Free Promises by Belva Plain Page A

nothing.
    It was almost noon when he entered the main street. He was hungry and the thought of a sandwich was agreeable; he would buy a paper and read while he ate. The street was very quiet, so he parked a few doors down and waited for some signs of activity, although there really was no reason why he should not go in at once. Nevertheless, he waited long enough to feel drowsy in the sunshine that was pouring into the car, long enough to see the shop’s door swing open and a group of men go inside. Then he, too, went in, took a table facing the door, was greeted like an old friend by the waitress, and gave his order.
    When the door opened to admit some chattering women, he pretended to be absorbed in the newspaper. Conscious of a queer tension in his muscles, as if he were expecting something, he hoped it would happen while at the same time hoping it would not happen.
    “Adam!” she cried. “What on earth are you doing here?”
    Immediately he recalled the encounter in the Fifth Avenue bookshop. And he hoped that his face was notred, but knowing it must be, he consequently heard himself replying, very awkwardly, “I had errands, some furniture, having a little lunch. And you?”
    “I work here, right in the office next door. This is Adam Crane, everybody, an old friend. You won’t mind, will you, if I desert you today and sit with him?”
    No one minded, and after the introductions Randi took her seat with Adam. Planting her elbows on the table in her usual fashion, she held her mischievous face between her hands. The word
twinkle
shot into his mind; her bright eyes and her shining mouth were twinkling at him.
    “Now tell me, if you can, why you’ve been snubbing me.”
    “Snubbing you? That’s ridiculous.”
    To avoid her eyes he kept his eyes fixed on her mouth. The lower lip was fuller than he remembered, not that he had given much thought to it in all these years. The rosy upper lip was scalloped. Between the parted lips an even line of teeth was barely visible. Now suddenly he remembered that her teeth were perfect.
    “What are you looking at? Is my lipstick smeared?”
    He faltered. “Nothing. No, it’s not smeared.”
    “You haven’t answered my question.”
    “Oh. You mean those phone calls?”
    “Yes. I mean those phone calls. I’m sure your mother taught you better manners.”
    “I’m sorry. I should have called back that time. We’ve been awfully busy, overworked really, and I simply forgot. I’m sorry.”
    “ ‘That time’! I called five times. You didn’t ‘forget’ all those times. You’ve been avoiding me.”
    “I’m sorry,” he repeated, thinking,
Fool. I’m being an ass, a tongue-tied idiot.
    Randi laughed. “Oh, Adam, grow up! I called because I thought you might give me some helpful professional advice about this area, this part of the state. You grew up here, after all.”
    “I’m really sorry,” he said then, and was aware that this was the fourth time he had said it.
    “You should be. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve found other people to advise me. Is that pizza any good?”
    “What? Oh, the one I’m eating?”
    “No. The one that man over there is eating. What’s wrong with you, anyway?”
    “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I had asked for a sandwich, and they got the orders mixed up and brought this instead. It looked good, so I kept it.”
    “Give me a bite. If I like it, I’ll get one too. And stop saying you’re sorry, will you?”
    Before he could get up to take a fork from the next table, she had seized his.
    “I’ve used it,” he protested.
    “So what? Have you got AIDS or something? No, with a nice, steady, faithful, married man like you there’s no danger, is there? I’m not worried.”
    It seemed to him that she was taunting him. There was mockery in those glinting eyes and that hint of laughter.
    And he, who had truly never strayed from his wife, had to protest, to answer with scorn. “What do you think you are? A palm-reader or a