Death Match

THIRTY

Seen my traveling kit, babe?” Kevin Connelly called out.

“Beneath the vanity, second shelf. On the left.”

Connelly padded past the sleigh bed, past the bars of yellow light that slanted in through the windows, and knelt before the vanity sink. Sure enough: second shelf, tucked carefully against the wall. Back in the day he’d have spent half an hour tearing up the bedroom in search of it. But Lynn seemed to possess a photographic memory for the whereabouts of everything in the house: not just her stuff, but his as well. It wasn’t anything conscious, it was just there all the time, sticking to everything it touched, like flypaper. Perhaps that’s part of what made her so good with languages.

“You’re a treasure,” he said.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

He paused, crouching before the vanity, to look over at her. She was standing just within the closet, staring at a long rack of dresses. As he watched, she took down one, turned it around on its hanger, replaced it in favor of another. There was something in the way her limbs moved — lissome, unself-conscious — that even now quickened his pulse. He’d been deeply offended when, the other week, his mother had labeled her “cute.” Cute? She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She left the closet and walked the newly selected dress over to the bed, where a large canvas suitcase lay open. With the same economy of motion, she folded the dress in half and placed it within the suitcase.

He’d taken the afternoon off to help his wife pack for Niagara Falls. It was a kind of guilty pleasure that, for some reason, he’d be embarrassed to confess to anybody. They always packed days in advance of a trip; somehow, it seemed to extend the vacation. He’d always been a premature packer, for the same reason he always liked to get to the airport early — yet as a bachelor it had been a hurried, slovenly affair. Lynn had shown him packing was an art, never to be rushed. And now, the process had grown into one of those intimate little rituals that made up the fabric of their marriage.

He stood, came up behind her, put his arms around her waist. “Just think,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “Another couple of days and we’ll be in front of a roaring fire at the Pillar and Post Inn.”

“Mmm.”

“We’ll have breakfast in bed. Maybe lunch in bed, too. How does that sound? And if you play your cards right, you just might get dessert, as well.”

In response, she leaned her head a little wearily against his shoulder.

Kevin Connelly knew his wife’s moods almost as well as his own, and he drew back. “What is it, babe?” he asked quickly. “Migraine?”

“Maybe the beginnings of one,” she said. “Hope not.”

He turned her toward him, kissed her gently on one temple, then the other.

“Some perfect wife, huh?” she said, raising her lips to his.

“You are the perfect wife. My perfect wife.”

She smiled, laid her head against his shoulder again.

The doorbell rang.

Kevin gently detached himself, then trotted out into the hall and down the stairs. Behind, he heard Lynn’s quiet footsteps, moving more slowly.

A man with an enormous wrapped parcel waited at the front door. “Mr. Connelly?” he said. “Sign here, please.”

Connelly signed on the indicated line, then gathered the package in his arms.

“What is it?” Lynn said as he thanked the man and pushed the door closed behind him.

“Don’t know. Want to open it?” Connelly handed the package to her, then watched, smiling, as she tore off the wrapping paper. Clear cellophane came into view; then a broad red ribbon; then the pale yellow of woven straw.

“What is it?” he asked. “A basket of fruit?”

“Not just fruit,” Lynn said breathlessly. “Look at the label. It’s red blush pears from Ecuador! You have any idea how expensive these are?”

Connelly smiled at the look that came over his wife’s face. Lynn was passionate about exotic fruit.

“Who could have sent this?” she asked. “I don’t see a card.”

“There’s a small one tucked in the back, over here.” Connelly plucked it from between threads of twisted straw, read the engraved words aloud. “Congratulations and warm best wishes on your upcoming anniversary.”

Lynn crowded close, headache forgotten. “Who’s it from?”

Connelly handed it to her. There was no name, but the card was embossed with the sleek infinity symbol of Eden.

Her eyes widened. “Red blush pears. How could they have known?”

“They know everything. Remember?”

Lynn shook her head, then began tearing the cellophane from the basket.

“Not so fast,” Connelly said in mock admonishment. “We’ve got some unfinished business upstairs. Remember?”

Now a smile brightened on her face, as well. And putting the basket aside, she skipped up the stairs after him.