“I’m guessing she isn’t too happy about that.”

He shrugs. “It was just a casual thing.”

“It doesn’t always feel casual to women, especially if you were sleeping together.” I regret the words the minute they come out of my mouth. We never talk about this kind of thing. Never. And initiating a conversation about Daniel’s sex life when we’re sharing his bed—no matter how platonically—may not have been my best move. Now the air feels charged, as if the dynamic in the room has abruptly changed. All my fault.

“I’m not sleeping with her,” he says. “Well, not anymore.”

“Why? Are you sleeping with somebody else instead?”

Shut up, Claire.

Daniel shakes his head. “No.”

“Then why not her?” I have no idea why I’m still talking, still asking him these things. I’m even more alarmed by the fact that suddenly all I can think about is sex and how long it’s been since Chris and I made love.

“I don’t know. I’m just not really feeling it.”

“Do you date much?” I’ve never given much thought to how he spends his evenings and weekends.

“Not really.”

So maybe Daniel is lonely, too.

“How long have you been divorced?”

“A little over a year. My wife kept the house and I moved here.”

There’s more to the story, of this I’m certain, but I don’t push.

Daniel runs his hands along the comforter. “You made my bed.”

“I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling. “Come on. Let’s go see how cold our lunch is.”

34

claire

In late October, Chris’s boss informs him that he’ll be on the road for the next two weeks, with no time to fly home on the weekend. “I’m sorry,” he says when he calls me from his hotel room to break the news.

“It’s okay,” I say. It’s not like it matters if I’m okay with it or not. It’s going to happen anyway.

I should be upset, and I do feel horrible for the kids, but the more Chris travels, the more I adapt to our current household situation. When he comes home he disrupts the routine I’ve so carefully put in place to give the kids a sense of normalcy, and I’m the one who deals with the fallout when he leaves again. It takes at least a day for everyone to adjust. Josh gets moody and won’t listen, and Jordan develops an unnatural attachment to her stuffed animals, especially the ones Chris has bought her since he’s been out on the road. He’s gone so often that now it feels odd sharing a bed with him on the weekends. Before he lost his job, we used to go upstairs at the same time every night, to make love, to watch TV, to talk. Sometimes all three. Now he stays up late working and when he finally slips between the sheets it wakes me up and I toss and turn for hours, trying to get back to sleep.

It’s not that I’m happy about him being gone—far from it. It’s just that Chris being gone is now what I’m used to.

 • • •

The brilliant sunshine and the soaring temperatures of a brief, last burst of Indian summer at the end of the month offer a temporary respite from the approaching chill of fall. The kids are ecstatic and on our way to the bus stop Jordan asks if we can go to the swimming pool after school. “How about the park?” I say as we walk to the bus stop. “The pools are all closed until next summer.” She sighs and reluctantly agrees that the park will have to do.

My phone rings as I’m walking back into the house. I answer it and say, “Hey.”

“Let’s go for a ride,” Daniel says. “It might be the last one for a while.”

I’m just as eager to enjoy the last few warm days of the season so I say, “Sure. That sounds fun.”

“You’re not too busy today?”

“I have a few things I’m working on, but I can pick them back up tonight when the kids go to bed.”

“Great. Noon?”

“Sure. See you then.”

When I arrive at Daniel’s he’s standing in the doorway. He watches me walk toward him and my breath catches a little when he smiles. I remember when Chris’s face used to brighten like that whenever I walked into the room. How the smile reached all the way to the corners of his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” I say. “It’s beautiful out. Jordan wanted to know if we could go swimming when she got home from school.”

Daniel laughs. “It’s certainly warm enough.” He appraises me quickly from head to toe, to make sure I’m dressed properly; I know better than to show up in short sleeves, no matter how high the temperature is, so I’m wearing a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt, a light jacket, jeans, and tennis shoes. No flip-flops on the motorcycle.

In the garage, I pull the helmets off the shelf while Daniel pushes the bike out onto the driveway and shuts the door. He grabs the end of my helmet strap and buckles it for me, giving it a gentle tug to make sure it’s tight enough. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself, but I don’t say anything. After he puts his own helmet on he swings a leg over and I do the same, adjusting my position on the seat and settling in behind him.

The hum of the engine fills my ears and then Daniel puts the bike in gear. When we reach the highway and he opens up the throttle he doesn’t have to tell me to put my head down. I’ve been waiting for this, for him to go faster, so I could have a legitimate excuse to curve my body around his. Something tells me he’s been waiting for it, too. That maybe the main reason for asking me to go on a ride had nothing to do with the beautiful weather and everything to do with us being able to touch each other, to feel.

I hook my thumbs in his belt loops. The warmth of the sun beats down on me and I turn my head sideways and rest it on Daniel’s back. It isn’t ideal, because of the bulky helmet, but I feel boneless, liquid, pliant, as if I’ve taken on the shape of Daniel. Aching for physical contact, I want someone to hold me and I wish I was in front and Daniel was in back, but I’ll take what I can get. Unable to resist, I inch forward a little more, tightening my hold on him and gripping him with my thighs. He notices, I know he does, because he turns his head back toward me for a second.

We ride for a long time and then Daniel pulls over at a gas station to refuel. I uncoil myself from him and get off the bike. We both take off our helmets. “How’s your butt?” he asks.

He watches as I place the helmet on the ground, stretch my arms over my head, and arch my back, working out the kinks. “Not too bad. How about you?”

“I’m fine. I’m used to it.”

I hold his helmet while he pumps the gas and when he’s done we walk inside.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks.

“Sure.” We walk to the cooler. My hands are full with both helmets so Daniel grabs a regular Coke and scans the shelves for my drink. “No Snapple,” he says.

“That’s okay. Diet Coke is fine.”

After he pays we walk outside and Daniel pushes the bike away from the pump, toward a grassy area with one lone tree. I put the helmets down beside it.

“Thanks,” I say when he hands me my drink.

Daniel opens his Coke, takes a big swallow, and runs his fingers through his hair. Shrugging out of my jacket, I sit cross-legged on the grass, in the shade of the tree, and redo my ponytail so that it’s high up on my head and the hair is off my neck. I instantly feel cooler. Daniel sits beside me, his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Are you hot?” he asks.

“Yes. Especially my neck. It’s all this hair.”

He takes another drink. “I like your hair.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket to make sure I haven’t missed any calls.

“Everything okay?” Daniel asks.