Page 23 of His Loving Wife

“I caught it,” Noah confesses, happily. “The man at the market said it’s a grouper. Dad’s going to cook it on the grill.”

“That’s very impressive,” Aster says, squeezing Noah’s shoulder. Behind her, she nudges David. “I told you we should have picked up a snack along the way. I’m practically starved.”

“Sorry,” I say. “It was really important to Noah that we eat his fish.”

“I understand, I understand.” She holds up both hands, graciously letting us know she forgives our faux pas.

Andrew already has the fish out of the cooler and on a platter. The stench is fetid and sickly. He grabs some olive oil and seasonings from the top cabinet, balances them on the tray.

“It’s only fish, Aster.” He walks toward the backyard grill, pausing to stare down at Aster with the platter in his hands. “It won’t take but a few minutes to cook.”

Aster seems caught off guard, or maybe she’s bothered by the stench. Maybe she realizes how rude she sounds, after inviting herself over for dinner, complaining that it’s not yet ready, but that’s a stretch.

Andrew walks outside, the glass door clacking shut behind him.

“He’s right. It won’t take long.”

Willow joins us in the living room, her grin growing when she catches sight of Aster.

“There she is,” Aster shouts, holding out her hands for an embrace. “My goodness, you get more beautiful each time I see you.”

Willow blushes. “It’s been a long time since we saw each other.”

“Thanksgiving, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, we should probably set the table,” I say. “Willow, care to help?”

It doesn’t take any pressing at all. Willow scoops the noodles out of the bowl and into a serving dish. I take the vegetables out of the oven and do the same. Aster holds out a bottle of wine.

“We did stop by the liquor store to get this.”

“That was nice of you.” I stop momentarily to fetch a corkscrew out of the drawer. “Care to pour me a glass?”

“I would be delighted.”

“So, how far away is your summer house from here?” Noah asks.

We’ve never been, nor have we been invited. Our schedules never seem to line up. While we’re dependent on the school calendar, Aster and David only seem capable of getting away on long weekends.

“It’s a little over two hours away from here,” she answers.

“And you’re driving the rest tonight?” I ask.

Aster looks to David.

“We were wanting to talk to you about that,” he starts, a noticeable tremble in his throat. I pity his present students.

“We’ve been on the road so long as it is,” Aster says. “And David always feels so lethargic after dinner. I was wondering if maybe we could stay here for the night?”

“Here?” The word comes out more irritated than I meant.

“We could always get a hotel if it’s too much trouble,” she says, then looks around. “Or if there’s not enough space.”

“There’s plenty of space,” I say.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Willow cuts in. “Right, Mom?”

She looks at me, and it’s hard to tell whether she’s pressuring me or trying to help.

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