Read The Last Time They Met Online
Authors: Anita Shreve
Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Adult
The Last Time They Met (13 page)
Linda crossed her arms over her chest. Why did this knowledge upset her so?
—
How do you take that out of the equation?
Thomas asked.
How do you solve a problem like that?
How do you take that out of the equation?
Thomas asked.
How do you solve a problem like that?
Linda breathed slowly and evenly. The room was cold, and she rubbed her arms.
—
The second day we were there, Jean and Rich went over to the island where the murders had occurred. We were moored just off the island — it had a dreadful name: Smuttynose — and Adaline and I were alone on the boat. Just talking. She’d lost her daughter in a messy divorce, and she was telling me about it.
He scratched his head again.
Such irony. To think that I was comforting her, and just hours later it would be me who’d lost a daughter.
He put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up.
I happened to see some people over on the island, and I decided it would be Rich and Jean. I thought I’d give them a wave. I picked up the binoculars and saw Rich and Jean embracing. Jean was naked from the waist up.
The second day we were there, Jean and Rich went over to the island where the murders had occurred. We were moored just off the island — it had a dreadful name: Smuttynose — and Adaline and I were alone on the boat. Just talking. She’d lost her daughter in a messy divorce, and she was telling me about it.
He scratched his head again.
Such irony. To think that I was comforting her, and just hours later it would be me who’d lost a daughter.
He put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up.
I happened to see some people over on the island, and I decided it would be Rich and Jean. I thought I’d give them a wave. I picked up the binoculars and saw Rich and Jean embracing. Jean was naked from the waist up.
Linda gasped. The image was shocking, even in a world of shocking images.
—
I watched for a while, and then I couldn’t bear it. I threw the binoculars overboard. Adaline kept saying, “What, Thomas? Thomas, what?” But I couldn’t speak. And I don’t know why it bothers me so much, even now. After everything else . . .
I watched for a while, and then I couldn’t bear it. I threw the binoculars overboard. Adaline kept saying, “What, Thomas? Thomas, what?” But I couldn’t speak. And I don’t know why it bothers me so much, even now. After everything else . . .
He leaned back in the chair.
—
It was your brother,
Linda said.
It was your wife.
It was your brother,
Linda said.
It was your wife.
He nodded.
—
It was biblical,
she said.
It was biblical,
she said.
He nodded again.
What is sex, anyway?
he asked.
Is taking your shirt off in front of your brother-in-law sex? Technically? Where do you draw the line?
What is sex, anyway?
he asked.
Is taking your shirt off in front of your brother-in-law sex? Technically? Where do you draw the line?
—
There isn’t one.
There isn’t one.
—
No, of course not.
He took a deep breath.
I was crazed after that. I couldn’t think clearly. I was so fucking preoccupied. And then, when they got back . . .
He paused.
There was a storm brewing. A serious storm. I’m not a sailor, but even I knew it was bad. There wasn’t any time to confront Rich or Jean.
Thomas was shaking his head constantly now as he spoke.
And between the storm and the tension, none of us was paying attention.
No, of course not.
He took a deep breath.
I was crazed after that. I couldn’t think clearly. I was so fucking preoccupied. And then, when they got back . . .
He paused.
There was a storm brewing. A serious storm. I’m not a sailor, but even I knew it was bad. There wasn’t any time to confront Rich or Jean.
Thomas was shaking his head constantly now as he spoke.
And between the storm and the tension, none of us was paying attention.
He stood up suddenly, as if gathering courage for the rest. He walked to the window.
We thought Billie was safe with Adaline. Adaline was seasick, and she was lying in the forward cabin with Billie, who was beginning to feel queasy herself. Rich and Jean and I were trying to stabilize the boat and get to shore.
Thomas rubbed his eyes the way only a man would do: vigorously, even viciously.
Adaline left Billie lying on the bed and went through the forward hatch to get some air. Probably to puke, too. I know she thought Billie wouldn’t leave the bed.
