Free Belonging by Nancy Thayer Page B

not like change in his routine.
    “How are you?” she asked.
    He pulled out in front of a cab before replying. The taxi driver leaned on his horn. Shadows and lights flickered over Carter’s face from oncoming cars. “Tired. And guilty. I promised Chip I’d come to this game.”
    She hated it when she had to cajole Carter away from his family, but after she fastened her seat belt, she turned sideways and smoothed the back of her lover’s neck. “Sweetie. You do so much for him. You’ve been home every weekend for months now. You attended all his football games and most of his basketball games. I’m sure he understands.”
    “I doubt it. As I doubt that you understand how I feel, since you’ve never had children.”
    This was like being struck and Joanna flinched but remained silent. She could tell by Carter’s tone of voice that he wasn’t trying to be cruel; he was only expressing his thoughts in a way that was almost absentminded, for he was also negotiating his way into the heavy traffic that would take them north to Connecticut.
    “Did you get a chance to view the New Orleans segment?” she asked. Talking about work usually put Carter in a good mood, or at least into a neutral one, and it did now. As she watched, his facial muscles relaxed and she could almost feel the tensionrise from his shoulders like a fog.
    “Yeah. The bit about security measures combining esthetics—the wrought-iron railings, the walled garden—that was good.”
    “I thought you’d like that. In fact, I think it might be worth doing a special mini-segment on just that particular architectural function. It’s so prevalent these days.”
    “In more and more places it’s necessary.”
    She kept their conversation focused on work as they sped up Highway 684 and then along Route 22 to Bedford, New York. The road was slick and treacherous with late winter ice. The March night around them seemed especially dark. She continued talking, keeping her voice light. She wanted him comfortably relaxed with a drink or two and a hot delicious dinner and a night of lovemaking just within reach before she broached her difficult subject.
    The Saab’s headlights flared across the stone and clapboard exterior of the eighteenth-century inn. They’d arrived. Carter wove the car through a maze of snowdrifts and finally into a space in the parking lot, then together they made their way along a curving slate path cleared through the snow and lighted by old-fashioned gas lamps. A bitter wind howled, tugging at their coats, while all around them giant evergreens swayed. They hurried into the warmth of the inn, stamping their feet and shaking the snow from their hair. From Carter’s hair, from Joanna’s wig. A mustachioed maître d’ clicked his fingers to summon an underling who took their coats, then he swept before them, ushering them into the dimly lighted wood and leather dining room. He seated them with a flourish, and with a bow presented them with menus. Joanna forced herself to smile graciously. She was as tired as Carter was, and although they’d settled some issues about the next show during the drive up, they’d raised just as many. Part of her wanted to take out her pad of paper and scribble down notes; but the more powerful, primitive part urged her to put all thoughts of work aside.
    “A double Dewar’s on the rocks,” Carter ordered.
    “I’ll just have club soda,” Joanna told the waiter, and she looked quickly at Carter to see what he would say to this, because she almost always ordered margaritas, loving tequila, loving the crystals of salt. Carter was engrossed in the menu.
    Their drinks were brought with benevolent speed. Carter tossed back half his Scotch, and almost immediately relaxed. He smiled at Joanna. “I think I’ll be barbarian and have the prime rib.”
    “Good idea,” she said. And it was a good idea. Carter was hard on himself, always exercising and watching his diet, and when he let himself go a bit and