It was late, and all I wanted was to get home, have a stiff drink, and get some sleep. The sound system of my car switched from Southern Rock to the ringtone of my phone.
I hit the answer button. “This is Hopper,” I announced.
“Ah, Devin, glad to have caught you. Are you in town?” It was McGrady, the lawyer for the estate.
“Yeah, I just got back this afternoon. What can I help you with?”
“Could you possibly come into the office for a brief meeting?”
I groaned. I didn’t need to attend another meeting that could be handled with a memo. “If it’s brief, is this something we could handle over the phone?”
“Mr. Hopper, this is Ms. Banning from the insurance company. We had some concerns regarding the missing artwork and other items. I was hoping this was something we could discuss in person.”
I rerouted my car and headed to the lawyer’s office.
“Can we make this fast?” I asked after introductions were made.
Ms. Banning, no first name, started at the top of her list. The rug in the hallway was completely destroyed and thrown away. It had been a recreation and was only worth its replacement value. She nodded and took notes. Three vases had been broken. One had been a valuable antique.
“Do you have any tangible evidence of the destruction of the vase that was claimed?” she asked.
“Ms. Banning,” I said as I leaned on the table. Tired of sitting after a long day. “I understand that recovering the artwork is top priority, but the vase was shattered.”
“Even the shards would be worth something. Are you telling me that the owner swept everything up and just threw it away?” The expression on her face made it clear she thought that it would be obvious to save the broken pottery.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and then ran my hand through my hair. “Yes, I am. She probably didn’t know not to. Who would have been there to tell her how to clean up?”
“It was a valuable Qing-dynasty piece,” Ms. Banning replied.
“It was broken pottery on the floor.” How many objects of art were lost in time simply because the person handling them had no idea of their worth? Surely Harleigh was aware of the valuables in her father’s house? I wasn’t even aware that the pieces from the shattered vase would have been useful for the insurance claim. How could they expect Harleigh or her clean-up crew to know?
Everything that Tina had broken in her rage had been cleaned up, replaced, restored. Having pieces of broken mirrors and furniture laying around had been hazardous at best.
“Someone from the estate should have alerted her to the value of her inheritance, an inventory even,” Ms. Banning continued.
I scoffed. Nothing beyond the scramble to have Harleigh and I married before the end of the quarter had been handled with efficiency when it came to the execution of the old man’s will.
“We are moving forward with our investigators to recover the Picasso since it has been valued at over a quarter of a million dollars. Our first lead is that the widow took it.”
By the time I left, the insurance adjuster had agreed to pay replacement value on almost everything. I had to negotiate regarding the Qing-dynasty vase. In the end, she agreed to fifty percent since photographs of the damages had been submitted.
Their investigators thought they had a lead on the whereabouts of Tina. It was more information than what I had, or even cared about.
By the time I got home, I didn’t want to speak to anyone. I cut through the kitchen, folded a piece of bread around some cheese in a makeshift sandwich, and headed to my room. The smell of fresh paint accosted me. I was tempted to storm down to Harleigh’s room and demand she stop remaking the bathroom.
This time she got it right. Not that her previous color combinations weren’t perfectly acceptable. I quite liked the sky blue color of the walls, and how she carried it onto the ceiling. She painted a few whimsical clouds on the ceiling as well. That fit since the blue was the color of a perfect spring day. Thick golden towels were rolled and placed in storage baskets, with a set hanging from a towel rod.
I walked down the hall. Her door was ajar, and through the crack, I could see her. She was curled up in a nest of blankets, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. She looked settled and peaceful.
I tapped on her door with my knuckle.
When her eyes met mine, I realized they were the perfect blue that she had painted my bathroom.
“You redid my bathroom again,” I said as I leaned against the doorjamb.
“I told you I would,” she said with a soft smile.
I felt an unexpected tightening in my groin. She was an attractive woman, and I had stayed true to my word. I hadn’t gone out on a date or had an affair with anyone since we had gotten married.