We thought Billie was safe with Adaline. Adaline was seasick, and she was lying in the forward cabin with Billie, who was beginning to feel queasy herself. Rich and Jean and I were trying to stabilize the boat and get to shore.
Thomas rubbed his eyes the way only a man would do: vigorously, even viciously.
Adaline left Billie lying on the bed and went through the forward hatch to get some air. Probably to puke, too. I know she thought Billie wouldn’t leave the bed.
Thomas began to pace. He walked to the French doors and through them to the living room. He picked up a small vase and put it down. He walked back to the bedroom.
Jean and I had been trying to get Billie into her life vest. And I suppose we thought we’d done it, or maybe we were interrupted, I can’t remember now. But we should have known. Billie didn’t want to wear it, and we knew better than anyone just how stubborn she could be. We should have forced her into it and kept our eye on her at all times. Harnessed her, if need be, to the boat.
Jean and I had been trying to get Billie into her life vest. And I suppose we thought we’d done it, or maybe we were interrupted, I can’t remember now. But we should have known. Billie didn’t want to wear it, and we knew better than anyone just how stubborn she could be. We should have forced her into it and kept our eye on her at all times. Harnessed her, if need be, to the boat.
Linda closed her eyes. It could be just a moment’s inattention. Backing out of the driveway and not noticing your child had moved behind the car. Having a fight with your husband and not seeing that the baby had climbed onto the window ledge. One second. That’s all it took.
—
Adaline fell overboard. I went in after her. Rich was trying to keep the boat upright. Jean was frantic. And then . . . And then, it was Rich, I think, who noticed first.
Thomas looked at the ceiling.
Oh, God, this is our punishment, isn’t it? These memories. It was an ice pick in the chest. The body knows already, even if the mind won’t accept it yet. “Where’s Billie?” Rich said.
Adaline fell overboard. I went in after her. Rich was trying to keep the boat upright. Jean was frantic. And then . . . And then, it was Rich, I think, who noticed first.
Thomas looked at the ceiling.
Oh, God, this is our punishment, isn’t it? These memories. It was an ice pick in the chest. The body knows already, even if the mind won’t accept it yet. “Where’s Billie?” Rich said.
Thomas stopped. He looked at Linda.
And that was it,
he said.
That was the end of my life as I’d known it.
And that was it,
he said.
That was the end of my life as I’d known it.
—
Thomas.
Thomas.
No other words, they who mined and invented words.
—
I was crazed for months. Insane. I’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming. Rich would run into the room — he was staying with me all the time then — and have to pin me to the bed.
I was crazed for months. Insane. I’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming. Rich would run into the room — he was staying with me all the time then — and have to pin me to the bed.
—
Thomas.
Thomas.
He leaned against the doorjamb, his hands in his pockets, his shirttails mysteriously come untucked.
It seemed important that I tell you this story.
It seemed important that I tell you this story.
She met his eyes, and neither spoke. The earth might have made a revolution for all the time they were silent.
—
I won’t make love to you while you’re waiting for word of your son,
Thomas said finally.
Though I want to.
I won’t make love to you while you’re waiting for word of your son,
Thomas said finally.
Though I want to.
Linda drew her knees up and bent her head to them, so that Thomas couldn’t see her face. He didn’t move to touch her, as he had said he wouldn’t.
The details make it unbearable, she thought.
She pressed her forehead hard against her legs. She knew that any movement in any direction would say everything there was to say. If she rose and walked to the window, each would know that no history could be resurrected, no future be salvaged. And then Thomas would collect his tie and jacket and might ask her when her plane was leaving and might even kiss her on the cheek, though the gesture would be meaningless, without import, without even the wonder of what might have been. For the standing up and walking to the window would obliterate all wonderment, then and forever.
—
I shouldn’t have said that,
he said.
I shouldn’t have said that,
he said.
—
You can say anything you want.
You can say anything you want.
—
It’s sex and grief,
he explained.
There’s some connection I’ve never understood.
It’s sex and grief,
he explained.
There’s some connection I’ve never understood.
A need to stay alive, she thought, but didn’t offer.
