None of this prepared him for the possibility that, someday, he might not land on his feet. Chris never once considered, even with the unemployment numbers looking bleaker every day, that he could be one of those left floundering, fighting for a position in a job pool that was shrinking and would end up smaller, figuratively speaking, than the inflatable one his children splashed around in on a hot day. Every man for himself.

Instead, Chris loosened his tie, smiled at me, and said, “It’s been a long time since we were home alone in the afternoon.” The sun’s rays flooded the kitchen via the skylight above Chris’s head, casting an ethereal glow on his striking features.

I smiled back. “It has.” Jordan was in kindergarten and both kids were gone all day, but we’d never once taken advantage of it, because Chris was always at work. When I saw that look in his eye, the one I knew well after so many years together, I thought we’d be fine. If you still want to make love to your wife an hour after losing your job, you probably aren’t that affected by the news.

Chris closed the distance between us, held my face in his hands, and kissed me tenderly, as if I was the most precious thing in the world to him. “What do you say, Claire?”

He groaned when I answered by putting my arms around him and pulling him closer so that our bodies touched. I took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, feeling the weight of his stare as he watched my fingers moving. Inhaling the musky, woodsy scent of his cologne, I went right for that spot on his neck, the one just below his jaw that drove him wild every time. Tracing it with my tongue, I sucked and then scraped his skin gently with my teeth. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Right there.” He grabbed my face again and kissed me hard, then peeled off my tank top and pushed my shorts down until they landed in a puddle at my feet.

We didn’t even make it upstairs.

Once we dispensed with the rest of our clothes, Chris laid me down right on our kitchen table, the one he’d always joked about being sturdy and large enough to encourage just such an act. And when his orgasm arrived, nipping right at the heels of mine, the force of it slid me just far enough across the smooth, polished surface that I collided with the treat bags, and I can still remember the sound, the rapid pitter-patter of all that candy hitting the terra-cotta tile floor, one piece after another.

I’m jerked out of my reverie by the rumble of the excavator, even louder and more jarring than before. I look longingly at the sculpture I’m holding, finish dusting it, and carefully place it back on the shelf.

5

chris

The first thing I notice when I walk out of the Albuquerque airport is how hot and dry it is. I locate my rental car, place my suitcase in the trunk, and lay my jacket on the passenger seat. When I start the engine I adjust the vents so that the stale air doesn’t blast me in the face.

Using the GPS, I drive to the potential client’s office, where I spend the day pitching my company’s software solutions and overcoming the objections of a conference room full of people. The more they resist, the more I persevere, and the momentum builds until I know just when to pull back and let them convince me that my product is exactly what they need. At the end of the day, I’m the last one to leave and I pack up my materials and laptop and drive back to my hotel, ordering a sandwich from room service so I can eat with one hand while I enter the data for my daily sales report. Adrenaline courses through me and I ride the high from the events of the day. This has happened three times now, and Jim is already showering me with accolades, which is like a balm for my badly shredded ego.

And I want more.

Around midnight, I check my phone and notice that I missed the text Claire sent at nine o’clock this morning, asking if I made it here safely. I also missed the one she sent at noon and the one that came in at 4:00 P.M. It’s way too late to call her now, so I text her that everything is fine, reach for the other half of my sandwich, and turn back to my spreadsheet.

6

claire

At 6:00 A.M. the coffee finishes brewing and the sizzle of the last drop reverberates through the quiet kitchen when I remove the carafe and grab my favorite mug from the cupboard. I let Tucker out and then boot up my laptop and sit down at the island to check my e-mails, sipping slowly so I don’t burn my tongue and wishing there was a way to get the caffeine into my bloodstream faster. The first one, from Chris, was sent at 3:13 A.M., so either he stayed up late working or woke up extra early to get a jump on the day. Both options are equally possible.

To: Claire Canton

From: Chris Canton

Subject: Schedule

Leaving Albuquerque by 3 p.m. then heading to Santa Fe. When is the sign-up for fall soccer? Josh told me he definitely wants to play. Repairman coming to look at irrigation system Thursday morning at nine.

To: Chris Canton

From: Claire Canton

Subject: Re: Schedule

I already signed Josh up for soccer. Will make sure to be home on Thursday morning.

I pour a second cup of coffee, check the rest of my e-mails, and work on my computer until Bridget knocks softly on my front door at 7:00 A.M. We decided a couple of weeks ago that we’d walk four miles every morning this summer, before Sam leaves for work and while Josh and Jordan are still sleeping.

Sebastian stands beside her. His hair sticks up in crazy spikes and he’s wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt and pajama pants. At fourteen, he’d rather sleep in during his summer break, but Bridget strong-armed him into babysitting because she knows Chris’s travel schedule makes it impossible for me to leave the house without someone here to watch the kids. Despite my protests, she won’t let Sebastian accept any money either, because it’s an easy gig and we’re gone only an hour. I keep an endless supply of Pop-Tarts in the cupboard for him and he’s usually sitting on the couch watching TV, covered in crumbs when we return, but I don’t care. He’s a good kid.

Bridget’s full of energy this morning, fueled by a caffeine addiction that would give me heart palpitations if I drank even half as much. Cheerful and upbeat, she wears a constant smile and reminds me of a sprinter, poised, waiting for the crack of the starter pistol. Throughout the day her children wear her down until she drops into bed only to rise and do it all again. Before she started her family, Bridget worked as a nurse in a pediatric oncology unit. She told me once that she missed it terribly, and sometimes wondered if giving it up to stay home with the boys was the right decision. “You can go back someday,” I assured her, and I meant it.

Bridget’s short blonde hair peeks out from under her baseball cap and she’s wearing a sweatshirt and capri-length workout pants. Cooler weather has finally blown in from the west and the gray sky threatens rain. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get poured on before we make it back home. I grab a sweatshirt of my own and we head out, power walking our way to the corner and turning left toward the bike trail that winds for miles through our tree-lined neighborhood.