art.

She liked its lofty windows, the little gla.s.sed-in balcony where she

could pot herbs, and the fact that it was only a brisk walk to Johnno's.

She saw him almost every day. He went along with her on her hunts

through antique stores, something that bored Drew. It was habitual for

Johnno to drop by once or twice a week for dinner, or to join them on an

evening out. If she couldn't have her father's approval, it soothed to

have Johnno's, to hear him talking music with Drew. Emma was pleased

when he and Drew began to write a song together.

She threw herself into domesticity, making a home for herself, for Drew,

and for the children she couldn't seem to conceive.

It had surprised and pleased Emma that Drew wanted to start a family

right away. Whatever else they disagreed on, whatever differences she

had discovered in their tastes and viewpoints, in this they shared the

same dream.

She imagined what it would be like to carry a child, to feel Drew's

child growing inside of her. Often she daydreamed about how she and

Drew would push a pram through the park. Would they wear those smug

smiles she noticed on new parents?

As the months pa.s.sed, she told herself to be patient, that the time

would come. It was stress, it was trying too hard. Once she had

learned to relax during lovemaking, it would happen.

As spring breezed in, she took dozens of pictures of pregnant women, of

babies and toddlers in the park. She watched them enjoying the fine

warming afternoons. And envied.

Plans to open her own studio and work on her book were postponed, but

she continued to sell her pictures. She was content to pour herself

into a new domestic life, to spend her free hours expanding her

portfolio. She began to collect cookbooks, and to watch cooking shows

on public television. It flattered her when Drew praised her attempts

to re-create a meal. Since he became easily bored with her photography,

she stopped showing him her prints or discussing her works in progress.

He seemed more content to see her as a housewife. In the first year of

their marriage, she was more than happy to oblige him.

Deliberately, she kept busy, trying to mask her disappointment when her

body informed her, with regularity, that she wasn't pregnant. Trying not

to feel the guilt when Drew sulked each time she failed.

It was Runyun who shook her out of her complacent routine.

WITH A Bottle OF CHAmPAGNE in one hand and a clutch of tulips in the

other, Emma burst into the apartment. "Drew? Drew, are you home?"

Setting the bottle down, she switched on the radio.

"Jesus, would you shut that thing off ?" Drew appeared at the top of the

stairs. He wore only a pair of sweats. Never at his best in the

morning, his hair was tumbled, his eyes bleary,, his face scruffy with a

night's growth of beard. "You know I worked late last night. I don't

think it's too much to ask for a little quiet in the morning."

"I'm sorry." Quickly, she pushed the off switch and lowered her voice. A

few months of marriage had taught her that Drew's temper was a lit rise

before coffee. "I didn't realize you were still in bed. I thought you

were out."