—
I’ll go now,
he said from the doorway.
I’ll go now,
he said from the doorway.
She held her breath. She wouldn’t stop him. But she didn’t want to watch him leave either.
She heard him cross the floor. She froze, thinking he would touch her. But then she heard the sluicing of his arms into the silky lining of his jacket. She waited until she heard the soft click of the outer door.
She looked up, scarcely believing that he had really gone. She waited, thinking that any minute he’d walk back in, tell her he’d changed his mind or he had more to tell her. But he didn’t come back, and the emptiness of the room presented itself to her: an emptiness that might go on forever. A fleeting sense of relief
—
relief that they had not touched, had not had to decide how to be with each other
—
gave way to a quiet and dispiriting rage. The rage, perhaps, of being left, vestigial; the rage, certainly, of words left unsaid. For a minute, she teetered between that rising anger and a feeling of bottomless sympathy.
—
relief that they had not touched, had not had to decide how to be with each other
—
gave way to a quiet and dispiriting rage. The rage, perhaps, of being left, vestigial; the rage, certainly, of words left unsaid. For a minute, she teetered between that rising anger and a feeling of bottomless sympathy.
A heavy rain had started outside. More than a heavy rain
—
sheets of water whipped against her windows. She felt as unstable as the weather. She willed herself to stay on the bed, willed herself to let Thomas walk away. But some great impulse
—
ruinous and engaging
—
propelled her to the door.
—
sheets of water whipped against her windows. She felt as unstable as the weather. She willed herself to stay on the bed, willed herself to let Thomas walk away. But some great impulse
—
ruinous and engaging
—
propelled her to the door.
She found him standing at the elevator. He still held his tie in his hand. He looked drained, slightly dazed, like a man who had just had sex and was returning to his room.
—
Why did you walk away from me that morning in Africa?
she asked.
Why did you walk away from me that morning in Africa?
she asked.
He was startled by the question, she could see that. In the silence, she heard, through the window at the end of the hallway, car horns and a police siren, the siren with a different tone, more European than American. A room service waiter rolled a noisy cart along the hall and pushed the elevator button, which Linda noticed only now had not been lit. Thomas hadn’t summoned the elevator.
—
I had to,
he said finally.
I had to,
he said finally.
She inhaled a needed breath.
Why? Why did you have to?
Her voice was rising, inappropriate in this hallway. The waiter studied his cart.
Why? Why did you have to?
Her voice was rising, inappropriate in this hallway. The waiter studied his cart.
—
Regina,
Thomas said distractedly, as if not understanding why the obvious answer wasn’t the correct one.
Regina was . . .
Regina,
Thomas said distractedly, as if not understanding why the obvious answer wasn’t the correct one.
Regina was . . .
—
Was what?
Was what?
—
Linda . . .
Linda . . .
—
Was what?
Her voice too loud now, inappropriate anywhere.
Was what?
Her voice too loud now, inappropriate anywhere.
—
Regina was distraught. She was saying she would kill herself. She kept saying I’d be killing two people then. I knew I couldn’t leave her alone in Africa.
Regina was distraught. She was saying she would kill herself. She kept saying I’d be killing two people then. I knew I couldn’t leave her alone in Africa.
—
You left me alone in Africa.
You left me alone in Africa.
—
That was your choice.
That was your choice.
—
My choice?
A voice inside her head said, Be careful. That was years ago. But she wasn’t certain she could stop the words. Some wounds did not heal, she realized with a small surprise.
My choice?
A voice inside her head said, Be careful. That was years ago. But she wasn’t certain she could stop the words. Some wounds did not heal, she realized with a small surprise.
—
I had assumed that eventually we’d find a way to be together,
she said. The elevator came, but Thomas did not get on. The waiter gratefully escaped them.
I had assumed that eventually we’d find a way to be together,
she said. The elevator came, but Thomas did not get on. The waiter gratefully escaped them.
—
Well, you took care of that, didn’t you?
Thomas said, unable to suppress a note of sarcasm.
