Nighttime Is My Time

15

The bus to West Point was scheduled to leave at ten. At nine-fifteen, Jack Emerson left the hotel and made a quick trip home to pick up the necktie he had forgotten to pack. Rita, his wife of fifteen years, was reading the newspaper as she sipped coffee at the breakfast table. When he came in, she looked up indifferently.

"How's the great reunion going, Jack?" The sarcasm that tinged every word she uttered to him was particularly apparent in her greeting.

"I would say it's going very well, Rita," he said amicably.

"Is your room comfortable at the hotel, or do you know?"

"The room is as comfortable as rooms at the Glen-Ridge get. Why don't you join me there and see for yourself?"

"I think I'll pass." Her eyes dropped back to the newspaper, dismissing him.

For a moment he stood looking at her. She was thirty-seven years old, but not one of those women who got better as she aged. Rita had always been reserved, but along the way her narrow lips had acquired an unattractive sullen droop. When she was in her twenties and her hair was loose around her shoulders, she had been genuinely attractive. Now, with her hair drawn tightly back and pinned in a French knot, her skin seemed taut. In fact, everything about her looked pinched and angry. Standing there, Jack realized how thoroughly he disliked her.

It infuriated him that he felt the need to explain his presence in his own home. "I don't have the tie I'll want for the dinner tonight," he snapped. "That's why I stopped by."

She put the paper down. "Jack, when I insisted that Sandy go to boarding school instead of your beloved Stonecroft, you must have known something was in the wind."

"I believe I did." Here it comes, he thought.

"I'm moving back to Connecticut. I've rented a house in Westport for the next six months or so until I see what I want to buy. We'll work out visitation for Sandy. In spite of the fact that you're a rotten husband, you've been a reasonably decent father, and it's better if we keep our separation amicable. I know exactly what you're worth, so let's not waste too much money on lawyers." She stood up. "Hail fellow, well met-jovial, wisecracking, community-minded, smart businessman, Jack Emerson. That's what a lot of people say about you, Jack. But even besides the womanizing, there's a lot festering inside of you. Out of idle curiosity I'd be interested to know what it is."

Jack Emerson smiled coldly. "Of course I knew that when you insisted on sending Sandy to Choate you were beginning your move back to Connecticut. I debated about trying to talk you out of it-that is, for ten seconds I debated. Then I celebrated."

And guess again if you think you know what I'm worth, he added mentally.

Rita Emerson shrugged. "You always said that you had to have the last word. You know something, Jack? Underneath what passes for veneer, you're still the same tacky little janitor who resented pushing mops after school. And if you don't play fair in the divorce, I might have to tell the authorities you confessed to me that you arranged to have that fire set in the medical building ten years ago."

He stared at her. "I never told you that."

"But they will believe me, won't they? You worked in that building and knew every inch of it, and you wanted that property for the mall you were planning. After the fire you were able to buy it cheap." She raised an eyebrow. "Run along and get your school tie, Jack. I'll be on my way out of here in a couple of hours. Maybe you can pick up one of your fellow classmates and have a real reunion here tonight. Be my guest."