kind of projects?” I asked him.
“Real estate,” Charlie answered. “He’s got some property in downtown Charlottesville he wants to develop.”
“And you are going to invest in it?”
“That’s the idea,” Charlie said.
“But what do you know about Cliff?
“Nothing,” I added.
“He’s smart and he has connections with people in town. Local people.
“Honey, please. Trust me,” Charlie also said.
“And when I get my pilot’s license, I am going to buy into his plane. We’ll share it,” Charlie said.
“A plane costs a small—”
But before I could finish my sentence, Charlie said, “We’ll both fly you to Rehoboth Beach.”
Nelly, my Norwich terrier, for an inexplicable reason liked Cliff. Each time he came to the house, she ran over to him, her stump of a tail wagging so hard I half expected it to fall off as he bent down to pat her. He made a big fuss over her. Then, still more inexplicably, she followed him into the living room.
“Nelly!” I called out to her. “Come. Come here,” I commanded.
She paid no attention.
I think I heard Cliff laugh.
“Little whore,” I muttered under my breath.
From the living room window, I watched them. Charlie and Cliff were leaning against the doors of their respective vehicles—Charlie’s Ford pickup truck and Cliff’s sleek blue Rover 2000TC. They were talking but I could not hear what they were saying. I looked at them both, trying to imagine them as strangers and as if I were seeing them for the first time. Charlie was fair skinned—his hair almost reddish—and broad shouldered. He was wearing jeans, old brown cowboy boots, and a faded green baseball cap with the logo of a feed store on it. Cliff was dark skinned and lean. He was bare headed and his black hair was thick and wavy. He, too, was wearing jeans and a denim shirt. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up tight and high enough to expose his upper arms. His biceps flexed as he struck a match to light a cigarette.
Already I had fallen for him, but I fell for him again then—hard.
Originally a pub, our brick house was built in the 1740s, and rumor had it that Thomas Jefferson and James Madison dined there. It has since been remodeled and enlarged several times. The warren of small rooms upstairs has been turned into three decent-sized bedrooms, and the downstairs, despite the low ceilings (guests over six feet tall are warned to duck their heads when they enter the living room), has been opened up so that the kitchen and dining area are one large room. The huge stone fireplace in the kitchen, in which, if we were so disposed, we could have roasted an ox, was original, as was the back staircase—the steps steep, narrow, and treacherous. (Once, slipping down those stairs when I was seven months pregnant, I was afraid I would miscarry.)
“The house consists of four rooms on each floor, and is two storeys high. When the Brontës took possession, they made the larger parlour, to the left of the entrance, the family sitting-room, while that on the right was appropriated to Mr Brontë as a study. Behind this was the kitchen, and behind the former, a sort of flagged store-room. Upstairs, there were four bedchambers of similar size . . .”
“The small first floor room over the hall . . . known as ‘the children’s study,’ was also used as a bedroom by Emily.”*******
******* “Inside Haworth: The Humble Parsonage Where the Brontë Sisters Changed Literature,” Country Life, July 30, 2018, https://www.countrylife.co.uk/out-and-about/theatre-film-music/bronte-sisters -parsonage-haworth-146543.
“Do you know Cliff’s wife?” I asked Meryl, my neighbor.
“I’ve met her,” Meryl answered, nodding.
We were standing by the side of the road while Charlie was talking to Frank about buying horse feed. He was telling Frank that Cliff had recommended a store in Ruckersville.
“A lot cheaper there,” Charlie was saying.
“I hear she wants sole custody of their kid,” Meryl continued.
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I hear he has quite a temper.” Meryl gave a little laugh before she said, “Frank said that, last year, out on the hunting field, he saw Cliff nearly whip a horse to death because he wouldn’t take a jump.”
“Oh” was all I said.
“But Frank is prejudiced,” Meryl went on. “He hasn’t gotten over the fact that Cliff still owes him money for the diaper service for his kid. It’s been nearly four years and he still hasn’t paid Frank.” Meryl shook her head and made a face.
I said nothing.
“Anyway, who knows what’s true.”
“What’s Cliff’s wife’s name?”
“Daphne. She works in the Barracks Road Shopping Center, at the store that sells wool and sewing stuff,” Meryl added.
“What does she look like?” I persisted.
“A redhead with lots of freckles. She’s cute,” Meryl also added.
In bed—only we were not in a bed, we were lying on a plaid blanket, amid our tossed clothing, in a deserted polo field—I asked:
“Where did you grow up?”
“All over,” Cliff answered as he lit a cigarette, then, after taking a puff, handed it to me.
“No, seriously,” I said, exhaling smoke and handing him back the cigarette.
“Seriously. My dad was in the navy.”
Charlie and I started dating my freshman year in college; we got married after he graduated. I got pregnant right away with the twins and did not graduate. I had never been with anyone before Charlie. I had never slept with another man until Cliff.
I began to smoke more. From one or two cigarettes a day, I was up to almost a pack.
In the truck, the twins waved their hands around in the air and complained.
“Can’t breathe,” Sam said.
“Open the window then,” I told him.
“I thought you were going to quit,” Charlie said.
I shrugged.
“You smell like an ashtray,” Charlie continued.
“Then don’t come near me,” I answered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie asked.
For some unnamed yet felt reason, Charlie and I had not had sex in weeks.
Knit & Stitch was the name of the store that sold wool and sewing supplies in the Barracks Road Shopping Center. A large straw basket filled with different-colored spools of wool was in the window.
I can hardly thread a needle or sew on a button. What would I tell Cliff’s wife I was looking for?
A bell jingled when I opened the door.
Sitting behind the counter, the saleslady put down her knitting and stood up. She had long gray hair, had no visible freckles, and was overweight.
“Can I help you?” she asked.