He wondered whether she suspected the reason for his melancholy. Clearing his mind, he went on. "I was, but I'm over it now. I've already packed my bags."
"I hope you didn't take up any space with unnecessary items."
"Like what?"
"Like . . . I don't know . . . pajamas."
He laughed. "I don't own any pajamas."
"That's good. Because even if you did, you wouldn't need them."
* * *
Three days later, Garrett Blake arrived in Boston.
After picking him up from the airport, Theresa showed him around the city. They had lunch at Faneuil Hall, watched the skullers gliding on the Charles River, and took a quick tour of the Harvard campus. As usual, they held hands most of the day, reveling in each other's company.
More than once, Garrett found himself wondering why the last three weeks had been so difficult for him. He knew that part of his anxiety stemmed from the dream, but spending time with Theresa made the dream's troubling feelings seem distant and insubstantial. Every time Theresa laughed or squeezed his hand, she reaffirmed the feelings he'd had when she was last in Wilmington, banishing the dark thoughts that plagued him in her absence.
When the day began to cool and the sun dipped below the trees, Theresa and Garrett stopped for some Mexican food to bring back to her apartment. Sitting on her living room floor in the glow of candlelight, Garrett looked around the room.
"You have a nice place," he said, forking up some beans with a tortilla chip. "For some reason, I thought it would be smaller than it is. It's bigger than my house."
"Only by a little, but thanks. It works for us. It's real convenient to everything."
"Like restaurants?"
"Exactly. I wasn't kidding when I told you I didn't like to cook. I'm not exactly Martha Stewart."
"Who?"
"Never mind," she said.
Outside her apartment, the sound of traffic was clearly audible. A car screeched on the street below, a horn blared, and all at once the air was filled with noise as other cars joined in the chorus.
"Is it always this quiet?" he asked.
She nodded toward the windows. "Friday and Saturday nights are the worst-usually it's not so bad. But you get used to it if you live here long enough."
The sounds of city living continued. A siren blared in the distance, growing steadily louder as it approached.
"Would you like to put on some music?" Garrett asked.
"Sure. What kind do you like?"
"I like both kinds," he said, pausing dramatically. "Country and western."
She laughed. "I don't have anything like that here."
He shook his head, enjoying his own joke. "I was kidding, anyway. It's an old line. Not too funny, but I've been waiting for my chance to say it for years."
"You must have watched a lot of Hee-Haw as a kid."
Now it was his turn to laugh.
"Back to my original question-what kind of music do you like?" she persisted.
"Anything you have is fine."
"How about some jazz?"
"Sounds good."
Theresa got up and chose something she thought he might like and slipped it into the CD player. In a few moments the music started, just as the traffic congestion outside seemed to clear.
"So what do you think of Boston so far?" she asked, reclaiming her seat.
"I like it. For a big city, it's not too bad. It doesn't seem as impersonal as I thought it would be, and it's cleaner, too. I guess I pictured it differently. You know-crowds, asphalt, tall buildings, not a tree in sight, and muggers on every corner. But it's not like that at all."
She smiled. "It is nice, isn't it? I mean, it's not beachfront, but it has its own appeal. Especially if you consider what the city has to offer. You could go to the symphony, or to museums, or just stroll around in the Commons. There's something for everyone here-they even have a sailing club."
"I can see why you like it here," he said, wondering why it sounded as if she were selling the place.
"I do. And Kevin likes it, too."
He changed the subject: "You said he's at soccer camp?"
She nodded. "Yeah. He's trying out for an all-star team for twelve and under. I don't know if he'll make it, but he thinks he has a pretty good shot. Last year, he made the final cut as an eleven-year-old."
"It sounds like he's good."
"He is," she said with a nod. She pushed their now empty plates to the side and moved closer. "But enough about Kevin," she said softly. "We don't always have to talk about him. We can talk about other things, you know."
"Like what?"
She kissed his neck. "Like what I want to do with you now that I have you all to myself."
"Are you sure you just want to talk about it?"
"You're right," she whispered. "Who wants to talk at a time like this?"
* * *
The next day, Theresa again took Garrett on a tour of Boston, spending most of the morning in the Italian neighborhoods of the North End, wandering the narrow, twisting streets and stopping for the occasional cannoli and Coffee. Though Garrett knew she wrote columns for the paper, he didn't know exactly what else her job entailed. He asked her about it as they made their way leisurely through the city.
"Can't you write a column from your Home?"
"In time, I suppose I can. But right now, it's not possible."
"Why not?"
"Well, it's not in my contract, for starters. Besides, I have to do a lot more than sit at my computer and write. Often, I have to interview people, so there's time involved in that-sometimes even a little travel. Plus, there's all the research I have to do, especially when I write about medical or psychological issues, and when I'm in the office, I have access to a lot more sources. And then there's the fact that I need a place where I can be reached. A lot of the stuff I do is human interest, and I get calls from people all day long. If I worked out of my Home, I know a lot of people would call in the evenings when I'm spending time with Kevin, and I'm not willing to give up my time with him."
"Do you get calls at Home now?"
"Occasionally. But my number isn't listed, so not all that often."
"Do you get a lot of crazy calls?"
She nodded. "I think all columnists do. A lot of people call the paper with stories they want printed. I get calls about people who are locked up in prison who shouldn't be, I get calls about city services and how the garbage isn't being picked up on time. I get calls about street crime. It seems like I've gotten calls about everything."
"I thought you said you write about parenting."
