Sylvia laughed, feeling her cheeks prickle with heat and her heart race a little. She was used to having the attention of the men and boys in her small town, often unwanted, but never from a man as handsome, charming, and distinguished looking as this.
“So, tomorrow night then?” he asked. “After your big win, may I take you out to celebrate?”
“You’re quite sure about this, aren’t you?” Sylvia said.
“Never more sure of anything in my life.”
Sylvia took a nibble of her frozen treat so as not to let him see hersmiling, then she held his gaze, making him wait a moment more, even though she knew she would say yes.
“And I promise you,” he said, “I won’t take you to some burger and fries joint where these college boys like to go. I’ll take you on a real date, for a real lady.”
Comparing himself to the college boys, as if it were some kind of competition, somehow made him even more endearing.
“If I win,” she said, “then you can take me to dinner.”
“Ifyou win?” he asked.
“If I win.”
“Oh, you’ll win.”
“Well,” she said, “let’s hope you’re right.”
“I am,” Walter said, bowing his head to her and starting to turn away.
“But wait,” Sylvia said, despite her best effort not to sound desperate. “You don’t even know where I’m staying.”
“I don’t need to; I’ll see you at the contest.”
“You’ll be there?” she asked, a little shy now, since he was going to see her strutting her stuff down the boardwalk. What if she didn’t win? What if she came in last? What if he changed his mind?
“I don’t think you leave me any choice,” he said. “How could I possibly miss it now?”
“Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Walter Johnson.” As she had returned to the beach, she knew he was watching her, and she had to do everything in her power not to run back to Karen, still sunning herself, and tell her that she’d just met the man she would marry.
There was a rap at Walter’s office door. “Just me again,” Glenda said, peeking in and jolting Sylvia out of her memories. Sylvia shoved a drawer closed. “I brought you a pastry anyway because they’re fresh out of theoven.” Glenda placed an apple turnover in front of Sylvia, but the sweet smell of it turned her stomach.
It had been days now since Walter’s mood had soured. His behavior had become more and more erratic, with him snapping at her when she tried to help, or avoiding her completely. And he still hadn’t offered her any explanation about the injury to his finger. He’d simply come home the evening after his outburst with it all bandaged up, and he hadn’t mentioned it again since. It was the first time in their sixteen years of marriage that she began to question their relationship, and she was desperate to know what was at the root of it all.
“You know I think he has a meeting elsewhere,” Glenda said, looking through a steno pad. “Though I don’t know with whom.” A phone began to ring in the reception area out front, and she hesitated “I’d better…”
“All right,” Sylvia said, standing. “I’ll see him later then.”
Glenda hurried off.
Sylvia looked around one last time and noticed a slim drawer under his desk with a lock, but when she pulled it, it slid right open. There was a pen, a cigar, and a glass bottle of pills lying on its side. Printed on the label was Walter’s name, a doctor’s name she’d never heard of, and in bold letters:HEXAMETHONIUM. TAKE ONE PILL A DAY.She opened the bottle and smelled the pills, as if that might give her some insight into what they might cure. She looked around for an accompanying note, but there was none. My God, was he sick? She knew she shouldn’t take them with her—he’d know she’d been looking through his things, and he might need them—but she needed to know what was going on with him once and for all. She put them in her bag and left.
Marrying and having a child with a man who was fifteen years her senior meant that she had considered his death before, but in her mind she had only pictured losing him when he was old, and she’d imagined being an old woman herself, sixty perhaps, and having to go on and live another fifteen or so years without him. Never before had she considered the possibility of losing the love of her life now, when he was only in hislate forties. He was still relatively young by many measures, and the very thought of him being ill and not feeling that he could confide in her about it gave her a chill. It must be serious; that was the only reason he would be acting like this and keeping it a secret. He wouldn’t want Judith and Sylvia to worry. Oh God, maybe the illness had caused him to fall and injure himself and that’s why he hadn’t wanted to tell her. A sudden dread set in.
Back home, a car was parked outside her house, so she let herself in quietly. The door to Walter’s study was closed, but she could hear mumbling voices inside. She tiptoed closer and put her ear to the door.
“Well, I’m sorry, Walt. I really am.” It was a man’s voice, and it amplified a little as if he’d paced over to the door. “But it’s not getting any better; it’s only going to get worse with time. One of them has got to go, and fast. I’ll check back in a few days.” The door opened abruptly and Sylvia stood upright, stepping back so fast she almost lost her balance.
“Oh,” was all she could manage. It was Hank Harris, Walter’s accountant.
“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson,” he said, looking sheepish and brushing past her as he let himself out.
She felt foolish for getting caught listening in on a private conversation, but she tried not to let it show. Her mind raced with the thought of wills and trusts and planning for an uncertain future, and she hated the fact that he was discussing such things without even letting her in on the truth.
