Chapter 11

Luke shifted uncomfortably in his chair, keenly aware of the throbbing ache beneath the black and blue marks that mottled his skin. As he’d feared, Irina’s lack of padding and her very aggressive approach to sex had bruised some of his more sensitive areas. Well, I’ll recover. Anyway, she was more than worth it.

After she left he remained in a bed for a while, trying to extract something useful from parting words that sounded more like a warning the longer he considered them. “It’s almost entirely up to me,” she said. Wendy tried to tell me something fairly similar, and even though I still can’t quite wrap my head around how this is somehow my problem to solve, I can’t imagine that they’re both wrong. Still, even if I accept that what they’re saying is true, I don’t see how it leads to any sort of plan. No one’s giving me any useful advice, save that I’m apparently doing everything wrong, or at least about to. Which is hard enough to hear all by itself, and even worse because I’m completely unable to see what’s right. I mean, it’s clear that there are plenty of reasons we shouldn’t be together the way we are. Good reasons. Wise reasons. Moral reasons. But then again, they haven’t exactly stopped either of us, have they? Maybe the only actual solution is time.

Eventually, no matter how long we conspire to drag this out, I have to go back home. And then what? I can’t ask Kathryn to go with me unless she decides to leave Bill, and despite her frustration — which is only going to increase if he’s away as much as he says he’s going to be — I don’t see that happening. Things would have to get a lot worse between them, and if it came to a full-blown marital crisis I doubt he’d choose work over her. How could he? Nor is she the type to give up that easily, either.

Anyway, what would I have to offer her? Years of skulking around friends and family who will see me as the bad guy; the other man who broke up an otherwise happy marriage. How could that sort of life possibly appeal to her?

On the other hand, why should I just give up so easily? If she can accept what we’ve done so far — and she quite clearly told me she can, both with words and with her body — maybe we don’t have to stop. I don’t love the secrecy, and I feel like a shitheel every time I talk to Bill, but I do love her. Even if I can only be with her some of the time, even if I can only have part of her, she can have all of me. Maybe that’s enough.

The steady clink of bottles against wood and the tap of fingers on a keyboard offered neither answers nor solace. Only more questions.

“We’re living a cliché right now, aren’t we?”

“Beer, cow on the grill, and Bordeaux in a decanter? Yeah, I’m afraid so. I assume there’ll be whiskey and cigars later? We don’t have to watch stag flicks, do we?”

“Whiskey, certainly. I have much more interesting things to drink, but why not live the bachelor night trope to the hilt? If I had a list of people I’d like to watch adult films with, I regret to inform you that you wouldn’t be on it. As for the cigars, I haven’t indulged in a long time, but I suppose I could dredge one up from somewhere...”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. The truth is, I don’t smoke.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Being able to say no to celebratory cigars without offending someone was worth climbing every single rung on the legal ladder. I haven’t stopped turning down the drinks, though.”

Luke laughed, surprised and eminently pleased that Bill’s last-minute invitation to dinner hadn’t resulted in the same stomach-churning experience as Sunday’s near-disaster. They were getting along splendidly, conversing like old friends who weren’t sleeping with the same woman. Every once in a while, Luke even forgot to feel guilty. Unfortunately, the memory lapses rarely lasted much longer than a few minutes.

“Anyway, as I was saying: I did use to be able to cook. Nothing fancy, but I could impress a lady for about a week’s worth of romantic dinners before I had to shamefacedly admit that I’d reached the limits of my talent. But then I got too busy and started living in restaurants — or worse, delivery — which wasn’t great for my waistline. Hiring Sev was one of the best decisions we ever made, but even if I somehow found the time to sneak back into the kitchen, Kathryn’s a far better cook than I’ll ever be. And so, I’ve forgotten everything I knew and have been reduced to the same utility as your average caveman: arranging animal parts over fire and hoping I don’t screw them up too badly.”

“They look fine to me. In fact, we’re just about out of beer and they look pretty close to done, so I’d say your cavemanning skills remain intact.”

“Good, good. I almost wish we had some football to grunt at. At which to grunt?”

“If you’re rearranging your prepositions in an attempt to sound posh, you’re not exactly in the right mindset for grunting at football games. Anyway: it’s not a weekend, the preseason isn’t real football, and I’d much rather eat and drink.”

“Me too, son. Me too. What are we drinking, anyway?”

“Don’t you want to guess?”

“Oh hell no. You and Kathryn keep having your fun, and I’ll keep stealing an extra glass while your eyes are closed and your backs are turned. I’ll be satisfied with you telling me what it is.”

As Sunday made all too clear, his hyperactive brain’s automatic translation of innocuous sentences into either innuendo or pointed commentary was unavoidable. But because he was prepared for it this time, Luke didn’t even suffer a twitch from the dual implications of fun-having and back-turning. Instead, he kept the focus on the wine. “I feel a little bad that she’s not here for it, but it’s the 1990 Léoville Barton Saint-Julien. You’ve got more, so I hope she’ll forgive me. Speaking of which, why are you here gnawing on dead bovine muscles rather than playing your nightly game of pin the bowtie on the donkey?”

“Son, I know the law is an ass, but now you’ve hurt my feelings.”

“I thought lawyers didn’t have feelings?”

“That’s only our public façade. Most of us possess one, perhaps even one and a half actual human emotions.” Bill’s expression turned wistful as he removed the steaks from the grill to let them rest. “Because I entered the week so exhausted she gave me a get-out-of-gala-free card and insisted that I use it. Tonight’s less of a party than an auction, which sounded like the least fun to me. When she concurred, I decided that I’d take advantage of the free time and do some extra work at the office, after which I could at least drive her home. Then the calls I’d set up got postponed until tomorrow, so I considered showing up and surprising her. But, in the end, a night at home was too appealing to pass up. I was just about to ring you up and ask what I should drink when I realized: why not just invite you over and take advantage of your expertise in person?”

“Well, I’m grateful.” Luke’s anxiety eased as he realized that he actually meant it. “A question, though: aren’t we eating anything else with the steak? I should’ve offered to make something.”

“Real men don’t need anything other than cattle and booze, Luke.”

“If I had a cardiologist, I think he’d disagree with you.”

“I do have one, and she does and has. Many times. I actually had to put her on the phone with Sev one time, just to prove that I usually eat with admirable restraint, though I’m not sure my liver doctor shares her rosy assessment of my consumption. Anyway, why don’t we let this be our little secret? I’m sure there’s more than enough leaves and twigs in the fridge to make a salad, if that’s your perverse idea of dessert.”

“Couldn’t it just be a salad course?”

“Luke, I grilled four enormous steaks. The second one is the salad course.”

Later, in the privacy of his apartment, he was nursing a slightly unwise glass of Bas-Armagnac — he and Bill had been somewhat generous with their postprandial whiskey allotment — when he heard the thump of a car door. He fought down the instinct to run outside as he realized just how much he missed being around, or even just seeing, Kathryn. She’s either tired and wants to go to bed, or she has the same destination in mind but for a different reason. Either way, I’d only be intruding.

He was resting his hands on his thighs, panting with exertion and dripping with sweat after a vigorous morning run, when he heard something he didn’t expect to hear in this remote rural location: a wolf whistle.

“Nice ass!”

Shaking his head with amusement, he stood and turned, saluting Irina with an upraised finger and a smile. She winked and gave him a jaunty wave as she exited the garage, crossed the courtyard, and disappeared into the house. Should I follow her? No, she told me not to actively pursue an encore. Anyway, I’m smelly and gross right now. Better to just shower and get to work.