Those Weekends In New England

Chapter Nine

Deceptions are worthwhile only until discovered. Then there is hell to pay.

Peter had asked Hannah to meet him for lunch. This was unusual. As she carefully dressed, she went over and over the possible reasons for this "date." The idea that her husband wanted to see her during the day simply because he missed her never crossed her mind. She knew Peter better than that. And she knew their relationship, inside and out.

An hour later, she was offering her car to the valet. She then walked inside the posh, elegant delicatessen where Peter suggested they meet.

This just happened to be the same restaurant Denny had taken her and her friends to six weeks ago.

"Jergen. Reservation for two."

"Ah yes, Mrs. Jergen. Your husband has already arrived."

The maitre'd looked at her a minute longer than what was proper and Hannah groaned inward, suspecting he remembered her being here with Denny. But he said nothing as he led her to Peter, and she was certain Denny had paid the establishment well to keep their mouths shut.

Peter stood as Hannah reached the table. "You're here." He kissed her on the cheek and pulled out her chair.

"Thank you." She received Peter's peck as a dutiful wife would, then allowed herself to be seated. Her water glass, filled to the brim, looked inviting to her drying throat. "Am I late?"

"No. I'm early. Usually am, as you know." He handed her a menu and began poring over his own, as if he were starved.

Hannah took the opportunity to look at him. In college, before she'd decided to enter the convent, she'd often sat up on weekends early into the morning giggling with girlfriends and deciding what kind of man she should marry. Only one out of the group of five had any experience with the idea of marriage, and what she knew came from the gossip of what her newlywed sister had told her.

The girl discussed in relishing detail the pros and cons of marital conditions, intimate and otherwise. Her sister was married to an overbearing, forceful man. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and was home when he felt being home suited his needs. He took her to bed often and she enjoyed the experience.

Through this third-hand detail, all of them, the younger sister included, decided the most important quality in a future husband was for him to be "a nice guy," someone who considered his wife's needs as important as his own. They felt this was the one quality missing in the married sister's marriage.

Hannah fought back soft tears. I certainly got what I asked for, didn't I? Peter couldn't be any nicer. Guilt overwhelmed her and she buried her face in her menu before he could see the look she was sure was on her face. This man had done nothing to warrant her duplicity. Nothing. She admitted that was the core of the problems between them as she sightlessly looked at the page in front of her.

Peter was such a nice guy that Hannah felt he was nearly transparent. Emotionless, pulled into himself, even when to most people around them he seemed most considerate.

"What do you want, Hannah?"

"What?" She couldn't look up, not before she squeezed her eyes shut one more time to run the tears away. Praying she managed to do that, she finally faced her husband. "I'll have the hot pastrami. Pretty good here."

"Yes, great. My favorite, but you know that." He turned to the server now next to him. "Two hot pastramis." To Hannah, "You want fries?"

"No, thanks."

"One with fries. And," Peter didn't question her this time, "two iced teas, hers already sweetened."

Once the server had left, Peter folded his hands in front of him and smiled at his wife. His otherwise pleasant expression seemed lifeless. "We should meet for lunch more often. Why don't we?"