Daddy

“I … no … actually, I'm not sure. Phyllis went out shopping at noon, by herself, and she hasn't come home yet. And with this weather … well, I was concerned, and she hasn't called. It's just not like her.” She was sixty-nine years old, and strong, but lately they had all found her a little distracted. She had had pneumonia a few months before, and afterward she hadn't seemed quite herself, and Sarah knew that George worried endlessly about her. At seventy-two, he seemed somehow more alert than his wife, yet at the same time much frailer. He was still handsome, like his son, tall and straight with gentle eyes and a lovely smile, and yet there were times when he seemed older than he was, and Oliver worried about him.

“I'm sure she's just forgotten the time. You know how women are when they go shopping.” Sarah wanted to reassure him. It wasn't good for his heart to fret about every little thing, and undoubtedly Phyllis would walk in at any moment.

“I was wondering if I ought to go looking for her. I thought maybe Oliver …”Lately, he was relying on Ollie more, which wasn't like him either.

“I'll have him call the minute he comes home.” And that would mean the end of their dinner out, unless she came back before. But on the other hand, maybe it was just as well. Suddenly, Sarah didn't want to be alone with her husband.

But George called again before Oliver got home. Phyllis was home safe and sound. She'd had trouble getting a cab, and didn't have the change to call. He didn't tell Sarah that she looked disheveled to him somehow, and the cabdriver had told him she'd had trouble remembering her address, and when George questioned her, he realized with shock that she no longer knew their phone number, and that was why she hadn't called him. “I'm sorry I troubled you, my dear.”

“Don't be silly, George. You can call us anytime. You know that.”

“Thank you.” At the other end, he cast a worried glance at his wife, humming to herself as she wandered aimlessly around the kitchen. Lately, he had been cooking for her, but they both pretended that it was because he liked having something to do, and he liked to say that he was a better cook than she was. “Give Oliver my love when he comes home, and if he has time, please ask him to call me.”

“I will,” she promised, and promptly forgot when Oliver got home a few minutes later. He was hurrying to shower and dress and insisted that he wanted to take her out to dinner. “But Sam will be all alone tonight.” She wanted desperately to stay home, not to face him alone across a table. There was nothing she could say to him. Not yet. And it was easier to hide here in their own home. To hide behind the children and the television set. To hide behind anything. Anything was better than having to face him.

“Is Agnes going out?” Ollie questioned her as he shaved, watching the news at the same time, barely glancing at her, but pleased at the prospect of their evening together. He had a surprise for her. He had just gotten a big promotion and a raise. The top of the ladder, at his firm, was in clear sight now. At forty-four, Oliver Watson was the stuff that business legends were made of. He had it all, he knew, and he was grateful for that, a job he loved, a wife he adored, and three kids he was crazy about. What more was there in life? Absolutely nothing he could think of.

“No, Agnes'U be here, but I thought …”

“Don't. Get dressed.” He gently patted her behind as she walked past him, and then stopped her and put his arms around her as he turned off his razor. “I love you, do you know that?” She did. Only too well. And she loved him, too, which made everything she wanted to do now that much harder.

“I love you too.” Her eyes were sad and he pulled her closer.

“You sure don't look happy about it. Tough day today?”

“Not really.” There was no tough anymore. The kids were busy and almost gone, Agnes took care of the house, she had been slowing down her committee work for the past two years, to give herself time to write, which she never did anyway. What could be tough in the perfect life? Nothing, except constant emptiness and total boredom. “Just tired, I guess. Oh … I almost forgot. Your father called. He wants you to call him.”

“Everything okay?” He worried about his parents a lot. They were getting old, and his father seemed so frail ever since his heart attack. “Is he feeling all right?”

“He sounded fine. Once your mother got back. He called because she went shopping this afternoon and she was late coming back. I think he was worried about her in this weather.”

“He worries too much about everything. That's why he had that heart attack. She can take care of herself, I keep telling him that. He keeps insisting that she gets confused, but I think she's a lot less confused than he thinks. I'll call him when we get home, if it's not too late. Come on,” he urged her on with a smile, “hurry up. Our reservation's at seven.”