He was remembering her while still making space for the present. Murphy crossed the room, circled twice, and lowered himself beneath Anna's chair. Tom stopped speaking. "What?" He looked at the dog.
He hasn't done that with anyone since Margaret. Anna's smile faded. She looked down at Murphy, then at Tom. For once, she had no quick answer, so she stayed quiet. And for once, staying quiet did not feel like leaving.
Three evenings later, Anna stood on a kitchen stool with half her body inside an upper cabinet while Tom held a flashlight below. "You realize," he said. "Most professionals use ladders. Most professionals have clients who own ladders that don't wobble. That ladder has character.
That ladder has a lawsuit." Tom laughed. Anna reached farther into the cabinet and pulled out a stack of old records wrapped in a dish towel. Dust floated through the beam of the flashlight. "Well," she said as she climbed down.
"Either this is valuable or someone was very serious about hiding music." "Tom took the top record from her." His expression changed. Not sadness. Exactly.
Recognition. Margaret loved this one. Anna turned it over. Did you? I learned to.
That sounds diplomatic. It means she played it until resistance became pointless. Tom carried the record to an old turntable in the dining room. Seconds later, music drifted into the kitchen. Tom smiled.
She used to make me dance in here. Anna leaned against the counter. You? What does that mean? I'm trying to picture it.
I danced successively. Tom folded his arms. That sounds like a challenge. Anna should have changed the subject. Instead, she held out one hand.
Prove it. For the first few seconds, it was ridiculous. Tom stepped left when Anna expected right. Anna nearly backed into a chair. Murphy followed them in a circle, convinced the activity had been organized exclusively for him.
You're counting, Anna accused. I like structure. You're dancing, not filing taxes. I can stop. You absolutely cannot stop now.
Tom's hand rested lightly at her waist. Nothing dramatic, nothing improper. But somehow the room became quieter around them. Anna looked up. Tom was smiling.
Not the polite smile he gave neighbors. Not the teasing one he used when Murphy stole something. Something softer. For one strange moment, Anna forgot the category she had placed him in years ago. Not Mr. Carter, not Beth's dad, just Tom.
A man whose hand was warm against hers. A man who looked at her as though he had forgotten something, too. Then Murphy pushed directly between their legs. Anna stumbled backward, laughing. Tom caught her elbow.