Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [82]
She scuttled back into the kitchen and checked the oven and the stove top. Everything looked right.
"Dinner for three? And in the dining room?" Taylor stood leaning against the doorjamb leading into the kitchen and raised his eyebrows.
"Yes."
"Would you care to elaborate?"
"We'll be having chicken dijon, asparagus, and Asiago cheese bread, but we'll start with a salad and—"
"Hah."
She picked the stem stumps from the flowers off the kitchen counter, tossed them into the trash, and rinsed off her hands in the sink, her back to Taylor. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?" She sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.
"Who is coming to dinner, my dear?"
"Ann Banister." She looked up and smiled.
"The TV woman? What for?" Taylor's mouth sagged, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you kidding? I don't want her here."
"So it wasn't just stomach cramps that made you react to her like she'd snapped your favorite fishing pole in two."
Taylor jammed his hands into his 501s, wagged his head, and started to say something three times before giving up.
"She admires you. Your column might not have ever hit national syndication, but she tells me she used to read it—"
"—in The Oregonian."
Tricia nodded.
"And she's coming to dinner." Taylor paced. "I need a drink."
"You don't drink."
"I could start." Taylor held his breath. "She can't come here."
"Why, because she reminds you of someone?"
Taylor stopped pacing and stared at Tricia.
"Tell me who." She returned the glare.
Five books on the fireplace mantel leaning to the left suddenly grabbed Taylor's attention, and he strode over and straightened them up.
"You might as well get it over with. I already know who anyway. As if I couldn't figure it out with my own eyes."
"Fine! She reminds me of Annie, okay? She looks enough like her to be Annie's twin. I'm sure you noticed. Do you feel better now that you dragged it out of me?" His back was to Tricia.
"Yes, I do."
Turning toward her, he puffed out a disgusted breath and shook his head. "I really don't need her here, reminding me of Annie with that little hair flipping thing she does, talking like Annie, looking like Annie. We'll end up talking about Annie with this Banister woman—"
"What's wrong with talking about Annie?"
Taylor flopped down in his leather recliner. "I'm tired of talking about Annie. It seems like the only thing we talk about these days."
Tricia swiveled to face Taylor, hands on hips and—she hoped—lightning coming out of her eyes. "Knock it off. Annie's name has come up once, maybe twice in the past three weeks. Before that, never. Not since it happened."
Taylor folded his arms, snorted, and stared at the beige carpet. "Her dying was the most painful experience of my life. I would think you could—"
"She brightened a lot of people's lives in this town, not just yours. Why can't you share memories of this person with her friends who are still alive?"
The question hung in the room like a spotlight. She folded her arms and waited. Taylor blew out a long breath and locked eyes with her but said nothing. Finally he grabbed the remote and flicked on the television.
She'd never pressed him. Annie was the love of his life, and her death was tragic, but it was thirty-three years ago. After they'd first married, Tricia had tried to talk about Annie, but he always shut her down immediately. Once he'd hinted at why he wouldn't talk about it, something about "the power and horror of choice," but he'd refused to say more than that ever since.
When Taylor and she had started dating five years ago, Tricia only saw the charismatic charmer she'd known since they were children. The darker side didn't emerge till they'd been married half a year. Dark? No, that was the wrong word. Better described as a shadow that often hung over him; a cloud that appeared without warning,