Offerings by Richard Smolev

she said. Histrionics only would have allowed Peter to respond in kind. Kate wanted to be as blandly clinical as possible.
    “I’d still like to talk to Mack.”
    “Eight-year-olds don’t get a vote, and besides, you’ll either be spending all your time at Ascalon if the market turns or positioning yourself to find a job if it doesn’t. Poor Mack will be left holding the bag.”
    Kate didn’t want to spend every waking moment confronting their problems. If she and Peter were going to salvage what they had, they needed time to breathe and to laugh. She reached her hand out to his. “C’mon, Peter, let’s not have this conversation. The sun is shining. We have the whole weekend in front of us. Let’s find something fun to do. Normalcy. We both could use a couple of days’ worth of normalcy.”
    Sarah was beginning her finger exercises on her cello, humming along with the music.
    Peter walked into the kitchen. Kate knew he’d be back. He hadn’t stormed off because his bluff had been called. He had to see how transparent his pretext had been. He brought back the coffee pot and filled Kate’s cup. He sat on the edge of the lounge chair to Kate’s right. Siena curled between them. “I talked to Bank of America yesterday. They’ll lend us four and a quarter against the Leger for a year,” Peter said. His voice lacked assurance, but he had no alternative to pleading his case. He said the painting was a gift to Kate and insured it in her name. She had veto power.
    “We can’t afford it.”
    “We can spread it around to buy some time with everyone else. We actually save a few dollars on the carry. And the fact that the bank is willing to lend more against it than we’ll get selling it tells me it has some upside.”
    “What if the art market doesn’t recover? Didn’t you say the other day it’s following the economy south?” Kate asked. She saw nothing but downside in Peter’s plan. She was growing tired of the whole debate.
    “I’m comfortable buying some time. I told them to prepare the papers.”
    Kate shifted in her chair. As much as she resented that Peter would go this far without even talking to her about his plans, Kate was weary of fighting Peter’s obsession over hanging on to this painting. “Do what you want, Peter.” Peter couldn’t let it go, but Kate was resigned to losing it one way or another. She saw no point in opening the fault line in their marriage any further over what seemed to be a done deal. If the bank repossessed the painting, the loss would be on his side of the ledger.
    He shifted the subject. His voice was softer. “I read the papers you dug up about Amigo. There wasn’t much there.”
    “That’s because there wasn’t much there, Peter. Mom was dying. Do you really think I’d talk about a deal under those circumstances even if Jack wanted to talk about the possibility? The idea is too offensive to consider.”
    “Then why are the lawyers looking for a plaintiff? They must know something I don’t.”
    Sarah’s cello was growing louder as she moved from her warm-up exercises to a Prokofiev scherzo.
    “Know something you don’t?” Kate said. “The lawyers are looking for a plaintiff because that’s what lawyers do. Are you suggesting I’m withholding information from you?”
    He shifted his chair so he was a few feet further away from her. The sun was no longer in his eyes.
    “Peter, listen to me. It’s essential you believe me on this. There isn’t a hint of truth to the idea that I slowed your merger talks down.” Kate needed to make this personal. “Do you really think I would do that to you and Cass and to everyone else there? Do you really think I’d do that to us?” It was as though a skein of yarn was slowly unraveling in her hand.
    “I wish all those questions answered themselves, Kate. I wish I had a compass to get me through all this.”
    Kate never imagined they would reach the point in their life together where they’d begin dismantling