Three months later, in a small restaurant where the waiter knew him, Russell slid a ring across the table. He said he was not asking me to love him, only to let him take care of me. I told myself I was being practical. Anyone drowning would grab a hand. I said yes, and some friends called me reckless.
His children came to the engagement gathering. His daughter, Marlene, did not shake my hand. She looked at me as if I had tracked mud across an antique rug.
“So you’re the new project,” she said.
I tried to smile.
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
All night, she measured me up from across the room.
After the wedding, Russell took my hand and walked me through his front door. Marble floors. High ceilings. A staircase curved like something out of a movie.
“Welcome home,” he said softly.
From the landing above, Marlene watched with a face so still it felt carved.
Later, after the reception at the house had thinned, I went looking for water.
She caught me near the staircase, one manicured hand on the banister. Her smile did not reach her eyes.
