“What do you think?” I whispered.

He perched on the edge of my desk. I could smell his cologne, an earthy, sporty fragrance that always made me a little weak. “Impressive,” he said.

“Is that a good thing or bad?”

He shrugged. “Lots of people didn’t like her.”

“What about you?”

His eyes twinkled. “I think she’s hot as hell.”

I scoffed. “Any other helpful opinions?”

Another shrug. “I thought she was pretty good, but you worked with her more. It was a ballsy move, Rendall.”

“Well, you know me.”

He cocked his head. He gave me a sexy, appraising stare with those mint-green eyes. “I’m not so sure. It’s like you’re a different person today.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

I didn’t want to give Alexa any more opportunities to put Mexican hexes on me, so I told Evan I had a doctor’s appointment and slipped out of the office. I walked down Michigan Avenue, enjoying the sun now peeking from between the clouds. Due to the earlier rain, the air was humid, but because it was suddenly seventy degrees, it felt balmy.

What to do now? I had time before I had to meet Chris. I thought about going home, but as I crossed the street, I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window. Evan might have been impressed today with the trusty old brown pants and the ivory blouse, but I needed something better for a dinner with my husband to celebrate my promotion. I increased my pace and headed straight for Bloomingdale’s. Once inside, I ignored the glittering makeup counters and took the escalator to one of the designer floors, where I never usually let myself shop. But I’d gotten a raise with my promotion (I’d checked on that with the Human Resources person at the same time I got Alexa’s file) and I could afford a fabulous, celebratory outfit.

A saleswoman asked if she could help me. Usually, I turned the salespeople away, afraid of being pressured into a big purchase I didn’t need, but I was in the buying mood, so I said, “Yes, please.”

Soon, I was in the dressing room, trying on A-line skirts and sliplike dresses and spring sweaters the colors of Easter eggs. I decided on a slim marigold dress with velvety straps and a lace-up back. It was much brighter, much more chic than the clothes I usually wore, and it was perfect.

“I’ll wear it out,” I told the saleswoman.

Spring, the restaurant where I was to meet Chris, was on North Avenue in a building that had once been a Turkish bath. Outside, it still had the original stone face and columns. But inside, where it was decorated with Zenlike grasses and smooth wood tables, it was hard to imagine overweight men in towels being bathed and pounded upon by other men.

I went down the short staircase and saw Chris, sitting at the softly lit bar, a bottle of champagne in a bucket before him.

He slid off his stool. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. So do you.” His hair was wet around the ears, and he smelled like shaving cream. He’d clearly showered at the gym before our date, a detail which touched me.

“You got the vice presidency, didn’t you?” he said with a grin.

At last, someone who didn’t assume I’d had the VP gig forever. Apparently, that strange assumption was held only by the people at work.

“I did!” I said. “I got it!”

He pulled me into a hug and swung me around. People were staring, but I didn’t care.

“I knew it!” Chris said. “That’s why I got the champagne.”

Our table wasn’t ready, so we settled onto bar stools and started on the champagne.

“Here’s the thing,” I said to Chris. “Everyone at work was acting like I’d been a VP for a while.” I told him about how my stuff had suddenly appeared in my new office and how no one remembered when I’d actually gotten the promotion.

“They were putting you on,” Chris said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course they were.”

“It’s just that everything is different today.” Like you, I thought. But instead I told him about my mom and the postcard from Milan.

“That’s great,” he said. “She needed a vacation.”

“I know, but don’t you see? It all happened overnight, after I got that frog yesterday from Blinda.”

“The frog?” Chris made a face that said, c’mon.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.”

“It just feels like that.” His eyes twinkled as he gazed at me. “I’m so proud of you.”

Hearing that meant the world. “Thanks, sweetie.”

He squeezed my knee. “I can’t wait to get out of here so I can get you into bed again.”

I kissed his cheek, but then I had to ask. “Chris. Why today?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been having…” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “We’ve been having troubles. You’ve been distant, and I guess I have too, lately. So why today? Why did you want to fool around and talk in bed and get champagne for me?”

He took a swallow from his glass. “You’re my wife.”

“I’ve been your wife for two years, and things haven’t been good.”

Silence.

“Was it something I did?” I said. “Is that why you’ve been so sweet to me today?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He looked confused for a second. It was like he’d known exactly what I’d meant at some point, but now he couldn’t find that memory in his head.

“Or was it something I said?” I asked.

“What does it matter?” He took the glass from my hand and drew me closer to him with one arm, looking in my eyes with an intensity that warmed me from the inside. To be back in his graces, to feel his devotion again, was irresistible. “Doesn’t it feel right between us?” he asked.

“Of course.” I kissed him.

“I love you, Treetop.”

“You too, Marlowe.”

A woman dressed in a stylish tuxedo jacket appeared at our side. “We can seat you now. Sorry for the wait.”

“Ready?” Chris asked me. He stood up and held out his hand.

I let the questions fall away then. I reached out and placed my hand in his.

chapter five

T he next day, I left the office around 4:00 p.m. I walked the crowded streets of Michigan Avenue and made my way up the steps of the Art Institute. At the top, I stopped for my traditional pat of the stone lion on the left.

I’d spent most of the last eight hours trying to pretend that my new job was exactly the way it had always been-everyone at work seemed to think so-but it was hard to keep up the facade when I had no idea what I was doing. Much to my chagrin, I found that budgeting was a big part of my new position as vice president. For each account I oversaw, I had to design the budget. When I was a mere account supervisor, I used to toss my hair and complain that I simply didn’t have enough money, but now that I was making decisions on how much to charge a client (and therefore how much money we had to work with), I realized how tricky it was. If you decided a client needed too large a budget, they might balk and take their business elsewhere, yet if you reduced it, you might not have enough money to execute the campaign properly. By the time 4:00 rolled around, my head was aching and my eyes were exhausted from crunching numbers.

Inside the Institute, I flashed my annual pass at the ticket taker and wandered the cool marble hallways. I gazed at the Etruscan pitchers made of bronze and the metal armor that seemed too tiny to hold a knight. I stared at the Cassatt and strolled through a Manet exhibition.

Meandering through the Art Institute was an old trick of mine, something I’d discovered when I first started working. I loved the unhurried reverence of the place. And by taking in the beauty and the antiquity, it reminded me how small my purported troubles were, how insignificant. I was able to laugh (or at least chuckle grudgingly) at my so-called problems and forget what ailed me.

But it wasn’t working today. There was no way to overlook what had happened-the massive shift in all facets of my life that had occurred with no transition, no official proclamations and very little recognition of the change by anyone. It was almost like being a car accident victim, someone who had glanced down to switch the dashboard radio station and looked back up to find a tractor-trailer stalled in their path. Life can change in an instant-we all know that-but in my case, I seemed to be the only one to know the change had happened.