Belonging by Nancy Thayer Page B

life. She wanted her claim on him to be acknowledged.
    Instead, she had a cab take her back into the city. She’d put the fare on her expense account. After all, Carter had said they were on a business trip.
    It was after midnight when she finally unlocked her door and half fell into her apartment. Kicking off her heels, tossing her coat and bag on a chair, she headed directly for the kitchen. She was starving. But of course there was very little to eat in her cupboards or refrigerator—she didn’t know much about cooking, didn’t have the time. By now as she moved she was weeping steadily, quietly whimpering. She was so cold. She was so hungry. She was so tired. She was so sad. Now she was trembling. Her apartment was always overheated in the winter, but she turned up the thermostat anyway, and started the hot water in her shower, and stripped off her clothes, letting them lie where they fell. She stood under the shower for a long time, leaning against the white tile wall, the hot water washing her tears down her face. Stepping out, she pulled on her terry-cloth robe and the heaviest pair of socks she could find. Shuffling back to the kitchen, she dug out a frost-encumbered box of Sara Lee cinnamon rolls from the freezer, heated them in the microwave, and filled a glass with water—there was nothing except coffee to drink, and she didn’t want more coffee. She carried the rolls back to her bedroom, crawled under the covers, and ate them with a sloppy voraciousness that would have irritated Carter. Crumbs fell all over the bedcovers.
    Her hunger slightly assuaged, she felt strong enough to listen to the messages thather answering machine’s blinking light told her were waiting. She hit the rewind button and then the play, and licked her fingers as she listened.
    Who did she think in her wildest hopes would call? Carter? Did she actually think Carter would come out of his anesthetic fog and think, first thing upon awakening, “How is Joanna? Did she get home all right? I need to call her!”?
    Of course she couldn’t hope for that, and of course there was no message from Carter on the machine.
    Gloria’s annoyingly efficient voice was first: “Hey, boss lady, you’ve got some correspondence that needs signing immediately; I’ll leave it on your desk for you to get first thing in the morning. Catch ya later.”
    Beep . “This is Giles Berklow’s secretary calling for Joanna Jones. We’ve finished her taxes. We’ll put them in the mail to her unless she wants to pick them up. Let us know. Thanks.”
    Beep . “Darling, it’s Sheila. Now listen. ShinyBowl just called me with a to-die-for offer if you’d only do one little commercial for them. Not glamorous, perhaps, but honey, the money. Call me. Kisses.”
    Beep . “Joanna, it’s Bill Shorter. I’m not too happy with the last show we taped. The lighting was too murky for about two minutes in the children’s playroom. Would you come in immediately and look at it and see what we could substitute?”
    Beep . “It’s me again, boss lady. I’m sorry, but the effin’ airlines called and the Monday morning flight you were scheduled to take to Charleston has been canceled. You’ll have to go Sunday night. Okay? Get back to me.”
    Beep . “Hello, sweetheart, this is Dot, your personal shopper, and I’ve found such a collection of suits for you, you’ll die with joy. But look, I’m leaving for vacation in a week, so could you call and schedule an appointment for like yesterday? I’d be so grateful. Bye, doll.”
    Beep . “Ms. Jones, this is the custodial manager of the CVN offices calling. We’ll be in to clean your office carpet next Thursday, so could you schedule yourself out of the office that day to give it time to dry? We’d appreciate it.”
    “My, what a romantic life you lead,” Joanna said aloud as her machine trilled to announce the end of the messages. She stabbed the answer button, then slid her empty plate onto the bedside table where it