Curled in the Bed of Love (26 page)

Reaching for another packet of sugar, she knocks my hand, spilling my coffee.

“Oh, sorry,” she says in her quiet voice.

She soaks up the spilled liquid with a wad of paper napkins. “Why'd you have to do this? Humiliate me in public. Wasn't it enough that you slept with him?”

“I needed your forgiveness.”

“Oh, this is all about you, isn't it?”

She drags her hands over her face. “I called everyone I know and told them to watch. Roger stayed home from work with Eli so he could show him Mommy on
TV
. Remind me never to leave you alone with Roger again.”

She looks at me, looks away. “Oh, gee, I'm sorry. That was below the belt.”

“I never meant for it to happen,” I say.

She covers her ears. “Please, please, please! Don't tell me about it. Do you think I want to add to the pictures in my mind?”

That man in the grocery store cupped my breast lightly enough not to compress it, as if it were an easily bruised fruit, as if he were
merely tempted to take it and bite into it. As I would touch Peter, driven by the hunger of having him and not having him all at once. As I can search Anna Marie's face, hoping for one more glimpse of something pure and absolute.

I start to cry. “I didn't want to hurt you.”

Anna Marie makes an irritated noise. “But you did.”

I nod. If I open my mouth, excuses will come pouring out.

“Were you still seeing him when I came to you the night after we broke up? Were you humping him all that time you were telling me good riddance to bad rubbish, you'll see? Oh God, I feel kicked.”

All I've done is to afflict her too with these pictures, with the helpless need to replay them over and over again. I reach for her.

“No! How dare you?” She steps back from me. “Were you jealous of me? Is that what this is about? Is that why you told me now—so you could take me down a peg? Is that what you wanted?”

What I wanted can't be read on her face, won't be held by any name she gives it. She can't even make herself look angry enough. Softness is natural to her, even when the cosmetician has painted it over so thoroughly.

Still, her voice is harsh. “I bet you told yourself you really loved him.” She studies my face in a way that makes me feel she is looking through me to see something else. Then she makes a noise that might be triumph, might be dismay. “Oh my God, you did.”

Now we've both been through it. Maybe now she can understand. What I want, just once, is to be truly beheld.

THE FLANNERY O'CONNOR
AWARD FOR SHORT FICTION

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Leigh Allison Wilson,
From the Bottom Up

Sandra Thompson,
Close-Ups

Susan Neville,
The Invention of Flight

Mary Hood,
How Far She Went

François Camoin,
Why Men Are Afraid of Women

Molly Giles,
Rough Translations

Daniel Curley,
Living with Snakes

Peter Meinke,
The Piano Tuner

Tony Ardizzone,
The Evening News

Salvatore La Puma,
The Boys of Bensonhurst

Melissa Pritchard,
Spirit Seizures

Philip F. Deaver,
Silent Retreats

Gail Galloway Adams,
The Purchase of Order

Carole L. Glickfeld,
Useful Gifts

Antonya Nelson,
The Expendables

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The People I Know

Debra Monroe,
The Source of Trouble

Robert H. Abel,
Ghost Traps

T. M. McNally,
Low Flying Aircraft

Alfred DePew,
The Melancholy of Departure

Dennis Hathaway,
The Consequences of Desire

Rita Ciresi,
Mother Rocket

Dianne Nelson,
A Brief History of Male Nudes in America

Christopher McIlroy,
All MyRelations

Alyce Miller,
The Nature of Longing

Carol Lee Lorenzo,
Nervous Dancer

C. M. Mayo,
Skyover El Nido

Wendy Brenner,
Large Animals in Everyday Life

Paul Rawlins,
No Lie Like Love

Harvey Grossinger,
The Quarry

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Under the Red Flag

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Winter Money

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Unified Field Theory

Mary Clyde,
Survival Rates

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The Edge of Marriage

Darrell Spencer,
CAUTION Men in Trees

Robert Anderson,
Ice Age

Bill Roorbach,
Big Bend

Dana Johnson,
Break Any Woman Down

Gina Ochsner,
The Necessary Grace to Fall

Kellie Wells,
Compression Scars

Eric Shade,
Eyesores

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Curled in the Bed of Love

Ed Allen,
Ate It Anyway