Riggs Park Read Free

when Jon and I had lost that sweetness, when we had begun to feel ragged and old.
    Certainly it was after Labor Day. We’d eaten breakfast on the deck that holiday morning, Jon in shorts and a blue golf shirt, me teasing him about the curly white hairs peeking out of his open collar. “Oh, you think it’s an imperfection!” Jon had joked, and I’d replied, “Yes, terrible! Like a chest wig to show your masculinity,” to which Jon had huffed, “Huh! I’ll show you masculinity!” and had chased me into the house. On Labor Day—no question about it—we’d still been happy.
    So…when? Later that week, my daughter Robin had called to say she was coming to Wilmington for a film shoot, and I’d been happy then, too. A first assistant director, Robin worked at Wilmington’s film studio once or twice a year. This time, I’d been especially glad to hear from her because she’d recently separated from her husband and seemed truly distraught.
    “Most of the crew is staying in one of those cute bed-and-breakfasts downtown,” Robin said on the phone, “but, Mom, the thought of hanging around with them right now gives me the willies. Think you could put me up?”
    “Of course! Do you even have to ask? We’d love it!”
    “I’ll only be there two weeks before we leave for location.”
    “Robin, stop apologizing! I’ll even do your laundry. This is wonderful!”
    And Jon had seemed pleased, had sounded cordial—although the very fact of Robin’s existence, I sometimes thought, made him sad. His short marriage had produced no offspring, and he regretted never having been a father. Much as he seemed to like Robin—and I was sure they genuinely enjoyed each other—I sensed she reminded him of what he had missed.
    Yet the offer he made two days later puzzled and disturbed me. “I have some interviews to do out of town,” he said. “The logical thing seems to be to schedule them during Robin’s visit.”
    “Oh, honey. It’s your house as much as mine. Robin knows we’re a couple.”
    “Yes, but she’s never stayed with us before.”
    “Only because she thought she and Bob would put us out. Now that she’s alone—”
    “As I recall,” Jon said with a wink, “she told you she didn’t want to disturb ‘your little love nest.’” And then, seriously, “I think I make her nervous. I think she’ll be happier if I go.”
    “Don’t be silly. She doesn’t want to stay with the crew because she’s afraid they’ll feel sorry for her now that Bob’s gone. That’s what makes her nervous.”
    “With me working here, you won’t have any privacy at all.”
    “Robin won’t care. She works six days a week until God knows what time. We’ll hardly see her.” I tried to quell the note of irritation in my voice. “On Sundays all she’ll want is sleep.”
    “She’s young. She won’t sleep that much.” Impatiently, Jon fiddled with a pencil he’d tucked behind his ear. “I have to do those interviews sometime. This will give you time together.”
    “You make me feel like I’m kicking you out.”
    “Of course not.”
    “Maybe you’re looking for an excuse to get away.” I meant it as a joke, but my voice shrilled in my ears.
    “Don’t be paranoid, Barbara.”
    “Paranoid!”
    “What else would you call it?”
    “Oh, fine. Now I’m the loony little woman.”
    “Listen to yourself!”
    “Listen to you. ”
    Stunned into silence, the two of us stood face-to-face and numb, aware that in our two years together, this was the closest we’d come to a fight. I wanted to pluck my words out of the air; I watched Jon’s eyes grow dark with sorrow. “I’m sorry,” we both mumbled.
    Jon opened his arms, swept me in, held me close. “You’re right,” he whispered. “If I go, it’ll send the wrong message. I don’t want her to feel unwelcome.”
    He stroked my hair. I was convinced. But maybe—certainly—that was the beginning.
    The day Robin arrived, I declined Jon’s offer to drive me to