather. Except...” He stopped, then looked guiltily at her.
“Except what?”
“Except you have a level of compassion. And sweetness. Heather used to have it, too, but she seems to have lost it along the way. It seems the more she has, the more she wants. And she won’t be satisfied with less than perfect. That’s a very hard ideal for a man to live up to. I sometimes find myself thinking that Heather wishes she’d married Wade after all.” He leaned closer, and she could smell the scotch on his breath. “You’d be happy with all this, wouldn’t you? You’d be happy with me.”
Before Merilee could answer, he’d touched his lips to hers. There was no passion, no lust, nothing except loneliness and a shot in the dark, and it seemed to Merilee that they both realized it at the same time. They drew back simultaneously, each flushing and stammering out words that did nothing to erase the awkwardness or embarrassment of what had just happened.
“Daniel?”
They both turned toward the doorway at the sound of a woman’s voice, while Puddles lay sleeping at Dan’s feet and didn’t even lift his head. Merilee had no idea how long she’d been standing there, but judging by the look on her face, probably long enough to have seen Dan kiss her. Merilee recognized the woman but couldn’t recall her name, most probably because she was seeing her in an evening gown, with styled hair, not in a ponytail or tucked into a tennis visor. She was out of context here in the Blackfords’ wine cellar, which was why Merilee couldn’t come up with a name. But the woman had no problem recalling Merilee’s.
“Hello, Daniel. Merilee,” the brunette said, her gaze taking in the held hands and the two mostly empty glasses of scotch. “Heather sent me down here to look for Daniel. He’s MIA, apparently. Looks like I hit pay dirt.”
