I was still tired from my business trip to New York. Two weeks in the city. Homelessness on every block and a bitter wind.
I didn’t expect such cold weather, so I had only taken my raincoat which wasn’t warm enough. I froze walking the two blocks from my hotel to the publisher. By the time I reached the editor’s office, my nose and fingers were numb and red. Miserable.
But my trip had been a successful one. The publisher had given me a contract for my novel and requested that I write two more books in the next three years for them. Bel Balfour was finally on the map as an author.
My flight home got in around 7 last night, so Daryl had picked me up at the San Francisco Airport, and we drove into the city for dinner. I was in the mood for a steak, and John’s Grill makes great ones. It’s a few blocks off Union Square, an old-style restaurant with dark wood and photographs of celebrities and politicians lining the walls. At Christmas, every nook and cranny are hung with garlands of pine and hanging bunches of red ornaments.
Daryl ordered a pinot noir from Anderson Valley to celebrate my new contract. The bright red vintage glistened in the light from tiny spot lights in the ceiling. The wine was delicious with the goat cheese and toast appetizer.
For my entre, I ordered a filet mignon, which came with a mound of mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. The filet was delectable. I can’t make steak that good at home. Restaurants just have better grills.
Daryl ordered grilled salmon stuffed with crab. It was accompanied by rice pilaf and grilled asparagus. He must have loved it since his plate was clean after about only fifteen minutes.
Daryl mentioned that our daughter, Katie, had been hired by a company that was headquartered in Oakland. Her last company had laid her off two months ago, even though they said she was doing an outstanding job. This new company promoted “green” practices within the business industry. Katie would be working in brand marketing, and she’d be going to a conference in Chicago in February.
“Does she like it?” I asked.
“I think so,” said Daryl. “She’s only been working there for a week, though.”
“Will she be able to work at home or have to go into the office?” I asked.
“She can work at home,” Daryl said, “but she wants to go into the office as well. It is a dog-friendly company, so she can take Sandy with her. Also, the garage is secured with a locked gate, so her car won’t be broken into while she’s working.”
Daryl and I had been married for thirty years. Katie was our only child. I had wanted another one, but I never got pregnant again. Katie was 27 years old, not married, so grandchildren were not on the way. I tried not to bug her about it.
It was Saturday. Daryl had left at 8 a.m. to play golf with his three regulars. The house was quiet, and I had already stripped the king-size bed of its sheets and pillowcases and laundered them. I bent down to the dryer to pull them out, smelling the lavender sachet that I had tossed in with them. Holding the warm bedding in my arms, I paced through the family room, up the stairs into the master bedroom. I dropped the bedding on top of the window seat at the far end of the room near the armoire. Then, I untangled the sheets to find the fitted one.
As I bent over and tucked one end of the sheet over a corner at the bottom of the mattress, I noticed something red sticking out from under the bed. I knelt down on the carpet to take a better look. The only thing that I ever put under our bed was my shoe storage box. I didn’t like clutter and even vacuumed regularly under the bed with the vacuum extension.
A pair of panties?
They weren’t mine. I had given up wearing lacy panties years ago because they were too itchy.
But whose were these? Why were they there?
Daryl?
Daryl!
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