Peter Leonard - Quiver

“What does that mean?” Kate wanted to grab his tie and pull him over the desk.

“He’s regressing, getting worse.”

“No kidding,” Kate said. “How’d you figure that out?”

She got up and walked out of his office, wondering what the hell to do now.

Kate studied her face in the makeup mirror. She followed the curve of her mouth, putting on lipstick, a dark red shade, pressed her lips together to make it even. She opened her mouth and checked her teeth, rubbing off a fleck of color with a Kleenex. Now she dusted her cheekbones with blush and stroked on a little under her eyes.

Jack had called that morning and invited her out to dinner. She told him she couldn’t but then, in a moment of weakness, invited him over. She felt bad the way she treated him at lunch, giving him a hard time after sixteen years. Maybe he had cleaned up his act. When he told her about his real estate job, he was enthusiastic and sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

Now, five hours later, she regretted it and wanted to call it off. She tried the number Jack had given her, heard Jodie’s voice on the answering machine and hung up. She was just going to have to get through it.

Kate thought about the night they met: at Jacoby’s, after a Tigers game. They were standing next to each other at the crowded bar, Kate trying to get the bartender’s attention. They started talking and hit it off-both on dates. Kate out with a guy named Bert Hulgrave who went to Notre Dame and wore a golf shirt with the collar turned up in back, which bothered her, and he ate hotdogs with nothing on them-no mustard-which bothered her more.

Jack asked for her phone number. She gave it to him while she waited for a pint of Harp for her and a Miller Lite for Bert and was excited when Jack called that night at two in the morning, saying he couldn’t wait to talk to her.

Kate told him guys usually held off for a few days-what was the rule, seventy-two hours? — so they didn’t seem too interested or desperate.

He said he didn’t care about bullshit like that and they talked till four thirty and met seven hours later at the hydroplane races on Belle Isle. He kissed her as soon as he saw her and said, “I’ve wanted to do that since I turned and looked at you in the bar last night.”

Kate said, “Do you hold anything back?”

He said, “I try not to.”

They watched Tom D’Eath pilot Miss Budweiser through the course on the Detroit River, had a beer and went back to Kate’s and made out, both of them anxious to hold and touch each other, like they were meant to be together.

Kate was nineteen when she met Jack, going to be a sophomore at Michigan. They dated the rest of the summer and when she went back to Ann Arbor, sharing an apartment with Stephie, her freshman roommate, Jack would spend four or five nights a week there. They were inseparable for two and a half years until Kate knew she had to get away from him and joined the Peace Corps.

Now he was back and she was concerned. She liked it but didn’t like it.

Maureen came in the kitchen with her coat on. “God, it smells good in here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to stay, I just want to meet him.”

Kate looked up from the skillet of potatoes. “You’re going to scare him away.”

“I won’t say anything to embarrass you,” Maureen said. “I promise.”

“You can’t help yourself.”

Maureen took off her coat and hung it on the back of a chair on the other side of the counter. Kate poured her a glass of white wine.

“What’re you having?”

“Rack of lamb.” She’d seared the rack in shallot butter and deglazed the pan with veal stock. Now she was making potatoes Anna, the skillet sizzling on the gas burner. “He’s just coming over for dinner and I feel guilty about it.”

“What’re you going to do, wear a black dress for the rest of your life? We’re not living in a Sicilian village. There’s no time limit I’m aware of. You wait till you’re ready. I think it’s great.”

“It’s not a date,” Kate said. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Whatever you say,” Maureen said grinning.

Jack arrived and Luke came down from his bedroom and Kate introduced everyone. They ate in the breakfast room. Kate sat across the table from Luke and Maureen, half in the bag, sat across from Jack, firing questions at him while he ate his lamb and potatoes and sipped his cabernet.

Maureen said, “Ever been married?”

“No,” Jack said. He picked up a lamb chop and took a bite.

Maureen said, “Ever been close?”

Jack said, “No.” And shook his head.

Maureen said, “You have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment,” Jack said.

Maureen said, “You’re not gay, are you?”

Jack looked at Kate.

Kate said, “Maureen, stop interrogating the poor guy.”

Maureen pointed at Jack with her fork. “What’re you doing back in Michigan?”

“Visiting my sister,” Jack said.

Maureen said, “What do you do?”

“Sell real estate,” Jack said.

“Maureen does, too,” Kate said. “Tell her about your deal.”

“It’s a manufactured home development in Tucson, Arizona,” Jack said.

“I know a lot of people in the Tucson area,” Maureen said. “Maybe I can send some investors your way. What’s it called?”

“Eldorado Estates,” Jack said. “I’ll give you a copy of the prospectus.”

“And you live in Tucson, I hear,” Maureen said. “What part?”

“Rancho Mirage,” Jack said.

“Where’s that?” Kate said.

“Foothills of the Catalinas,” Maureen said. “Very trendy.” She sipped her wine. “I go to Canyon Ranch every year,” she said, sounding like a snob. “I saw Michael Douglas one time and Richard Gere. I like it for about three days. They don’t serve drinks-you can’t get one-and there’s no nightlife.”

“That’s the idea,” Kate said. “You go there to get healthy.”

“I bring a bottle of Skyy,” Maureen said, “have a couple in my room before dinner and try to meet an eligible guy and bring him back for a nightcap.”

Luke sat with them, eating in silence, Jack asking him questions whenever Maureen stopped talking, which wasn’t often.

Jack said, “Luke, you a tennis player like your mom?”

“Uh-huh.”

Kate said, “He has a big forehand and a two-handed backhand. Hits deep heavy topspin and has a hundred-and-ten-mile-an-hour serve.” She looked across the table at Luke. “He’s taking some time off, aren’t you, honey?”

Luke didn’t react. He seemed uncomfortable. He ate fast and asked if he could be excused. Took his plate to the sink and walked out of the kitchen.

Maureen got up, too, said she had an early appointment, told Jack it was nice meeting him and Kate walked her to the door.

Then they were alone.

Jack cleared the table and Kate did the dishes. She was at the sink, her back to him, rinsing out the wineglasses when he came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.

She squirmed, wiggling out of his grasp, wet hands pushing him away. “Easy.”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you at the mall.”

“Where’ve I heard that before?” She wondered how many times he’d used that line or a variation of it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said.

“That’s what you said the morning after we met-at the boat races.”

“How do you remember that?”

“I thought it was a good line,” Kate said, “like it was out of a movie.”

She showed him the house. They walked through the living room to the sun porch. The backyard lights were on, illuminating the pool and tennis court. It was dark out, wind blowing, kicking up leaves.