East Hope (38 page)

His final stop was the dry cleaner's, just around the corner from Mary Beth's apartment.
Wait,
he caught himself thinking.
My apartment. This will become my apartment and the place I'm going to live.
This thought added to his growing unease.

That evening Mary Beth looked beautiful in a slinky red dress. She kissed Will just as the bell rang announcing the first guests, and then blew playfully into the whorl of his ear. “You're going to have fun, Will. You are.” She slipped out of his grasp and headed to the door. The caterer handed him a glass of wine.

The apartment held the spring scent of flowers from the large arrangement that had been delivered that afternoon. The caterer and her helper, both in tuxedos, had come soon after, bearing trays of hors d'oeuvres that would be heated and passed. Mary Beth had praised Will on his selection of cheeses and she had arranged them on platters and set them on the dining table at the far end of the living room.

Within minutes the apartment filled with guests, and Will tried to relax and enjoy himself. The hum of conversation filled the apartment. Mary Beth introduced him to the Babcocks, an older couple who lived on the floor just above. They were a pleasant pair who loved going to concerts and visiting museums. They told Will not to miss the van Gogh drawings at the Met.

Later in the evening he met Hugh Longman, the chief operating officer at Mary Beth's company, who actually turned out to be a nice guy. Hugh explained that his wife was in Florida visiting her elderly mother and couldn't be at the party, but they both loved Maine. Hugh liked to fish, and he and his wife sailed as often as they could. Will enjoyed hearing about their travels in Maine.

When Mary Beth smiled at them from across the room, Hugh leaned in closer, as if to share a confidence. “Mary Beth is really something,” he said. “Drew convinced us to put her on the fast track.”

That name again. Will was about to reply when they were interrupted by a distinguished man in a navy blazer with a crest on the pocket.

“Clive Martin,” he said, thrusting out a ruddy hand. “Mary Beth says you're quite the writer. I know your wife from the co-op board.”

Will had no idea that Mary Beth was on the co-op board of the building. What else would he be learning about her life in New York?

“Written anything I might have read?” Clive's voice seemed to boom across the room. Hugh stepped away.

“I've only been published in academic journals,” Will explained. “Not the kind of thing you'd pick up at a local bookstore.” Clive seemed to be waiting for something more, as if it were Will's job to keep the conversation rolling.

“I tried writing a novel once,” he said, “but I'd rather teach literature than write it.” He told Clive about Taunton's and his interest in old books. Clive's attention waned.

The caterer stepped between them with a tray of hot mushroom tarts. Both men reached for them, as if glad to find a way to break the conversation. Will drank the last of his wine, planning to excuse himself and move on.

“Great party,” Clive said. A flake of pastry hung on his lower lip.

Will nodded and looked down into his empty glass.

Clive smiled toward Mary Beth and lifted his hand as if in salute. A few guests were already starting to leave the party. She appeared to be deep in conversation with a broad-shouldered man. Will had not noticed him earlier. They had not been introduced.

Just then Clive turned toward the server, who was passing a tray with more wine. As Will exchanged his own glass for a new one, he saw the broad-shouldered man reach over and lift a strand of Mary Beth's hair and tuck it behind her ear. That familiar gesture happened so quickly that Will wondered, when he took his new drink and looked back again, if it had happened at all. Mary Beth, looking flushed, then turned to say good-bye to a young woman from her office. The man who had touched his wife's hair was helping another guest with her coat.

Will felt a pounding in his ears. The roar of the cocktail conversation buzzed around him. He was suddenly cold, as if a fog were moving in, damp and heavy, blocking the warmth of the sun. He took a gulp of wine.

“Mr. Harmon?” A voice at his elbow jarred him. The female server stood beside him. “Mr. Harmon, your wife said there is another case of wine, but we can't find it anywhere.”

He tried to make sense of what she was saying. “Oh, yes, wine.” He excused himself from Clive and started toward the kitchen to look for the wine when he noticed Mary Beth's assistant, who had come to the party with her boyfriend. They had been among the first guests Will had met. She was on the periphery of a large group who appeared to have had lots to drink. They were all laughing louder than normal. He tried to remember her name.

“Mr. Harmon?” The server was motioning toward the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” Will said to the young assistant. “It's Sheila, right?”

Sheila stepped away from the crowd and smiled up at Will. “Yeah. Super party.”

“I wondered . . .” Will tried to act only mildly interested. “I don't think I've met the guy standing next to Mary Beth.”

Sheila looked across the room. She was a tiny woman. Despite wearing very high heels, she had to crane her neck to see whom Will was talking about. She looked back at him and leaned closer. “Didn't Mary Beth tell you?” She giggled. “That's Drew Kramer. Just moved here from the LA office.” Sheila raised her eyebrows. “After the deal he did in Asia, they say there's no stopping him.” Sheila stopped speaking and appeared suddenly flustered. “I assumed Mary Beth told you about him.”

“Yes. Yes, she did. I just didn't know if he was going to be here tonight.” The server was at his side again. “Thanks, Sheila. I'll introduce myself in a minute.”

Will went into the kitchen and directed the server to the back door. Will had left the extra wine in the service hall, as there had been no room in the tiny kitchen. After he had seen to this, he tried to work his way back to Mary Beth. The Babcocks stopped him to speak to him about a gallery opening the next night and asked if he and Mary Beth would like to be their guests. Will, who hardly heard them, stammered that their plans were still up in the air. By the time he reached Mary Beth, Drew was gone.

