Her Favorite Husband

“What I do?”

“Run off.”

“I run off?”

Their voices had steadily been getting louder. Not much, but people at nearby tables had noticed. He lowered his, and suggested that she should, too. Even before he’d finished saying it, the anger he’d known must be there swept into her face.

“DON’T TELL ME HOW LOUDLY to speak. You’re the one who can’t carry on a normal conversation. And then you scold me?”

Ian pushed his plate away. “I don’t need this, Sarah. We’ve been divorced for ten years. There has to be some advantage to that, right? Lunches don’t have to dissolve into fights anymore.”

“Our lunches never dissolved into fights. What are you talking about? Is that how you remember it?”

“It doesn’t matter how either of us remembers it. We were married for two years a decade ago. A blip in both our lives.”

A blip? “And last night? Was that a blip, too?”

“Of course it was.”

“A blip.”

“Had to be, didn’t it?”

She was annoyed, for no good reason. She knew he was right.

It was the physical thing. They’d gone to bed the week they met and after that they had tumbled together at every opportunity. As hello, as goodbye, as good-morning and good-night. As an apology. As exercise. As entertainment. Anytime they got within three feet of each other. They’d mistaken it for belonging together.

“I don’t mean to be offensive,” Ian said. “It was one time only. By definition that’s a blip.”

“Why are you going on and on about it? You’re protesting a little too much. The blipness of last night getting to you?”

He took a few bills from his wallet, tucked them under his cup, stuck his laptop into its case and started out of the restaurant.

She wasn’t going to be left behind, not again. Loading up her parcels, she hurried outside, too. By the time she reached the sidewalk he was half a block ahead, waiting at the curb for the light to change.

Just as it did, she caught up with him. He crossed the road and turned right. That was the direction she’d come from in the morning, so she went that way, too, nearly stepping on his heels.

He responded by taking bigger steps. Over his shoulder he said, “Sarah, I have work to do.”

“So do I.”

“Work?”

“Sure. What did you think, that I dropped everything? I’m in contact with the office. A big, fat, profit-draining problem has already landed on my lap.”

“Then why don’t you stop following me?”

“What makes you think I’m following you? How arrogant is that?”

“You’re behind me, going in the same direction.”

“Whither thou, darling.”

“It’s a bit late for that.”

Sarah gave an exasperated groan. “Honestly, your sense of humor could fit on a flea! I’m not following you. You’re not the center of everything, you know. I’m going to my hotel.”

He pointed behind them. “Your hotel’s that way.”

She swung around, ready to argue, but there it was, the tallest building around, easy to see if only she’d looked.

“Come on, I’ll take you.”

“I don’t need you to take me!”

He ignored her, his whole body expressing his aggravation. He couldn’t be half as aggravated as she was, because now she really was following him.

He stopped in front of the hotel’s big double doors. “Okay?”

“It was okay before. And just so you know, I don’t like you when you’re sarcastic.”

His irritation seemed to evaporate and he looked at her with something approaching gentleness—tanned, hard-edged gentleness. It completely threw her. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

As soon as he said it she was sorry, too, although she didn’t know exactly why and, in any case, wasn’t willing to say so.

“What a pair we are.” He checked his watch, muttered that he was late, and headed back down the street.

CHAPTER SIX

SARAH EASED HER PACKAGES out of her arms and onto the bed, then pulled off her sweater, relieved to feel cool air on her skin.

Nobody made her angry the way Ian did. It was as if she had a hidden switch only he could find and flick on. It never stayed on for long, though.

The telephone’s message light was blinking. She lifted the receiver and pressed the retrieval button.

“You have—one—message,” the robotic voice said. “Nine—forty-five—a.m.” After a click, she heard Ian’s voice.

“Don’t know about you, but I didn’t get much sleep last night.” There was a pause, long enough for her to slip off her shoes and sit on the side of the bed. When he continued, she was surprised how genuinely disappointed in himself he sounded. At lunch, he hadn’t seemed sorry or disappointed at all.

Then he ruined it, talking about same old problems and provocations.

Still, it was nice that he’d tried.

Why hadn’t he told her in the restaurant that he’d called? Nine-fifty, soon after she’d left the hotel. She wouldn’t have been angry at lunch if she’d known about the message. Not very angry, anyway.

“We aren’t good together,” she told the wall. “Simple as that.”

SARAH CHANGED INTO LIGHTER clothes and began to pack the presents she’d bought. There was no way they’d all fit in her luggage. She’d have to send most of them home by mail.