"I do."
"Then why would they call you? Why don't they call someone else?"
She shrugged. "I'm sure they do, but it still doesn't stop them from calling me. A lot of people begin their calls with, 'No one else will listen to me and you're my last hope.' " She glanced at him before going on. "I guess they think I'll be able to do something about their problems."
"Why?"
"Well, columnists are different from other newspaper writers. Most things printed in the newspaper are impersonal-straightforward reporting, facts and figures, and the like. But if people read my column every day, I guess they think they know me. They begin to see me as a friend of sorts. And people look to their friends to help them out when they need it."
"It must put you in an awkward position sometimes."
She shrugged. "It does, but I try not to think about it. Besides, there are good parts about my job, too-giving information that people can use, keeping up with the latest medical data and spelling it out in laymen's terms, even sharing lighthearted stories just to make the day a little easier."
Garrett stopped at a sidewalk store selling fresh fruit. He picked out a couple of apples from the bin, then handed one to Theresa.
"What's the most popular thing you've ever written about in your column?" he asked.
Theresa felt her breath catch. The most popular? Easy-I found a message in a bottle once, and I got a couple of hundred letters.
She forced herself to think of something else. "Oh . . . I get a lot of letters when I write about teaching disabled children," she said finally.
"That must be rewarding," he said, paying the shopkeeper.
"It is."
Before taking a bite of his apple, Garrett asked: "Could you still write your column even if you changed papers?"
She considered the question. "It would be hard to do, especially if I want to continue to syndicate. Since I'm so new and still establishing my name, having the Boston Times behind me really helps. Why?"
"Just curious," he said quietly.
* * *
The next morning Theresa went into work for a few hours but was Home for the day a little after lunchtime. They spent the afternoon at the Boston Commons, where they ate a picnic lunch. Their lunch was interrupted twice by people who recognized her from her picture in the paper, and Garrett realized that Theresa was actually more well-known than he had thought.
"I didn't know you were such a celebrity," he said wryly after the second person walked away.
"I'm not really a celebrity. It's just that my picture appears above my column, so people know what I look like."
"Does this sort of thing happen a lot?"
"Not really. Maybe a few times a week."
"That's a lot," he said, surprised.
She shook her head. "Not when you consider real celebrities. They can't even go to the store without someone taking their picture. I pretty much lead a normal life."
"But it still must be odd to have total strangers coming up to you."
"Actually, it's kind of flattering. Most people are very nice about it."
"Either way, I'm glad I didn't know you were so famous right off the bat."
"Why?"
"I might have been too intimidated to ask you to go sailing."
She reached over and took his hand. "I can't imagine you being intimidated about anything."
"Then you don't know me very well."
She was quiet for a moment. "Would you really have been intimidated?" she asked sheepishly.
"Probably."
"Why?"
"I guess I'd wonder what someone like you could possibly see in me."
She leaned over to kiss him. "I'll tell you what I see. I see the man that I love, the man who makes me happy . . . someone I want to continue to see for a long time."
"How come you always know just what to say?"
"Because," she said quietly, "I know more about you than you would ever suspect."
"Such as?"
A lazy smile played over her lips. "For instance, I know you want me to kiss you again."
"I do?"
"Absolutely."
And she was right.
* * *
Later that evening Garrett said, "You know, Theresa, I can't find a single thing wrong with you."
They were in the tub together, surrounded by mountains of bubbles, Theresa leaning against his chest. He used a sponge to wash her skin as he spoke.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked curiously, turning her head to look at him.
"Just what I said. I can't find a single thing wrong with you. I mean, you're perfect."
"I'm not perfect, Garrett," she said, pleased nonetheless.
"But you are. You're beautiful, you're kind, you make me laugh, you're intelligent, and you're a great mother as well. Toss in the fact that you're famous, and I don't think there's anyone who can measure up to you."
She caressed his arm, relaxing against him. "I think you see me through rose-colored glasses. But I like it. . . ."
"Are you saying I'm biased?"
"No-but you've only seen my good side so far."
"I didn't know you had another side to you," he said, squeezing both of her arms simultaneously. "Both sides feel pretty good right now."
She laughed. "You know what I mean. You haven't seen my dark side yet."
"You don't have a dark side."
"Sure I do. Everyone does. It's just that when you're around, it likes to keep itself hidden."
"So, how would you describe your dark side?"
She thought for a moment. "Well, for starters, I'm stubborn, and I can get mean when I'm angry. I tend to lash out and say the first thing that pops in my head, and believe me, it's not pretty. I also have a tendency to tell others exactly what I'm thinking, even when I know it would be best just to walk away."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"You haven't been on the receiving end yet."
"It still doesn't sound so bad."
"Well . . . let me put it this way. When I first confronted David about the affair, I called him some of the worst names in the English language."
"He deserved it."
"But I'm not sure he deserved to have a vase thrown at him."
"Did you do that?"
She nodded. "You should have seen the look on his face. He'd never seen me like that before."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing-I think he was too shocked to do anything. Especially when I started in with the plates. I cleaned out most of the cupboard that night."
He grinned in admiration. "I didn't know you were so feisty."
"It's my midwest upbringing. Don't mess with me, buster."
"I won't."
"That's good. I'm much more accurate these days."
"I'll remember that."
They sank deeper into the warm water. Garrett continued to move the sponge over her body.
"I still think you're perfect," he said softly.
She closed her eyes. "Even with my dark side?" she asked.
