The Swallow's Nest. Emilie Richards

       10

      Marina hadn’t yet cooked for Blake, but on Friday night he had a cold and didn’t feel like going out. Even though her work week had seemed a hundred hours long, she had volunteered to feed him.

      She wasn’t a gourmet. Her talents ran to macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, tuna fish sandwiches, anything her brothers would deign to eat when she had been in charge. She still specialized in food that arrived at her local Safeway in a box, jar or can. Tonight, for a change, she was going to prepare something more appealing. Even she could bake a potato and broil a steak, and these days salad came in a plastic bag with dressing. At the grocery store she added frozen garlic bread to her cart and half a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. Blake’s fancy wine cooler was already well stocked.

      As she unpacked and started dinner she took stock of the kitchen. The space was expansive, only separated from the living room by an island. Drawers were crowded with every possible utensil and gadget. Since Blake relied on pre-prepared meals from the supermarket freezer, she suspected his wife had been the one to revel in complex recipes. She also noted that the black granite countertops were spotless, which meant the kitchen probably hadn’t been used since his cleaning service had come on Monday. She wondered how much he missed being married.

      She wondered if he wanted to be married again.

      As the garlic bread warmed in the needlessly complicated oven, and the potatoes baked in a microwave with enough settings to fly a space shuttle, she poured orange juice and took it into the living room.

      After work she had changed into her shortest micro-miniskirt without tights, even though she hadn’t enjoyed the modesty challenge as she slid in and out of her car. But when he’d opened the door to find her standing on the porch with groceries, Blake had enjoyed the sight of her bare legs enough for both of them.

      He was enjoying them again, this time as she held out the glass. “Pretend it’s a screwdriver. You’re not taking care of yourself, are you?”

      He took it and began to sip. “If you were living here, I bet you’d make sure I did.”

      She smiled, although the thought of being in charge of somebody else sounded woefully familiar. “And if I was taking care of you, I would never make it to work, would I? You’re usually a pretty hands-on guy. You must be sick.”

      Reluctantly he wrapped both hands around his glass. “Somebody ought to take care of you.”

      “I’m a big girl.” She paused just long enough. “But I won’t be around much next week. Sales meetings, and in-service training in San Francisco. I’ll be driving back and forth since my company’s too cheap to spring for a hotel, so I’ll be getting back too late to see you.”

      “You’ll be missed.”

      “I’ll call and check on you. And you’ll go to the doctor if your cold gets worse, right?”

      He sent her a warm smile, which must have taken some effort. “Do you like being back at work?”

      Blake thought she’d been on leave to recover after minor surgery, so she couldn’t tell him the truth. No, she didn’t like being back. She didn’t like the way the other employees looked at her, the way they didn’t ask about her baby son because they knew he was no longer with her. None of her sales colleagues had been at Graham’s “celebration” party, but word traveled fast in the construction community. While she’d spawned a little sympathy as a pregnant woman alone in the world, now it had vanished. She’d had an affair with a man they had previously respected, and now she had given him their child to raise. Publicly, too. For a mother there was no greater crime.

      And maybe they were right.

      When she didn’t answer, he continued. “You shouldn’t have to work so hard. You need more fun.”

      If that was true, clearly somebody had forgotten to tell Deedee, Graham and God. Her brief sojourn in Los Angeles had been as close to “fun” as Marina had ever experienced, too little and over too fast.

      She lowered her lashes. “I imagine I’ll have fun at the sales meeting. They pull in executives from all over the world. I’ve met some great...” She paused, as if to reconsider word choice. “People. There’s always a little social time built in.”

      He hadn’t missed the hesitation. “Do you work with many women?”

      “Mostly men. I do try to keep work and play separate, though.”

      “Do you go out of town a lot?”

      “Depends on what’s in the pipeline. The job pays my bills. I can’t refuse.”

      “I might be able to find you something closer to home.”

      She pictured a deadly dull office job. Creating a marketing plan for the latest innovation in denture cream. Putting out a company newsletter with feel-good stories about the new water dispenser and the tenth anniversary of the underpaid cleaning service.

      She chose her words carefully. “I like being out in the field. I was born to travel. I love seeing new things. So the job suits me well enough. We’ll find time to be together.”

      “Have you traveled much? Real travel, I mean?”

      “Not nearly enough.” In truth, not at all.

      “My wife didn’t like it. I always wanted to go, and she always wanted to stay. Mostly we stayed.”

      “You didn’t go anywhere?”

      “Europe once. We came home two weeks early because she missed her garden and our dog. Somebody was supposed to come in, weed and water, but they didn’t do it the way she wanted, so she never went anywhere for more than a weekend again. And even then, we had to take Doolittle.”

      “I guess each person is different. I haven’t been able to travel and always wanted to. She could and didn’t.” Her sigh was real. “And what about you? Now that you can, do you plan to?”

      “It’s not the same without somebody you love.”

      Marina thought traveling alone would be great. Nobody to answer to; nobody to take care of. Just her, doing whatever she wanted.

      “Maybe we could travel together,” he said.

      She squeezed his shoulder. “I would like that. So many places to see and all of them interesting. But I won’t have any time off, Blake. Not for most of the year. I had to use most of my personal days for the surgery.”

      He sneezed and ended the conversation by blowing his nose.

      She took that opportunity to head into the kitchen to broil the steaks and finish their dinner. When she took out the garlic bread to replace it with the steaks she saw she hadn’t, as hoped, mastered the complicated oven settings. The bread was charred. She wrapped it tight before she tossed it in the garbage, but the burned smell lingered. She was glad Blake had a cold.

      When they finally sat down to eat he complimented her on the meal, but she could see he was only going through the motions. He wasn’t running a temperature—she had checked—but the first stages of a cold were often the worst. When he set down his fork, she did the same, even though she was only half finished.

      “I think you need a shower and bed, my boy.” She got up and removed his plate. “I’ll tuck you in, but I think you’ve got a long night of sneezing and coughing ahead of you.”

      He was as docile as a lamb, getting up as ordered to head into the master bedroom. In a few minutes she heard the shower running. As she cleaned the kitchen