The Goal

11

But Julie does not understand.

"Thanks for the advance notice," she says.

"If I'd known earlier, I'd have told you," I say.

"Everything is unexpected with you lately," she says.

"Don't I always tell you when I know I've got trips coming up?"

She fidgets next to the bedroom door. I'm packing an over- night bag which lies open on the bed. We're alone; Sharon is down the street at a friend's house, and Davey is at band practice.

"When is this going to end?" she asks.

I stop midway through taking some underwear from a drawer. I'm getting irritated by the questions because we just went over the whole thing five minutes ago. Why is it so hard for her to understand?

"Julie, I don't know." I say. "I've got a lot of problems to solve."

More fidgeting. She doesn't like it. It occurs to me that maybe she doesn't trust me or something.

"Hey, I'll call you as soon as I get to New York," I tell her. "Okay?"

She turns as if she might walk out of the room.

"Fine. Call," she says, "but I might not be here."

I stop again.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I might be out someplace," she says.

"Oh," I say. "Well, I guess I'll have to take my chances."

"I guess you will," she says, furious now, on her way out the door.

I grab an extra shirt and slam the drawer shut. When I finish packing, I go looking for her. I find her in the living room. She stands by the window, biting the end of her thumb. I take her hand and kiss the thumb. Then I try to hug her.

"Listen, I know I've been undependable lately," I say. "But this is important. It's for the plant-"

She shakes her head, pulls away. I follow her into the kitchen. She stands with her back to me.

"Everything is for your job," she says. "It's all you think about. I can't even count on you for dinner. And the kids are asking me why you're like this-"

There is a tear forming in the corner of her eye. I reach to wipe it away, but she brushes my hand aside.

"No!" she says. "Just go catch your plane to wherever it is you're going."

"Julie- "

She walks past me.

"Julie, this is not fair!" I yell at her.

She turns to me.

"That's right," she says. "You are not being fair. To me or to your children."

She goes upstairs without looking back. And I don't even have time to settle this; I'm already late for my flight, I pick up my bag in the hall, sling it over my shoulder, and grab my brief- case on my way out the door.

At 7:10 the next morning, I'm waiting in the hotel lobby for Jonah. He's a few minutes late, but that's not what's on my mind as I pace the carpeted floor. I'm thinking about Julie. I'm wor- ried about her... about us. After I checked into my room last night, I tried to call home. No answer. Not even one of the kids picked up the phone. I walked around the room for half an hour, kicked a few things, and tried calling again. Still no answer. From then until two in the morning, I dialed the number every fifteen minutes. Nobody home. At one point I tried the airlines to see if I could get on a plane back, but nothing was flying in that direction at that hour. I finally fell asleep. My wake-up call got me out of bed at six o'clock. I tried the number twice before I left my room this morning. The second time, I let it ring for five minutes. Still no answer.

"Alex!"

I turn. Jonah is walking toward me. He's wearing a white shirt-no tie, no jacket-and plain trousers.

"Good morning," I say as we shake hands. I notice his eyes are puffy, like those of someone who hasn't had a lot of sleep; I think that mine probably look the same.

"Sorry I'm late," he says. "I had dinner last night with some associates and we got into a discussion which went, I believe, until three o'clock in the morning. Let's get a table for breakfast."