Jennifer Greene - Silver and Spice

“I’ve been interested in coffee for ages,” Jake admitted. “Did you know that in Tokyo, they have health spas where the people put on paper bikinis and get buried to the neck in dry-ground coffee? It’s supposed to be therapeutic.”

“There’s a lot of rumbling these days about how dangerous coffee can be,” Anne commented.

“Exactly. And being a morning coffee-aholic myself, I got intrigued. Almost to the point of journeying to Colombia…or maybe Indonesia. The industry’s worked hard at options-taking out the caffeine, taking out the acid-but a lot of people still insist that coffee is a health hazard. Obviously, the thing to do is go to the coffee plant itself, and all kinds of experiments are being tried. People want their morning coffee, but there’s money to be made out there if someone could guarantee that the potential dangers were taken out of it.”

Anne shivered suddenly, as if an ice cube had just been run up her spine. Jake served her soup and then pulled his steak from the broiler with pot holders. They settled next to each other at the counter and started eating like starving fools. Her strange sensation of being chilled disappeared as they chattered, more nonsense than sense, although by the time she began to wash their few dishes, Jake was rambling on about another interest of his.

The Silicon Valley in California…computer chips…multibillion-dollar worldwide semiconductor market…the valley’s need to keep the competitive lead in the endless trade war with Japan…

Anne curled up in the fold of Jake’s arm on the couch, sharing one last glass of warm cider before sleep. Listening, she could have lazily shaken Jake for all the years when he had never offered one word as to his own interests, beyond a brusque, lazy statement of where he’d been and what adventures he’d been up to. She loved hearing the sound of his voice, and she loved discovering new depths to the man. Jake put months of study into anything he was even minimally interested in, simply for the joy and challenge of it. Anne felt sleepy and loved and enfolded in the cloak of sharing…

But the chills kept coming, from the very depth of her heart, from the most vulnerable corner of her being. She asked questions and smiled and curled closer…and all of that was real. Just as real as the wrenching cold inside her that kept growing.

“Bed,” Jake announced finally, and stretched as he got off the couch, reaching out a hand for her.

She took it. His fingers securely held hers, familiar and warm. In the bedroom, they slipped out of their clothes, and moments later were curled together spoon-fashion. Jake was half asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, but Anne’s eyes flickered open.

She had to ask, her voice lazy and sleepy and studiedly casual. “So you’re losing interest in silver, Jake? You think you’ll move on to coffee soon? Or to the Silicon Valley?”

Jake’s voice, like Anne’s, sounded sleepy. “I can’t imagine ever completely losing interest in silver. But as…far as what comes next…” He leaned over in the darkness to kiss her forehead. “I don’t know, Anne. There are still a thousand things to do out there. Does it really matter?”

“No, of course not.” She closed her eyes, snuggling against him, feigning sleep until she heard his even breathing. There was no other answer she could have given him. She’d made a very real commitment of love. And just as she knew Jake would try to move mountains to make her happy, she also knew his soul would never be content in one place for long-but she’d known that when she made the commitment.

Still, her no seemed to echo in the darkness, like the whispered cry of a child from a long time ago.

Dreams haunted Anne’s sleep. First, of packing her dolls in a suitcase. “You’ll like him, Anne,” said her mother. “Really you will.” She had; but her stepfather hadn’t liked her. Locked in a closet for an offense she could no longer remember, she felt suffocated by the yawning darkness; her lungs were desperate for breath despite her low keening whispers. Her terror was too great to cry out. The door opened to light that hurt her eyes. “Oh, my God,” her mother said.

Packing again. Boarding school. The ache of loneliness that never left, hugging books to her chest for comfort…then packing again. Another wedding, the smell of champagne floating like a wisp in the dream, then the sip she’d sneaked. Another strange house, and another and another; they all rushed past her in the dream. Packing again, packing again. “You’ll like it here, Anne. Really you will.”

A puppy was wrenched from her arms, and suddenly she was older, with budding breasts encased in a stiff white blouse and wearing a Black Watch plaid skirt that was too long. Her grandmother was standing in front of her, stiff and proud and proper; no one cried in front of Jennie; no one would dare. “I want to stay with you,” Anne said quietly. “Please don’t send me away. Please…” She didn’t cry. A maid took away the worn blue suitcases. Anne never saw them again.

A foggy cloud surrounded the image of a tiny boy in the dream. Jake’s child, with big, vulnerable gray eyes and a crooked smile and shaggy, blondish hair. “You’ll like the new place,” Anne told him. “Really you will.” And she got out a big blue suitcase and looked around for Jake in the dream. Only Jake wasn’t there, and suddenly Anne was crying…

Her lashes fluttered open. The bed was empty beside her. Sunlight shone gently on the king-sized bed and thick white carpet, all with a soft, coral cast from the stained-glass window. Disoriented, Anne closed her eyes for a moment. There was a lump in her throat; she couldn’t seem to swallow properly.

“You’re finally awake, sleepyhead?” Jake’s head appeared at the door with his most mischievous grin. She couldn’t seem to look at him and stared blankly at the tray in his hands instead. “Peppermint tea,” he announced. “Toast. One omelet, à la Rivard. What’s wrong, love?” A sharp gaze pierced the hollows under her eyes.

“Nothing.” She tried to smile. “I just didn’t sleep very well.”

“Breakfast will perk you up.”

“It looks delicious.” She pushed the pillow behind her, still somehow unable to look at him. “You’re a master at spoiling me, Jake,” she scolded, and hoped her voice had just the right amount of teasing. The normal amount.

“You need spoiling,” he answered, but there was something in his voice that time that wasn’t normal. The grave, harsh note made her eyes flicker up to his…and quickly away.

She tried to do justice to his breakfast-really tried. Perhaps if Jake had tried to make conversation…but Jake suddenly didn’t seem interested in small talk. She felt like a moth pinned on a slide under a microscope. He was watching her. She could feel his eyes-inside, outside, all over.

He took the tray when she rose to get dressed. Not even thinking, she found herself taking up old modes of dress, a camel skirt and long-sleeved navy silk blouse, austerely tailored. She made up her face and wound her hair in a sleek, efficient coil. The old perfection faced her briefly in the bathroom mirror; she didn’t look at it long. Her heart was ripping itself into shreds.

Going back into the bedroom, she found Jake walking toward the closet. He glanced at her appearance, his face oddly expressionless, strangely without color. He pulled an old denim jacket from a hanger and put it on.

“Jake-”

The words were clipped. “I don’t want to hear.”

She swallowed, sick inside. “It’s not that I…” she started, then stopped. He’d crossed to the dresser, and was shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. “ Jake. I just want a little time to think. I…”