By the second day, only the second day, almost everything was in place in the new house. It was, to Cathy's mind, extraordinary. She and Trey worked together or independently of one another, no scheme guiding them, moving and unpacking in a way Cathy described as organic. She did not, as she told Trey over a bottle of wine that evening, even consciously think of where anything should go, as she had before the move.
“I had ideas,” she said, a little grubby and prone on the sofa, her feet resting on her husband's thighs. “Like, the big painting. I just figured it had to go over the mantle. Never occurred to me once we brought it in. The wall over the stairs was right.”
Trey listened but was not entirely present. The day before, he and a few old friends had brought in the furniture. Forty, he had never before considered that the strength of his youth had diminished, there having been no occasion to feel this. The massive oak dining table, the heavy matching chairs, the boxes filled with plates and cookware so that no space was wasted – these things made their way into the new home accompanied by masculine grunts and teasing insults, masking the effort at the time.
“I ain't moving for a week,” he whispered. Then amended: “Sure as hell ain't movin' ever again. Hope you're happy here, babe.” It circles his mind that he overdid it – they all did, certainly – because men take on more than is reasonable to carry when other men are doing the same. His eyes were lazily fixed on the French doors to the deck, thinking rather than seeing Douglas Lake just beyond the slopes of their yard.
“Are you listening to me?”
Trey nodded slowly, dreamily.
“What I say?”
“Honey. Pots and pans go in the kitchen. The sofa goes right here. Where's the miracle?”
She playfully pressed her heels hard into his legs, pretending annoyance. Not looking at her, Trey smiled, and she fell in love again with his marvelous directness and goodness. Other women were drawn to his good looks and size, taking his genial nature as somehow an element of this attractive physicality. He was the big, strong, handsome man, then and today. But Cathy was only partially interested in these attributes, even made them the object of jokes when they dated. She saw in Trey Bilderbeck a kind of purity. Over thirty herself at the time, there had been much experience with men she could not be sure were good. She had learned that basic decency was not a thing a woman could take for granted, there to fill in the time and the life when the excitement of courtship was done.
“I know where pans go. All I'm saying is that...the other things seem to belong here.” She took a long sip of white wine. “And in certain spots. That's all I'm saying.”
Trey nodded again, his open face still focused away from Cathy, seeing and not seeing the lake in the distance. “Good thing. They don't, they can move their own fuckin' selves out.”
She reclined back further, dropping her head to the sofa's arm, closing her eyes and giving Trey the half smile his joke merited. Two dogs, both shelter rescues from the first years of the marriage, dozed fitfully on the rug by the fireplace, wearied from chasing the activity of the long day, yet caught up in racing in their own dreams.
“Nice, though. Quiet.” Trey emptied his wine glass. “Think I'll sleep here tonight, babe. No stairs.”
Cathy opened her eyes, puzzled. “Where's the afghan?” she asked with some urgency. “For the couch. You see it?”
Before he spoke, Cathy could see the words coming together in his mind, see the shifting in the curl of his upper lip. “Don't worry. Like you said. It'll find its way where it belongs. Wait – I think I hear it comin' now...” Once again, she pressed her bare heels into his thighs, biting her lower lip in mock irritation.
*
Two days later Cathy was washing a few things in the kitchen sink. It was mid-aftertoon and, the dogs dozing on their beds aside, she was alone. Trey had gone into work, an unexpected development but also not one unwelcome to him. He had scheduled a full week off from the lawn and garden service company he owned and ran but, as both husbands and wives come to know in such situations, there is no actual urgency in putting everything in place right away. And marriages are not usually made stronger when spouses encounter only one another for days at a time. So Trey made irritated noises about returning to work and both he and Cathy were, tacitly, grateful for it.
Cathy's eyes were on the window above the double sink and she saw a transparent reflection of herself. A handsome woman, early forties, a broad, wide face, and hair so naturally rich in auburn and red tones she had long since grown weary of women in stores, or anywhere at all, asking who did her color.
Then: Cathy noticed a crack in the window never before seen, visible only when the light struck the large pane at this time of day. She closed her eyes. They had accepted so many minor flaws in the house, from bathroom fixtures needing replacement – the powder room had been a nightmare of pink – to patches of carpet in the guest bedroom no longer attached to the floor. That this crack had never been mentioned struck her as a worse falsehood, an insult, in fact. She reached for her phone to call Trey but, at that moment, there was a knock at the door.
“Hi.” Whoever this woman was, she was cradling what looked like a casserole, glistening in its plastic wrapping. “My name is Natalie. Schin. We're neighbors.”
Cathy immediately shed her annoyance over the window, genuinely appreciative of this effort and gesture. She had been a little concerned about the neighbors in this upper-class suburb being...stand-offish. She introduced herself and insisted that Natalie come in, for coffee or maybe iced tea.
Moving through the short hall into the great room, Natalie lost no time in explaining what she carried. It was nothing, only a simple casserole, easy to heat up. There were eggs in it but no meat, and Natalie laughed at herself, saying that she had omitted meat because she couldn't know if they were vegan or something, but still used eggs. Defeating the intent. Cathy found her hurried explanation charming.
For the next hour, Cathy had the agreeable sense of suddenly being a part of this neighborhood. She learned that Natalie – rather short, thin, brunette, also early forties yet still girlish in appearance – lived only several houses away on Fox Lane, and lived alone. No more was revealed regarding this solitary life, and Cathy simply assumed that a divorce was in the woman's past. She would soon know the reality if this contact was continued, of course.
