“You’re a good sport, Emily,” Ian said happily. “I love it when you look like you do right now.”
“How’s that?”
“Determined.”
Emily burst out laughing. “This tastes like…like my father’s muddy galoshes with a topping of Parmesan cheese.” Ian choked on his food and then burst out laughing. He finished the wine in his glass at a gulp, his face red. “Is everyone looking at us?” he whispered.
“Uh-huh. I think we need a little more practice before we eat in restaurants like this or else we need a crash course in French.” Emily giggled.
“I think you’re right, Emily. We’ll stop and get a banana split when we leave here.”
“Are you kidding? We’ll be too drunk to make it to the ice cream parlor. Besides, I thought you had other things in mind,” Emily said, leering at him across the table. “Oh, Ian, I can’t wait to give my notice.”
“You look so beautiful in candlelight, honey. When we finally settle in somewhere, let’s have candlelight every night.”
“Okay. You’re the handsomest man in this restaurant, Ian.”
“How blitzed are you?”
“I can still see straight. You are the handsomest. Look around at the men in here. Pot bellies, bald heads, I’d wager half the women in here are mistresses. You know how you can tell?”
“How?”
“They’re talking. Husbands and wives drink, eat, and leave. Lovers dally, smile, talk, and look into each other’s eyes.”
Ian looked around. “Jeez, you’re right. That’s disgusting.”
“Will you always be faithful to me, Ian?”
“Of course. What about you?”
“Always,” Emily said, her eyes shining with love. “I would never muck up what we have. Men…I’m not sure men feel the same way women do when it comes to affairs.”
“I feel just the way you do, Emily. We are going to have the perfect life to make up for all our sacrifices. We deserve the best and I’m going to make sure we get it. That’s my job.”
Our sacrifices, Emily’s head buzzed with the wine she’d consumed. She should be paying attention to what Ian was saying. She’d think about it tomorrow while she lay in bed. Maybe Ian would bring her breakfast. She didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until Ian said, “It will be my pleasure. How about French toast with melted butter, warm syrup, and sprinkled with powdered sugar or maybe that spice you use?”
“That sounds wonderful, Ian. Let’s stay in bed till noon and have brunch.”
“Sounds good to me. Here comes our coffee and we finished the wine. I need to talk to you about something, Emily.”
“Okay, talk.”
“Emily, honey, I want us to go back to New Jersey. This is…I don’t know how to say it except to blurt it right out. I want to work for myself. I want us to open a clinic. I’ve talked, long distance, to a few bankers back home and the guy at First Fidelity said he didn’t think there would be a problem loaning us money for a clinic. I thought Front Street in Plainfield would be good. A walk-in-off-the-street clinic, open to everyone. I didn’t commit, said I had to talk it over with you. Two years Emily, if my predictions are right. Clinics are moneymakers. If you keep working, plus help out in the clinic, we can pay off my loans and the loan for the clinic. Two years. What’s two years, Emily? Twenty-four months. Seven hundred and thirty days. We can do it, Emily, if you pitch in. It will be ours. You won’t have to bust your ass anymore. I mean after two years. This is how I see it: You work mornings, seven to one, and then you can work the night shift at your old place, you know, what was it called, Heckling Pete’s? What do you think, Emily?”
What she thought was she wanted to die, right here at this very table where she’d consumed almost a whole bottle of wine and eaten salmon mousse.
She chose her words carefully. “That means I have to put school off again. How’s that going to look when I finally go back and everyone is years younger? I won’t fit in. I was so looking forward to starting school. Ian, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to put in two more years.”
“The first thing we’re going to do is some blood work on you. Build you up. That’s a must. You’re going to take a vacation and sit on your tail for ten whole days. I’m doing this for you as much as myself. If we don’t take hold of this opportunity, we might not get another one. I swear to you, dear Emily, I’ll make this up to you. I can’t do it alone. I need you at my side.”
“Oh, Ian, that means I’ll see even less of you and I’ll be working more hours. Before you said we were like newlyweds. That was wrong, we’re like strangers. You didn’t even know where I worked.”
“I remembered Heckling Pete’s and that was a long time ago.”
“You really want to do this, don’t you?”
“More than anything. We’ll be on our own, making money, and we’ll be our own bosses. I can treat people at affordable prices. It’s a moneymaker, Emily. Two years. Can you see it in your heart to give me two more years? I know what I’m asking. It has to be your decision, though.” His eyes pleaded with her.
Emily nodded because she was too numb to do anything else. Ian smiled, raised his hand for the check. “I’m going to make this up to you, dear Emily. The day is going to come when I will give you anything your heart desires. Anything. I promise, Emily.”
She managed to say, “I’m going to hold you to it.” She even managed a sickly smile for her husband’s benefit.
They tottered home, holding on to one another, their futures settled for the next two years.
Chapter 2
Emily stared in awe at the Christmas tree she’d decorated to surprise Ian. The small apartment positively reeked of Christmas. She was going to bake the way her mother always baked for the holidays. She was going to wrap presents and maybe drink some wine while she was doing it. The day was hers to do with as she pleased. Heckling Pete’s was closed for serious plumbing repairs and she’d pretended she had a cold and told Ian she couldn’t work in the clinic. And here she was. Full of Christmas spirit.
She glanced at the pile of papers and ledgers on the kitchen table. She had to do the payroll, fill out insurance papers, make a bank deposit, pay the clinic bills as well as the household bills. She didn’t want to do them, wasn’t going to do them. She opened the cabinet under the sink, pushed aside her cleaning supplies. Then she swept the pile of papers into the far back corner.
This was supposed to be a real Christmas. Ian had promised. Last year the clinic had been opened and they had both worked and had a cup of eggnog in front of the plastic tree in the waiting room. They’d agreed not to exchange presents, but at the last minute she’d gone out and bought Ian a cashmere jacket she couldn’t afford. He’d stuck to their agreement. She’d cried in the bathroom afterward. She would have been satisfied with a gift-wrapped Bic pen.
Emily
