Page 32 of The Husband Hour
In her dreams last night, it was that sophomore-year party all over again. Except instead of looking upstairs for Stephanie, she was searching room to room for Rory, her panic mounting with each closed door. She woke up, heart pounding, at three in the morning and never fell back asleep.
Push through! She moved faster, her chest heavy with each intake of oxygen. A low-flying seagull swooshed past her. She loved the birds, envied the birds. Her legs were slow, but her thoughts raced with the questions from Matt’s interview with Stephanie.
Lauren remembered the days when she had been the one asking questions. God, she hadn’t thought about that Merionite article in so long. She’d spent so much time trying to forget the ending that she never let herself remember the beginning.
She’d enlisted Stephanie’s help.
“I don’t get it. You’re writing an article about him?” Stephanie, sitting cross-legged on her bed, barely glanced up from her phone. Just a few months earlier, Lauren had met Rory in the dark hallway outside that very bedroom. She shook the thought away.
“No! Not about him. It’s about the hockey team. But he’s the highest scorer. I have to get a quote from him.”
Stephanie sighed dramatically and tapped her phone before handing it over.
“That’s his number. But don’t expect too much. He’s kind of an arrogant asshole.”
Maybe so. But as she sat in the school library waiting for him to show up for the interview, her body hummed with anticipation. She had typed up her questions and printed them out, and now she unfolded the paper on the library table. She reread the list for the umpteenth time.
“Preparation. I like that,” a voice said behind her. She jumped and covered the questions with her hand, feeling kind of busted, though in what sense, she wasn’t exactly sure.
“Hi. I’m Lauren,” she said, standing and almost knocking over the chair.
“I know,” he said.
He pulled out a chair, sat next to her. She felt dwarfed by his size. She pulled the questions onto her lap.
“Okay, so like I said, I was assigned to write an article about the hockey team.”
“You like hockey?”
She nodded.
“Have you ever been to see one of the games?”
“Um, no.”
“I thought you just said you like hockey.”
“I do. I watch the Flyers. Do you mind if I tape this?” She positioned her mini–cassette recorder between them.
“Very professional.”
Was he teasing her? No. His expression was serious.
“So who’s your favorite player?” he asked.
“On your team?”
“No. The Flyers.”
She thought quickly. “Éric Desjardins.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Not a bad choice, though I’d have to go with Primeau.”
Lauren nodded. She needed to get control of this conversation. “Okay, well—we should get started because I know you don’t have much time.”
“What do you think their playoff chances are this year?”
She looked at him, his dark eyes and square jaw. Something deep inside of her twitched.