Natalie rose, apologizing for taking up so much of Cathy's time when moving is so difficult, Cathy waved the courtesy away, and they both heard the front door open.
“Well, hey.” Casual introductions were made and, a few minutes later, Cathy and Trey walked Natalie to the door. Before she left Trey suggested she stop by for a drink some night soon, maybe that weekend. After Cathy closes the door, she rested her back against it for a moment, her palms lightly pressed on the wooden panels.
*
“You should've waited before asking her to come over. Till we talked.”
Cathy says this in bed, suddenly reversing her earlier determination to say nothing.
“Huh?”
“Natalie. You invited her over for a drink.”
Trey regards his wife's face carefully. He has done this for years whenever anything seems not quite right, even as it fails to help him or provide insight. “Uh...yeah. I did that. What's the problem, hon? She's a neighbor. You told me she brought food. To welcome us.”
Cathy runs her hands through her thick hair, then holding it up like a woman experimenting with a new style. “That's not the point, baby. You should've waited because maybe I didn't like her.”
“You don't?”
“I didn't say that. I like her fine. But maybe I was pretending when you came in.” The dogs, on their upstairs padded blankets on the carpet at the foot of the bed, prick up their ears.
“But you weren't. Pretending.”
“No.”
“So I don't get it, hon.” But Trey's tone implies surrender as well. There is no other way for him to go at these times. As has happened before in their marriage, there are times when he must trust to her conviction even as he fails to understand it. The rare episodes do not make him feel weak; on the contrary, he is able to do this because he is strong enough to give in when, as he sees it, a woman is thinking like a woman.
*
As it happened Natalie Schin called the following Saturday, asking if the invitation for a drink still stood, asking what she could bring. Cathy was completely warm and gracious in her reply. She had decided that Trey's inappropriate action was unimportant. What mattered was that she liked this Natalie, that she even had been touched by the neighbor's taking the trouble to welcome them. It would be nice, Cathy considered, to develop a sane, respectful friendship with another woman here. Not too much contact – there had been experiences in the past, when minor acts of kindness to neighbors had led to undue and eventually dreaded interactions. But Natalie struck Cathy as, above all, sensible and considerate. She had said something, that first day, about a largely unknown legal restriction about boating on the lake, something even Trey, as good as he was with research, did not know. It could work. It could, maybe, work out very well.
“Natalie. I told you, just come, no need to – “
But Natalie shook her head, handing Cathy the bottle of good Cabernet when she arrived. “It's nothing. Like I could come and not bring anything. Cath, this is the Lake. Civilized, civilized.” No one laughed but all three smiled.
Trey watched a game on TV, Natalie helped Cathy in the kitchen – she is placed in charge of the salad – and the dogs wandered in and out, drawn by the scent of the steaks cooking. That Natalie would stay for dinner was understood and her protestations were ignored. The women, Cathy at the stove and Natalie chopping mushrooms and greens, talked. It was the sporadic, broken conversation of acquaintanceship; there are lags, but they are not uneasy.
“I love the house,” Natalie said, referring to her own. “But it’s kind of a pain in the ass, you know? My husband…never mind. But he could fix things, at least.”
Cathy smiled to herself, flipping the steaks. Had she even doubted a divorce in this woman’s life? For a moment, she considered suggesting that Trey could help Natalie out from time to time. Then she fixed her eyes on the flame under the large skillet. It was too high, she adjusted it, and the suggestion was never voiced.
Then: Trey came into the kitchen space, said, “When’s dinner, girls?,” and Cathy had an immediate and unclear dislike of Natalie.
“Relax. I know watching a game is exhausting, but you can survive for a few more minutes.” In making this reply, Cathy also had a sense of shame. Something informed her that she was teasing her husband in this way to make a point. I can do this because he is mine.
At dinner, Trey complimented the wine Natalie had brought. He himself, he said, was useless in choosing wines.
*
Months passed, the season changed. Natalie had the Bilderbecks to her home for dinner. Trey offered to repair her garage door without being asked to do so. One day, Trey said that it might be a good idea to have Natalie and a single friend of his over. Cathy did not support the proposal. She referred only to the unsuitability of Trey’s friend, whom she had always considered crude. She did not say what she believed, that any such attempt at a fix-up was pointless. She would have been unable to even explain this conviction.
Getting together with Natalie become an occasional, but not insistent, reality. Nothing untoward or remotely questionable was in Natalie’s behavior. Visit after visit, she invariably engaged with Cathy. Just girlfriends, nothing more, with Trey as the ancillary, genial man of the house.
One day in October, Cathy was shopping at the local supermarket. Looking over jars of sauce, she was startled by hearing her name. It was of course Natalie, wheeling a cart herself, beaming at the unexpected encounter. Cathy looked at her and, with absolutely no thought, turned her cart into the next aisle. Natalie followed.
“Cath? Anything wrong?”
The need to say nothing became implacable in Cathy, then. She slowly moved down the aisle, briefly scanning the items. At the end of it, she peripherally saw Natalie still at the lane’s beginning. Staring. Unmoving. This was all that occurred between the women, or did not occur, and the Bilderbecks did not see Natalie again.
Home and putting away the groceries, Cathy was sure that she wouldn't try to tell Trey about what happened at the supermarket. There would be no point to it and, she knew, any wondering on his part as to why Natalie just dropped out of their lives would, Cathy also knew absolutely, fade to nothing in little time. She always relied on his trusting her, to think as a woman thinks, to act in ways a man can't understand.
