Joe sat in my armchair beside the window, casually skimming the day’s newspaper. Beyond him, through the large picture window overlooking Central Park, New York City was awash in the golden light of a balmy summer afternoon. A few hours more and the restaurants would be overspilling with laughter, the theaters packed with their colorful offerings. We’d barely left my house all week save to pick up a few essentials for Joe’s stay and to take some brief walks, and he was only there for another week; surely he wished to take in some of New York. Ed, from the very start of our marriage, had needed diversion outside of my company—I’d never been enough to keep his interest. And Ned—well, the man was more at home at raucous night spots or dancing his way through lively parties than at any of our own homes.
Joe flipped the page of the newspaper he was reading, casually glancing up at me with a shrug. “Only if you’d like, Blue Eyes. I’m happy as could be right here in this room.”
I couldn’t help but beam at this, crossing the room to fold into his lap and plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek. “But aren’t you restless? Here you’ve come all the way to New York City, and you’ve got nothing but little old me to look at.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed, boring deep into mine. After a moment, a matter-of-fact look on his face, he said, “I didn’t come all this way to see New York City.”
I shifted in his lap, slightly tremulous at the intensity of his expression. He went on, his hand moving gently up and down my back as he spoke. “I came to see nothing but you, Marjorie Post.”
* * *
—
On the final morning, just hours before Joe’s departure, we sat in bed eating breakfast together. I wished he could stay longer—indefinitely—but reality had finally summoned us both with calls we could not refuse; Joe was scheduled to visit the president at his family home upstate in Hyde Park, and Deenie was set to arrive back home to me before her upcoming return to school. Our imminent separation was softened by the fact that I was planning to accompany Deenie back to Mount Vernon and then was scheduled to spend a week or so in D.C., where I could see Joe’s life. Deenie didn’t know this yet. How would she feel about it? Particularly coming off a two-week stay with the father she adored? But my musings were interrupted when Joe spoke: “Marjorie, this may not seem old-fashioned, how I went about this. But I can assure you that in fact I am.”
I sat up a bit taller in bed, looking at him. “I am as well,” I answered. I did not casually take up with men; I’d been intimate with two others in my life, and both of those men had been my husbands. I suppose I had guessed from the start that Joe wanted to ask me to marry him. And that I wanted to answer yes. But I was far too traditional to be the first one to broach that topic. Instead I said, “I shudder at what my servants must think,” laughing as I took a sip of my Postum.
Joe looked at me intently, his dark eyes kindled by a thoughtful expression. After a moment, he said: “You know I will have to leave soon. I don’t just mean to Washington. For London or Paris.”
My stomach clenched. I had known he was leaving; of course I had. From the night of our first conversation, I had known that he was preparing for an ambassadorship that would take him overseas. And yet, I hadn’t wanted to confront the fact of that longer separation, one that would feel far more arduous than merely my being in New York and his being in Washington.
Joe went on: “It would be harder to travel like this, without setting tongues to wagging. I can’t guarantee that State Department aides are as discreet as your staff.” He waved a hand between us, indicating our casual companionship in bed, our state of unselfconscious dishabille. “So it sure would be nice if you’d marry me.” He said it as an offhand remark, but there was nothing casual about his strained expression as he awaited my reply.
My heart fairly tumbled within my rib cage. Marriage! To Joe Davies. It was what I had wanted, and now here it was, being proposed to me. Marriage, for a third time. And yet, this time, with this man, it felt so entirely different, so entirely unlike the others, that it might as well have been a first for me. I cleared my throat, matching his nonchalant tone as I lowered my cup back to the breakfast tray and asked, “You’d like that, Ambassador Davies?”
“More than anything.”
I allowed a beam to burst across my features. “Then I suppose we ought to do it.”
At that, Joe leaned forward and kissed me, a firm, determined kiss, one that roiled with desire and the enormity of all that we had just agreed to. We put our breakfast trays aside, forgetting about the rest of our food.