Politika

FOURTEEN

Gordian lifted his foot off the brake almost long enough for the tires of his Mercedes SL to make a complete rotation, then halted again and frowned impatiently. To say he was doing ten miles an hour in the bumper-to-bumper traffic would have been far too optimistic. Flanked by two huge semis in the center lane of 1-280, he felt like a minnow caught between two stalled whales.

He checked his dash clock. Almost eight P.M.

Shit!

He reached into his sport coat for his flip phone and pressed in his home number.

“Yes?” his wife answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Ashley, it’s me.”

“Roger? Where are you? What’s all that racket in the background?”

“I’m on my way home,” he said. “And the noise is highway traffic.”

There was silence on the phone. As Gordian had expected. He didn’t try talking into it.

“Nice to see you’re not cutting things too close,” she said finally, her voice edged with sarcasm.

Gordian figured he’d deserved that. He looked out his windshield at the back of a Jeep Cherokee, saw a little white dog with a black bandit stripe across its eyes staring back at him through the window of the hatch.

“Listen, Ashley, I take this road all the time. If I’d known it would be this jammed tonight—”

“If not on New Year’s Eve, then when else?” she said. “And do I have to remind you we have dinner reservations for nine o’clock?”

“I’ll call the restaurant, see if they can switch our reservation to ten,” he said, knowing how stupid his offer sounded even before it left his mouth. As his wife had just pointed out, it was New Year’s Eve. Trader Vic’s would be booked solid.

Gordian waited for her answer. Nothing moved on the congested road. The dog in the Cherokee nuzzled the window and continued watching him.

“Don’t bother,” she said. Her sarcasm had curdled into anger. “I’m standing here in my good dress, ready to leave the house. Damn it, you gave me your word you’d be on time.”

Gordian felt his stomach sink. He was thinking that he had not only given her his word, but he’d also very much intended to keep it. With most of his staff having left early for the holiday, however, he’d decided to play catch-up with his paperwork in the rare absence of distractions, figuring he could leave for home at six-thirty and be there within an hour. Why hadn’t he allowed for the possibility that he’d get stuck in traffic?

“Honey, I’m sorry. I wanted to get some odds and ends done—”

“Sure. As always. To the exclusion of anything remotely connected to a personal life,” she said, and took an audible breath. “I’m not going to argue this over the phone, Roger. I won’t be reduced to the role of a nagging wife. And we’ve been through it all before, anyway.”

Gordian couldn’t think of anything to say. The silence in his earpiece had a barren, hollow sound. Ashley had been talking about a separation for the past several months. He never knew what to say to that, either. Other than to tell her he loved her, didn’t want her to leave, and was surprised she felt things were so bad between them that she would even consider leaving.

There was a mild surge in traffic. It started in the left lane, where one of the flanking trucks hissed and rumbled forward as its driver released its air brakes. Then the Jeep began to move and Gordian toed the accelerator.

He figured he’d gained about a car length of blacktop before the taillights of the Jeep flickered on and he had to brake behind it.

“I don’t think I’d better be home when you get here,” Ashley said.

“Honey…”

“No, Roger,” she said. “Don’t. Not now.”

Gordian’s stomach dropped some more. He knew from the flatness of her tone that there wouldn’t be any further discussion. She had closed up tight.

“I need some room,” she said. “It can only make things worse if we see each other tonight.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll call you later and let you know,” she said.

And hung up.

Click.

Gordian held the phone to his ear for almost a full minute after the line went dead, then finally slipped it back into his pocket.

He leaned back against the seat rest and rubbed his forehead, expelling a tired, resigned sigh.

No reason I need to hurry home now, he thought.

In front of him, the little dog with its face in the window had started barking and wagging its tail. Or looked like it was barking, anyway, since he couldn’t actually hear it through two panes of glass and the drone of several hundred idling motors.

Gordian held his hand up and waved and the dog swished its tail back and forth more rapidly.

“Happy New Year,” he said to the interior of his car.