His wife hooked her arm through his. “Clive and some friends from the building have a table at Romanos and they want us to join them after the party.”

Clive, standing by her side, said, “We'll celebrate your return to New York.”

Will could only think about what he had seen between Mary Beth and Drew. He mumbled something about being tired and wanting to stay in after the party.

Mary Beth spoke quickly. “Nonsense. Will, you sound like some cranky old salt from Maine.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “We'll join you in a little while, Clive.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “Be a darling and save us two seats.”

W
ill sat slumped on Mary Beth's sofa. She was in the kitchen talking to the caterers. He heard the clattering of glasses, the sound of the service elevator, and finally the banging of the back door. She came into the living room and went to the mirror by the front door. She opened the drawer of the narrow console table below it and took out a lipstick. He caught her eye briefly in the glass as she leaned close to the mirror to apply color to her mouth. Once again he pictured the way Drew had lifted her hair and tucked it so easily behind her ear in that knowing way; the ease and familiarity of the gesture, somehow more intimate than a kiss, had pierced him.

“What are you staring at?” she asked.

“You never introduced me to Drew,” he said flatly.

“What's that supposed to mean? Come on. We need to go. Clive's holding the table.”

“Are you having an affair with him?” Will's question seemed to fill the room, the sound of his few words ricocheting off the walls and the black expanse of windows like an interminable echo. Then silence.

“Oh, Will,” Mary Beth said. She didn't look at him, but reached into the same little drawer for her keys. She turned to face him. “Drew came late. He wasn't here long. You were talking to Clive on the other side of the room.” She opened the closet and pulled out her coat. “We really have to go.”

Will's chest felt tight. He didn't move. “You haven't answered my question.”

She sighed and threw her coat onto a chair. “There's nothing to talk about. We're very good friends. I see him every day at the office. That's it.”

Will crossed his arms across his chest. He stared at the floor. He thought that if he looked at her he would lose control.
Calm,
he thought.
I must stay calm.
“Something's going on,” he said. “I'm not a fool. I saw how he touched you.” The image flared again. He pictured Drew touching more than her hair—her throat, her back, her breasts. There had been those other times: Mary Beth going out to dinner with Drew and their office friends, Drew picking up the phone in her apartment, Drew giving her the nickname M.B. He had been a fool not to confront her before. Or had some part of him wanted it to happen, giving him an excuse to end their marriage?

“Okay, fine.” She went to her handbag and pulled out her cell phone. “I'm calling Clive.”

Will leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He flexed his hands and waited. She spoke quietly. He paid no attention to whatever excuses she made.

She sat at the edge of the chair opposite him. “Okay. Maybe there's something. I don't know.” She paused. “Some kind of connection. Drew and I get along well. We understand each other.” She pushed the hair from her face.

“So you are,” he snapped.

“Nothing has happened.” Her voice softened. “You have to believe me. This entire summer was like being caught up in a whirlwind. The work, the travel. It was a real high.”

He groaned and leaned back.

“Wait. Despite everything going on, I still kept missing you.” She stood up and looked down at him. “I thought about the way you'd disappear for hours into your books, the way you walked around the house reading, the way you talked about your students, your diligence, our old life in Habliston.” She began to pace in a measured way, as if to calmly recall all the good parts of their married lives. “I missed how we used to talk late into the night, the way you rubbed my feet, fixed me soup. You were good for me, Will. We balance each other.” She sat again, seeming hopeful that her words had reached him.

Nothing felt in balance to Will now. He shook his head. The noise of the city filtered up from the many floors below. “This doesn't feel right.”

“Oh, please,” she said, sounding impatient, exasperated. “I don't want to talk about Drew. We need to talk about us. But it's going to take some effort on your part, too.”

“Is that what I am? An effort?”

“You know what I mean. You've got to stop moping about Habliston and get on with it. Running off to Maine and pretending to start up some bucolic life in the middle of nowhere isn't going to hack it.”

“It's not nowhere, and people there have full lives too.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I have tried,” he said. “You had a good time in East Hope. You seemed to be happy there. I was happy. It was like when we were on our honeymoon.” As he said these words, a terrible sadness caught in his throat. It was the past he was talking about.

“It's not working anymore, is it?” She started to cry.

Will stood. He almost went over to her to take her in his arms, to try to fix it. He rejected the impulse. He thought again of Drew. Was she telling the truth? Did it even matter?

“I guess we want different things,” he said. His emotions waffled. At one time he had thought it would be liberating to say these words, to be free of it all, to admit the end of their life together. Instead he was sickened by sadness. He was on the edge of tears. He pressed his clenched fist to his mouth and tried to hold his feelings back.

Will got up from the sofa, feeling the old familiar pinch in his lower back. His childhood back problem flared up under stress.

“Will, I wanted this to work,” she said.

“I want to believe you.” He shook his head.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

The noise of the city, the steady rumble of cars, a distant siren, filled the room.

Will had not anticipated how difficult this conversation would be. “I loved you very much,” he said. “You were everything to me.” He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Your life will never be mine. I'm sorry.” He said nothing more and went into the bedroom to pack his things. He had to get out of New York. He only hoped that the pain would lessen once he returned to East Hope.