Well, you took care of that, didn’t you?
Thomas said, unable to suppress a note of sarcasm.
—
You wouldn’t have done it yourself?
she asked sharply.
Eventually?
You wouldn’t have done it yourself?
she asked sharply.
Eventually?
—
Yes, of course, I would have. I’ve loved you all my life. I’ve told you that. But in the event, in the reality of that night, it was unthinkable that I should leave Regina alone. You know that as well as I do.
Yes, of course, I would have. I’ve loved you all my life. I’ve told you that. But in the event, in the reality of that night, it was unthinkable that I should leave Regina alone. You know that as well as I do.
And, yes, she did know that. The truth would always be exhilarating, she thought.
—
And it was ruined then,
he added.
We’d ruined it. We’d neglected to imagine the chaos.
And it was ruined then,
he added.
We’d ruined it. We’d neglected to imagine the chaos.
—
I’d rack my suffering up against Regina’s anytime,
she said.
I’d rack my suffering up against Regina’s anytime,
she said.
He seemed taken aback by the contest. She knew that later she would mind this the most: that she’d become common in her anger. That in an instant, she’d reinvented herself as a shrew.
—
Wasn’t it worth anything?
she asked.
Wasn’t it worth the pain to be together? Tell me you didn’t believe we should be together.
Wasn’t it worth anything?
she asked.
Wasn’t it worth the pain to be together? Tell me you didn’t believe we should be together.
Her questions astounded her as much as she saw they surprised him. And why was she asking them? Did she really regret any choice that had led to her children? Any turn of fate that had produced Maria and Marcus? Would she have wished Vincent unmet, unmarried? Of course not.
—
Apart from Billie, I’ve hardly thought of anything else for thirty-four years,
Thomas said quietly.
Apart from Billie, I’ve hardly thought of anything else for thirty-four years,
Thomas said quietly.
She looked at the patterned carpet. She prayed that Thomas would not cross the hallway and hold her. Reduce them to that. She thought of saying it aloud, forbidding him.
She was sure he would leave her now, leave her to erase the memory of the last several minutes. Of the weekend altogether, if it came to that. Thomas unmet, unseen, after all these years.
She hadn’t the stamina for this anymore.
From somewhere down the hallway, she could hear a telephone ringing. It rang twice, then three times, before she registered what it was. Then, with a mother’s instinct, never dormant, she walked quickly along the hallway, listening, until she had come to her room. It
was
her phone. Shit, she thought. It would be Marcus. She tried the doorknob.
was
her phone. Shit, she thought. It would be Marcus. She tried the doorknob.
Of course. She had locked herself out.
—
I’ll go down and get a key,
Thomas said quickly when he had reached her side.
I’ll go down and get a key,
Thomas said quickly when he had reached her side.
—
They won’t give you one. And, anyway, it will be too late.
The phone continued to ring. It must be important, she thought. She was certain now that it was Marcus.
How could I have been so stupid?
She rattled the doorknob once again.
They won’t give you one. And, anyway, it will be too late.
The phone continued to ring. It must be important, she thought. She was certain now that it was Marcus.
How could I have been so stupid?
She rattled the doorknob once again.
Thomas stood immobile beside her. The phone was still ringing. She wished it would stop. The argument between them seemed irrelevant now.
—
Actually,
Thomas said.
This is kind of funny.
Actually,
Thomas said.
This is kind of funny.
She looked up at him. He rubbed a cheekbone in an effort to suppress a smile. He was right, she thought. It was kind of funny. All the
sturm und drang,
and then the slapstick of a locked door.
sturm und drang,
and then the slapstick of a locked door.
—
A farce, after all,
she said.
A farce, after all,
she said.
Behind them, she heard movement.
Excuse me, you need key?
On the maid’s trolley were breakfast menus and small Godiva chocolates. Turn-down service. Linda would never turn them away again.
Excuse me, you need key?
On the maid’s trolley were breakfast menus and small Godiva chocolates. Turn-down service. Linda would never turn them away again.
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