CHAPTER ELEVEN
MILLY
Usually, Milly followed a strict schedule of housework, parceling out the chores throughout the week just as her housekeeping guides had taught her—kitchen and floors on Monday, laundry and windows on Tuesday, bathrooms and bedrooms on Wednesday, and so on—but without a regular schedule, not sure when Lloyd would come home, she left everything until today, Friday. She worked hard and fast, and by six o’clock she had a ham baking in the oven, green beans almondine, and boiled potatoes on the stovetop, and she even whipped up some ambrosia salad using up the extra pineapple.
When the phone rang, she was relieved to take a break from dusting.
“Hello, Kincaid residence,” she said breathlessly, hoping to God it wouldn’t be Lloyd’s voice at the end of the line telling her he’d changed his mind about coming home for the weekend. They hadn’t spoken since he left on Monday morning, and she hoped he was missing the children desperately and had a chance to think about what a mistake he was making.
“Mrs. Kincaid?” a female voice asked.
“Speaking.”
“Hi, my name is Rosie, and I’m calling about the advertisement for acottage rental for next week, Bal Week, and I was wondering if it was still available.”
“Yes,” Milly said, thrilled by the last-minute call. She’d assumed, after posting it so late, that she had missed her opportunity. “It’s still available. Definitely.”
“Wonderful. And how many people can it accommodate?”
“There are two twin beds and a mattress. I suppose a fourth person could sleep on the couch, but I don’t know how comfortable that would be.”
“Is there a refrigerator?” the girl asked.
“Unfortunately, not in the cottage, but you’re more than welcome to keep your perishable food items in the refrigerator in the main house,” Milly said, and there was a pause, some whispering in the background. Maybe this was a deal-breaker. “There’s an icebox, if that would help; I can have a slab delivered before you arrive,” Milly added. “Not ideal, but something.”
“Oh, that would be just perfect,” Rosie said, perky again. “I know it’s last-minute, so too late to send you the deposit by mail. Can it be paid upon arrival?”
“Of course,” Milly said. She’d almost forgotten about the money, she’d been so focused on ensuring that the cottage was occupied. “You probably won’t have time to see the place first, but I assure you it’s very quaint, and I’ll have clean sheets and towels, and anything else you need.”
The young woman giggled. “Oh, I’m sure it will be just fine.”
“It’s really quite lovely,” Milly went on. “I have to say, sometimes I prefer spending time in the cottage than in my own house. It’s just got a nice cozy feeling about it; it’s bright and airy too, gets a lot of light through the windows.”
“Great,” the young lady said again as if she didn’t really care and was just happy to have arranged accommodations for Bal Week. Milly gave her the address and told her she looked forward to meeting her and her friends, then she hung up feeling satisfied and slightly accomplished. At least for now Lloyd couldn’t sleep in the guest cottage.
Later, Milly stood and watched from the kitchen as the childrenclimbed all over Lloyd the minute he walked in the door. Milly, who cooked all the meals; Milly, who packed all the lunches; Milly who untangled Debbie’s hair and braided it again; Milly, who soothed Jack when he fell and scraped his elbow—Milly got none of the thanks. But Lloyd was home as he said he would be, she reminded herself, and she’d be grateful for that.
After dinner while Milly washed the dishes, Lloyd played with the children and even put them to bed. Maybe he was feeling sheepish, guilty for all that he’d said the weekend prior. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Had he realized what a fool he’d be to walk out on this family?
She unbuttoned another button on the front of her collared lavender dress and sat on the love seat waiting for him to return to the living room. She would let him have his say, apologize for speaking so recklessly about the life they’d built together, let him tell her he’d had a long week, the stress of the move and work, then she’d place her hand on his knee and tell him it was all right, no need to say more. It was forgotten, in the past. And then they’d move on, watch some television, have a drink. He’d turn off the set and take her hand, walk her upstairs. It had been a while, yes, but they’d start anew. He’d undress her, he’d kiss her neck, and she’d run her hands through his hair, and then she’d give him the best damn sex of their marriage, to remind him of what he’d been missing, of what was waiting for him here at home, right after dinner.
After a while she got up and refreshed her lipstick. She poured them both a gin and tonic in a highball and added a slice of lemon. She went back to the living room and waited to hear footsteps from the children’s room to the landing, or to their bedroom, to the stairs. Nothing.
Ten minutes later she went upstairs. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep in the children’s room again. But no, she found him sitting on their bed in his cotton striped pajamas and robe, reading a script.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you were coming back down.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted me to.”
Milly swallowed. This was awful, as if they were strangers, formalities all around.
“I thought we might watch some television.I Love Lucy’s about to start.”
“All right then,” he said, forcing a smile and nodding. “I’ll be right there.”
Suddenly the two-seater felt too small, like dollhouse furniture. She’d fought for that sofa, loving its compact modern style with the metal tube legs and the beige wool cushions. Lloyd had told her she was crazy to get such a fabric, it would be ruined with the kids’ sticky hands and crayons. He’d suggested a brown tweed in a long L-shaped style, large enough for the whole family, but Milly had insisted. She’d seen these sleek, romantic styles in her magazines that said they were originally designed for courting couples in the Victorian era who wanted to be close while chaperoned. Now it seemed ridiculous. How could two people sit comfortably here and not touch, not nestle into one another. A love seat, by its very name, simply wasn’t suited to a husband and wife with one party wanting out.
Lloyd turned on the television and took his place next to her.
