Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Something Like Happiness June 1921-Part One

Smut. Fluff. Happiness. Thanks to ofautumnleaves

for the idea of the shopping scene! Takes place before and during 'The Age of Reason.'

Richard was alone in his bed for the first time since Memorial Day. He felt a twinge of panic (it had all just been a dream, he was still in the woods) until he saw Clara sitting at the desk wrapped in her robe-no, she called it a kimono, he thought-, her pen flying across the page as she wrote. There were small signs of her all around the room. The additional pillow under his head, the quilt smashed at the end of the bed, the pile of books on the bedside table, even the slight orange smell on the sheets. Two of her dresses hung in the closet with his clothes. The dresser he had left empty now held some of her things. Clara still went back to the Ritz most days so she could write while he worked (and, he assumed, to keep up appearances), but at night she was either here when he came home or got back shortly after. He liked coming home, now, and he liked waking up.

Clara was deep into her work, so he decided he should start his own. He fished his undershirt and boxers from under the bed where they landed the night before, and also found the green one-piece lace and silk...thing Clara had worn to bed. He shifted when he realized she was only wearing her kimono. He dressed, choosing not one of his new suits but clothes he had brought from Wisconsin, but then hesitated to leave without telling her.

It took a couple of attempts to find his voice. "I'll. Mmm. Be right back," he told her while his hand hovered just over her shoulder. Clara's fingers reached up to brush his, but she didn't stop writing. When he returned he set her coffee (light tan instead of the black of his own) and a bacon roll next to her left hand.

"Thank you," she murmured and reached for the coffee.

Usually, he ate standing at the dresser at the foot of the bed, but since Clara was so lost in her work he sat on the edge of the bed and ate his breakfast before he went outside.

It was the smell that brought her back to reality. Sweet but acrid, it always smelled like summer to her. No, she thought, rubbing her right hand with her left in an attempt to stop the writer's cramp, it smelled like the color green. She looked around the room as she stood up. The bed was made, the step-in she'd worn the night before neatly folded on top, but she had no idea where Richard was.

The slight whirring sound, which would come near and then grow distant, made her pull her kimono close and open the door. Richard was cutting the grass. The masked side of his face was turned towards the door. She leaned against the door frame and watched him. He was dressed in the tan pants and collarless shirt he wore the day she met him in Chicago. The first time she'd seen him in a collared shirt and tie, she remembered, was when he picked up her from her bridal luncheon (a slight shudder went down her spine at the thought). That red tie was still one of her favorites, but when he stopped wearing them she'd missed seeing him in the collarless shirts.

Even though Clara knew nothing about cutting grass, she could perceive the care he was taking in making his lines perfectly straight. She was growing ever more familiar with the care and precision Richard brought to any task where he made use of his hands. Her heart sped up a little in her chest. When he turned at the end of the yard he saw her and she smiled and waved. She knew if she stood and watched him she'd make him nervous so she went back inside.

The mask itched terribly, and he could feel the sweat dripping down his back. Clara must be done writing, he thought. He would shower, and then he should take her out since he had the whole day off. A moving picture, something, even if they had to drive a town or two over. It wasn't right to just entrap her in his room.