The Witness

Uncle.”
    “Good. This is good. Now.” Sergei clapped his hands together. “We will have dessert.”

16
     
    I T SEEMED EASY, ALMOST NATURAL . S HE WONDERED IF SHE’D crossed some boundary and now lived in the normal she’d always yearned for. She didn’t know how it could possibly last, so every moment of that easy, natural normal glittered bright and precious as diamonds.
    He was with her almost every evening. Sometimes she cooked, sometimes he brought food. They might sit outside or take a walk to her favorite spot overlooking the hills. He helped her in the garden, taught her to play gin rummy on a rainy night, then feigned disgust when she beat him every game.
    He made her laugh.
    When he touched her in the dark, all the worries, all the doubts, brewing inside her just dropped away. Every time she woke with him in bed beside her, the happy jolt of surprise stayed with her for hours.
    She learned of the townspeople from him, putting pictures together in her mind from the funny stories or offhand comments he made. The clerk who often waited on her at the market stood as undisputed champion of the pie-eating contest held every July Fourth in the park. The manager of the bank was an amateur magician who performed at kids’ parties. Brooks’s oldest, closest friend was expecting his second child.
    Brooks might be called away in the evening, and twice he had to handle a call in the middle of the night. Whenever she found herself alone, the house felt different. Not like it did during the day when her work, her routine, flowed along, but as if something essential was missing.
    When it did, she tried to ignore the nagging sensation that when it all ended, nothing would ever feel completely balanced and whole again. So she focused on the moment, the hour, the day, the night. Then the next.
    She tried to relax and see how it would go.
    Together, they stood studying the flower bed they’d just finished. Most of the plants she’d nurtured along in her greenhouse, and seeing them in place as she’d pictured in her head brought her pleasure.
    Having help, she discovered, didn’t diminish that pleasure at all.
    She liked feeling a little grubby, a little sweaty, a little tired, and knowing the spinach lasagna she’d put together earlier only had to slip into the oven.
    “It looks very attractive.”
    “It looks great,” he corrected.
    “It looks great. But it’ll look better in another few weeks. It was nice having help.”
    He shot her a grin. “Really?”
    “Really. Would you like a beer?”
    “I’m on call, so better not. Could use a Coke.”
    “All right.”
    So simple, she thought, as she went inside. She liked getting him a drink, fixing him a meal. Cooking for someone besides herself, she’d discovered, brought serious satisfaction. Just as she liked him suggesting he bring home a pizza or Chinese or toss some burgers on the grill.
    She’d thought it would feel crowded—the house, her life, her routine—with him in it, but somehow it felt bigger. She’d worried that her work—the business and her personal agendas—would suffer with someone else taking up her time and space, but she’d been very productivethe last couple weeks. So many of the little tasks or chores took less time, as he pitched in to help or just did them himself.
    They weren’t living together, she reminded herself, as she poured the Coke over ice. She couldn’t let it go that far. But he had a toiletry kit in the bathroom, a few clothes in the closet.
    She liked looking at them when he wasn’t around. Just looking at his shirt, his razor, a pair of socks.
    They served as tangible evidence he was in her life.
    Or the life she was trying to build.
    She glanced out the window as she heard the dog’s bark, Brooks’s laughter.
    Bert chased the yellow tennis ball as if his world relied on its capture. The play equaled not only fun but good exercise. Still, it was odd to watch the dog respond so easily to the man.
    Ami,
she thought.
    Yes, they’d become friends.
    She picked up her glass of ice water, carried it and his Coke outside.
    “Thanks. That dog would chase a ball to Texas if I could throw it that far.”
    “He enjoys the run, and it’s good for him. He likes it when you throw the ball, because you can throw it farther than I can.”
    “He’s giving me a workout. I won’t need any infield practice on Saturday at this rate.”
    When the phone rang, it relieved her. He wouldn’t ask again, he wouldn’t