The Ranch

“Tanya Thomas is in town, we just had dinner. It was great to see her.” She felt like a drunk in church, as she grinned at him, and seemed to have suddenly forgotten the solemnity of the last year, the silence that had sprung up like a wall between them. She felt suddenly too loud, too jovial, and surprisingly awkward with her husband. “I'm sorry to come home so late… I left you a note…” She faltered, feeling herself shrink as she looked at him. His eyes were so cold, his face so expressionless. The handsome, chiseled features that she had loved for so long had turned to stone in the past year, along with everything else about him. He had taken so much distance from her that she couldn't even see him anymore, much less find him. All she could hear was an echo of what had been.

“I didn't see the note.” It was a statement more than an accusation. And as she looked at him, she often found herself wishing he weren't still so handsome. He was fifty-four years old, and he was well over six feet tall, with an athletic physique, and a long lean body. He had piercing blue eyes, which had looked like ice for a year now.

“I'm sorry, Bill,” she said quietly. She felt as though she had spent a lifetime apologizing to him for something she should never have been blamed for. But she knew he would never forgive her. “I left the note in the kitchen.”

“I ate at the office.”

“How's it going?” she asked, as he put the rest of his papers in his briefcase.

“Very well, thanks,” he said, as though talking to a secretary or a stranger. “We're almost ready. It's going to be a very interesting trial,” he said, and then turned off the light in the den, as though to dismiss her. He was carrying his briefcase to their bedroom. It was something he would never have done a year before, and it was a small thing, but it no longer mattered. “I think we're actually going to leave for London a little early.” He had said nothing to her until now. He had just made his plans, and that was it, as though he no longer had to consult her. She wanted to know what “early” meant in this case, but she didn't dare ask him. It would probably just annoy him.

If he was leaving early, maybe she would too, although she still didn't have the final details. They had reservations in hotels in Paris, St.-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, San Remo, Florence, and Rome, and they were going to be staying at Claridge's with Bill in London. It was going to be a terrific trip, and after their months apart, Mary Stuart was really looking forward to traveling with her daughter. She had just turned twenty in April. Her birthday was a week before her brother's. And both days had been important to Mary Stuart,

And as Bill put down his briefcase and headed for their bathroom to put his pajamas on, Mary Stuart remembered Tanya's invitation, and she told him about it. “I think it's a cocktail party or something. It's being given by Felicia Davenport. Apparently, she's a friend of Tanya's.” And at the look on his face, she felt like a fourteen-year-old asking her father to go to the senior prom. He looked appalled that she had even dared to ask him. “I think you might enjoy it. Her new play has gotten rave reviews, and Tanya says she's a nice woman.”

“I'm sure that's true, but I have to work late again tomorrow night. This is an enormous case we're preparing, Mary Stuart. I thought you understood that.” It was a reproach even more than a refusal, and his tone suddenly annoyed her.

“I do, but you have to admit, it's an unusual invitation. I think we should go.” She wanted to do it. She was tired of sitting home and grieving. Seeing Tanya had reminded her there was a whole world out there—even with her own problems, and worries about Tony, her lawsuits, and the tabloids, she wasn't sitting at home, crying in the corner. It had reminded Mary Stuart that there were other options.

“It's out of the question for me,” he said firmly, “but you're welcome to go if you want to.” He closed the door to the bathroom and when he came out, his wife was waiting for him with a purposeful look.

“I will,” she said, with a stubborn look in her eyes, as though she expected him to fight her.

“Will what?” He looked completely confused by what she was saying. And if he didn't know her better, he would have thought she'd been drinking. She was behaving very strangely. “What are you talking about?” he said, looking annoyed, and unaware of the fact that she seemed more relaxed than usual and actually looked very pretty.

“I will go to the party,” she said, looking determined.