Tiny Little Thing by Beatriz Williams

Author:Beatriz Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

• • •

The front door swings open as we climb up the steps of our house on Newbury Street, Frank and I, his hand at my back in case I should stumble.

Josephine pops into view. “Hello, there! Everything’s just about ready. Flowers everywhere, coffee’s brewing.”

“Thank you. I’ll have a cup right now, if you don’t mind.” I hand her my gloves and hat and keep my pocketbook tucked safely under my arm. “A teaspoon of sugar and just a splash of cream.”

She turns to my husband. “Can I get you anything, Frank? Coffee? I baked up a little cinnamon coffee cake, so the house smells welcoming.”

“Coffee cake! I’d love a slice.”

All the chirpy talk is jangling the interior of my skull. I skim through the hallway to the front parlor, which I left in spotless condition six weeks ago, lemon scented and beeswax polished, and everything remains exactly so, like fruit preserved in a jar, except for the fresh bouquets of yellow roses in my every available vase. A miasma of warm cinnamon invades the air, conquering the flowers.

The Hardcastles presented us with the town house on Newbury Street right after our honeymoon. A little gift, they said, to start out married life on the right foot, which is to say well shod. The joint came complete with Mrs. Crane, who had worked for Granny Hardcastle for years and was probably a spy. Or at least, she started out that way; she’s surely given it up long since. I’m just too dull.

Was too dull.

I arrange my pocketbook on the table under the garden window, right in front of the wedding photos in their silver frames, and admire the geometry. The juxtaposition: innocent tulle against sultry leather.

Tiny Hardcastle has a secret.

Frank’s voice appears over my shoulder. “Are you okay, Tiny? You seem a little funny this morning.”

“I’m fine.”

He clears his throat. “Were you all right about . . . you know . . .”

“Making love?”

“I know it wasn’t very gentlemanly of me, but—”

I pick up the pocketbook again and tuck it back under my arm. “Can I ask you a question, Frank?”

“Sure.” He looks wary.

“What time did you get to bed last night?”

He shrugs his gray shoulders—he’s wearing a smart suit of light summer wool, the same color as a sky full of snow, above a pristine collared shirt and no tie—and shifts his vision to the window behind me. “I don’t know. Two o’clock, three maybe. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I know.”

His eyes return to mine, all blue and boyish, a bit bruised underneath the lower lashes. “But it won’t happen again. Never. I promise. This morning, when I looked over and saw you lying next to me—”

“You promise, do you?”

He holds up a hand. “Promise. You’re the most important thing, Tiny. We’re a team, aren’t we? The greatest team in the world.”

“I don’t know, Frank. Are we?”

“Don’t be sore. If you knew how sorry I am. I’m ashamed, if you want to know the truth. I acted like a spoiled kid instead of a husband.

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