“You know you don’t have to keep doing that,” I said ignoring my physical predicament. It would fade in a few moments.
“I know. But I want you to have a space you can be comfortable in. Even if it’s only for a few months.”
She wanted me to be comfortable in my bathroom? I never should have said anything when not quite six months earlier I had complained that the ensuite looked like an outdated hotel bathroom with its old white towels and white walls. I had thought I would get new towels, not a different color on the walls every few weeks.
“I’m here to let you know you have found a color combination I like. It’s like a sunny morning in there.”
“You like it?” And she smiled so brightly she practically lit up the room. She was like a sunny morning.
I needed to get my libido in check.
“I don’t think you’ve ever liked anything I’ve done for you,” she teased.
“I like plenty of what you do.” Right then I was quite enjoying the way her body jiggled as she bounced around on her bed changing her position, dropping the blanket from around her, and giving me a delightful exposure of cleavage.
“You’ve never once said you like it when I bake your favorite cookies, even after I managed to figure out which ones you liked best.”
I shook my head. “I always thought Hannah made the cookies around here.”
“I bake too, ya know. I had to learn to cook and feed myself.”
“Well, Harleigh, I do like it when you make cookies. See there, I like things you do.”
“Then, you will like that I managed to get you a tie and pocket square to match my dress for the event at the museum tomorrow night.”
“Oh, that’s great. Do you have them?” I asked.
“Everything is getting delivered in the morning,” she said.
“That’s fantastic. I do hope I will like it. I’ll see you in the morning.” I eased away from the doorjamb, suddenly reluctant to leave. I was bone-weary but for some reason, I wanted to be near Harleigh. The thought of climbing into her bed just to sit next to her and read while she did the same seemed insanely appealing. It was the kind of thing normal married people did. But we were far from a normal marriage.
“Good night, Devin.” Her sweet words sent me away to my lonely bedroom at the end of the hall.
I was up and out of the house long before Harleigh would have woken up for breakfast. I barely slept, and when I did sleep, my dreams were highly sexual encounters with Harleigh that left me frustrated and physically uncomfortable. Could they be considered inappropriate sexual dreams if the woman was technically my wife?
My problem was that I could remember entirely too well how she felt and moved under my touch. No amount of time seemed to diminish the memories of our single night together. A night that I should not have allowed to happen. But it had, and our marriage was consummated in glorious flesh and orgasms. I thought I had managed to successfully shove those memories aside. Unfortunately, they were coming back, reminding my body with more and more frequency how much I had enjoyed that night.
I hit the gym and pounded out my frustration on the treadmill. The gym showers were notoriously cold, another benefit for running until the sweat poured down. By the time I strode into the office my body had all desire for Harleigh beaten and frozen out of it.
When I got home, I knocked on her door. “Are you ready, yet?”
She cracked her door open and poked her towel-wrapped head out. I forgot how to articulate for a moment. She clutched her robe around her as it tried to fall off, exposing water droplets on her bare shoulder, and the top of her full breasts.
“You should have called ahead. You didn’t tell me what time to be ready, so I had to guess. I’m getting dressed now. Your tie is on your bed.”
I had the sudden urge to lean in and touch her, but she looked almost panicked. “You have plenty of time. I’m going to take a quick shower. Be ready in an hour.”
“Okay,” she said as she closed her door.
When I saw her an hour later, I needed to kick myself. I had the most beautiful wife, and we were two idiots who couldn’t figure out how to come together. On paper, we were an ideal couple. I had business smarts, she had beauty and riches. On paper, she was mine. The reality was the farthest thing from that. She wasn’t mine, maybe I was the only idiot in the room.
“You look incredible,” I said.
“Thank you. You look pretty spiffy yourself.” She danced side to side letting the skirt of her dress swish around her legs. The dark purple fabric set the light blue of her eyes aglow.
