did. She harrumphed loudly at me, turned her back, and was asleep in five minutes.
And Peter was on the porch with his tennisracket, in white shorts and a T-shirt, at ten-fifteen the next morning. I pretended to ignore the fact that he had the best legs I'd ever seen. I wished mine were as good as I smiled at him and opened the screen door. Sam was at the kitchen table, eating corn flakes and drinking Dr Pepper. It was a serious addiction.
“Did you sleep well?” Peter asked, smiling at me.
“Like a baby.”
We chatted for a minute, as Sam dropped the cornflakes in the sink and they splashed everywhere, and Charlotte appeared in the kitchen, glowering at everyone. But she was carrying her racket.
He had reserved two courts at a club nearby, a very old exclusive one that Roger had always wanted to belong to, but your family had to bequeath you a membership. Roger would have hated Peter. Peter was everything he wasn't.
And as soon as we arrived, Charlotte suggested we play doubles. I knew then that I was in trouble. He thought she was being friendly. And she insisted that I be her partner. Peter teamed up with Sam, who was just learning, and was feeling mildly carsick from the ride over. And then Charlotte went to town on Peter. She creamed him. I have never seen her play so well, or with such energy, or venom. If she'd been training forthe Summer Olympics, I'd have been proud of her. As it was, I was surprised that Peter didn't hit her with his racket, or try to kill her. She was without mercy. And when it was all over, she smiled at him.
“She plays very well,” he said charitably afterward, looking unruffled by her performance. I wanted to strangle her again, and was relieved when she saw friends having Cokes at the bar, and asked if she could join them. I told her she could, if she took Sam with her, which she didn't. And then I apologized to Peter for her blood lust on the courts. “It was fun,” he said, and looked as though he meant it. That was the first time I suspected he was crazy.
“She was trying to prove a point,” I said apologetically, and he laughed.
“She doesn't need to. I'm relatively harmless. She's a bright girl, and she's probably concerned about who I am, and what I'm doing here. That's pretty normal. I warn you, I'm falling in love with Sam though.” And I loved him for it. I had a moment's fantasy about their being friends, and then instantly repressed it. There was no point getting my hopes up.
We chatted easily for a while, and then had lunch with Sam. Charlotte had lunch with her friends on the terrace, and seemed to have forgotten about Peter. Having disposed of him onthe court, she had lost interest in him. There were two fourteen-year-old boys in the group who were far more captivating than he was.
After lunch, Sam swam in the pool, and we sat at the side and watched him. Peter and I talked about a variety of things, and were surprised to discover we shared the same political views, liked the same books, and had the same taste in movies. What else is there? Nothing, really. We both liked hockey too, and were longtime Ranger fans. And had visited and loved all the same places in Europe. He promised to take me sailing. I told him about a show at the Met I was dying to see, and he offered to go with me.
It was a terrific weekend, and so was the next one, and the one after that. Charlotte still thought he was a dork, but there was less energy in her complaining. They saw a lot of the sitter that summer. And he even came out once or twice during the week to spend the night at a hotel and have dinner with me. He definitely didn't fit the profile of the men I'd been dating. He was human.
We had spent some serious time kissing by then, but nothing more, and every night when I came home, Charlotte was diligently waiting up to grill me. I would come in floating on the cloud Peter had left me on, and meet Charlotte's gaze like a splash of icy water.
“So?” it usually began. “Did
And Peter was on the porch with his tennisracket, in white shorts and a T-shirt, at ten-fifteen the next morning. I pretended to ignore the fact that he had the best legs I'd ever seen. I wished mine were as good as I smiled at him and opened the screen door. Sam was at the kitchen table, eating corn flakes and drinking Dr Pepper. It was a serious addiction.
“Did you sleep well?” Peter asked, smiling at me.
“Like a baby.”
We chatted for a minute, as Sam dropped the cornflakes in the sink and they splashed everywhere, and Charlotte appeared in the kitchen, glowering at everyone. But she was carrying her racket.
He had reserved two courts at a club nearby, a very old exclusive one that Roger had always wanted to belong to, but your family had to bequeath you a membership. Roger would have hated Peter. Peter was everything he wasn't.
And as soon as we arrived, Charlotte suggested we play doubles. I knew then that I was in trouble. He thought she was being friendly. And she insisted that I be her partner. Peter teamed up with Sam, who was just learning, and was feeling mildly carsick from the ride over. And then Charlotte went to town on Peter. She creamed him. I have never seen her play so well, or with such energy, or venom. If she'd been training forthe Summer Olympics, I'd have been proud of her. As it was, I was surprised that Peter didn't hit her with his racket, or try to kill her. She was without mercy. And when it was all over, she smiled at him.
“She plays very well,” he said charitably afterward, looking unruffled by her performance. I wanted to strangle her again, and was relieved when she saw friends having Cokes at the bar, and asked if she could join them. I told her she could, if she took Sam with her, which she didn't. And then I apologized to Peter for her blood lust on the courts. “It was fun,” he said, and looked as though he meant it. That was the first time I suspected he was crazy.
“She was trying to prove a point,” I said apologetically, and he laughed.
“She doesn't need to. I'm relatively harmless. She's a bright girl, and she's probably concerned about who I am, and what I'm doing here. That's pretty normal. I warn you, I'm falling in love with Sam though.” And I loved him for it. I had a moment's fantasy about their being friends, and then instantly repressed it. There was no point getting my hopes up.
We chatted easily for a while, and then had lunch with Sam. Charlotte had lunch with her friends on the terrace, and seemed to have forgotten about Peter. Having disposed of him onthe court, she had lost interest in him. There were two fourteen-year-old boys in the group who were far more captivating than he was.
After lunch, Sam swam in the pool, and we sat at the side and watched him. Peter and I talked about a variety of things, and were surprised to discover we shared the same political views, liked the same books, and had the same taste in movies. What else is there? Nothing, really. We both liked hockey too, and were longtime Ranger fans. And had visited and loved all the same places in Europe. He promised to take me sailing. I told him about a show at the Met I was dying to see, and he offered to go with me.
It was a terrific weekend, and so was the next one, and the one after that. Charlotte still thought he was a dork, but there was less energy in her complaining. They saw a lot of the sitter that summer. And he even came out once or twice during the week to spend the night at a hotel and have dinner with me. He definitely didn't fit the profile of the men I'd been dating. He was human.
We had spent some serious time kissing by then, but nothing more, and every night when I came home, Charlotte was diligently waiting up to grill me. I would come in floating on the cloud Peter had left me on, and meet Charlotte's gaze like a splash of icy water.
“So?” it usually began. “Did
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