C.E. Murphy - Heart of Stone

Tony clutched his heart. “Ow. All right, let’s go before I get stung by any more slings and arrows. They’re holding a table for us.”

“So.” They spoke the word at the same time and let laughter take them, Tony reaching across the table to curl his fingers over Margrit’s before releasing her hand. “I did my best,” he said, gesturing to the restaurant. Booths were set around its outer perimeter, crimson velvet curtains separating one from another. A lightweight gauze net fell over the entrance to their own booth, making the lighting hazy and friendly and offering an illusion of solitude. Sound was surprisingly muffled, giving them more privacy than Margrit expected in a busy restaurant.

“You did good,” she acknowledged. “I’m amazed we both got the night off. Tony, I’m sorry I hadn’t called. In the last few weeks, I mean.”

He held up a hand, cutting off the apology. “This is how we do it every time, Grit. Can we try something different?”

Margrit leaned back and gave him a dubious smile. “I don’t know. That sounds like a chick line. Have you been reading relationship books?”

Something between embarrassment and smugness crossed Tony’s face. “Worse. I’ve been talking to Anne-Marie.”

“Oh, God. Professionally?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a cop. I can’t afford a therapist. No, just more of that big-sisterly advice. I get flowers from the one and relationship advice from the other.”

“How’s her son doing?”

“Still in trouble. You know how boys are at sixteen. Sometimes I think Amie got a psychotherapy degree so she could understand her kid. You’re changing the subject, Grit.”

“I still don’t get how you got Amie out of Anne-Marie. Anyway. Sorry, I didn’t mean to change the subject.” Shivers crept up Margrit’s spine, making her wonder how true the statement was. She leaned forward again, suddenly and uncomfortably aware she was using what Anne-Marie would call open body language. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“I just want to skip all the recriminations, Grit. No more of this my fault your fault, I’m sorry you’re sorry thing. We’ve been doing that for years.”

“Are you sure you haven’t been reading relationship books?”

“Margrit. Come on. I’m being serious.”

“Yeah.” She ducked her head, chin against her chest before she looked up. “Yeah, I can tell. Sorr-mmm.” She closed her mouth on the apology and studied the man across the table from her. His eyes were dark and serious, his mouth held as if he wasn’t sure if he should be smiling or frowning. “So this is the fish or cut bait conversation,” she said after a moment.

Tony exhaled a semiexplosive laugh. “Not how I would’ve phrased it, but yeah, I guess so. I mean, what I said back at the apartment-”

Cold slipped through Margrit’s belly as if she’d been drinking ice water. “Tony…”

“I’m not proposing.” His smile went thin and a little flat. “We’ve spent as much time off in the last three or four years as on. I don’t think that’s a good place to start suggesting marriage from. But the thing is we keep getting back together, Grit. So maybe that says something.”

“Yeah.” She dropped her head again, more a nod this time. “I’ve been thinking that a lot the last few days, too. I’ve also been thinking we’re good together when things are good, and we fall apart whenever there’s a bump, personally or professionally. Doesn’t that say something, too?”

“Maybe it says we’re not trying very hard.” Tony fell silent as the waiter appeared, bringing a bowl of enormous proportions with a dozen different foodstuffs in it. He settled it into the middle of the table, murmured after their well-being and disappeared again, leaving them to their conversation. Margrit reached out to snag a strip of meat and crunchy onions, dangling them over her plate without eating.

“We can’t keep doing the whose-side-are-you-on thing if there’s any chance of making it succeed, Tony. I work for Legal Aid and I’m not planning on quitting, even if-” She broke off, unwilling to get into the discussion of Eliseo Daisani just then. “Even if you don’t like it. And that’s the one that sends us skittering in opposite directions most often. That and our schedules.”

“We both work too much,” Tony agreed-his translation of the last statement. “And I’m not sure either of us can do much about that. Maybe you could.”

Margrit’s smile thinned. “Let’s not turn this into the woman sacrificing her career for the sake of the relationship, Tony. We might as well walk away right now if that’s where you’re going with it.”

“No.” He hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe it was. It just seems more like a lawyer could work fewer hours than a cop, more predictably than a cop. Emergencies,” he added, with an explanatory spread of his hands.

“And what am I supposed to do with this reduced work schedule of mine? Sit at home waiting for my man to come back from the war? I don’t think so, Anthony. We make this work around the way we really are, or we don’t make it work at all.”

“You have no romance in you at all, Grit.” Tony pulled a wry smile into place and Margrit cut off a disbelieving snort.

“There’s nothing romantic about subsuming my personality and ambitions in favor of a man’s. What would you say if I said the only way to make this happen was for you to be home at six o’clock every day and to never put yourself in any danger?”

“I’d take a good hard look at business school,” Tony answered softly.

The words hit Margrit in the stomach with the force of a wrecking ball, obliterating any appetite she had. The meat and onions dropped to her plate and she wiped her fingers on a napkin, belly churning too much to even consider licking her fingers.

“Tony…”

He managed another faint smile. “Look, Margrit, my dad’s a cop, too. I know how hard it is to be an officer’s wife. My mom’s good at it, but you know, that’s a choice she makes every day of her life. I like my job and I’m good at it. Quitting wouldn’t be my preference, but if there’s got to be a line drawn somewhere-” He allowed himself a shrug “Then I’m willing to look around for ways to cross it.”

“You’re serious.” Margrit’s heart fluttered in her chest, beating too fast and bringing washes of color to her cheeks that café latte skin wasn’t dark enough to hide. “Jesus, Tony, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. That was the point of this conversation, Grit. I’m serious. Or I want to be serious, anyway. About you. Come on, Margrit,” he added after a few seconds, taking in her expression. “Is it that surprising? Is it that bad?”

“No!” She blurted the word, wiping her hand compulsively on her napkin again. “No, it’s just…I just wasn’t expecting it. We’ve been through this whole thing so many times I didn’t expect…” She trailed off again, then managed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t expect anything to change.” She lifted a palm to stop his words before he spoke. “I’m not putting any blame on either of us for not trying to change before now. It’s not that important anymore. Not if we’re trying to look forward.”

Tony nodded and she let out a breath, glad to be understood, though she fell silent for a few long minutes as they studied one another. “Look,” she finally said. “There’s got to be some middle ground here. Neither of us should have to give up our careers to make this work. If you can keep me updated on when you’ve got to work late, I can at least try to make my late nights the same as yours. That’d be a good place to start, right? And when you have emergencies, I won’t get pissed and stop calling.”

“And I’ll stop riding you about your job,” Tony agreed quietly. “It’s a place to start.” He looked at the table. “Are you hungry?”