A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [108]
“What?” Jerry asked, either genuinely surprised or very good at feigning it.
“You shit,” Julie said, as she pushed back her chair and stood. “You little shit.” She gathered up her purse and her wrap. Agnes watched as she left the room without another word.
Jerry sat back in his chair. “Jesus Christ,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Agnes said quietly. “It’s over.”
“Why?” Nora asked.
“Because I’ve told all of you about it. I promised him I would never tell. And now I have.”
“You’re worried about breaking a promise to him?” Jerry asked, quickly recovering from his wife’s departure. He certainly didn’t seem about to go after her. “The guy’s been using you.”
“No,” Agnes said. “He hasn’t. You don’t know the first thing about it, Jerry, so just shut up.”
“Whoa,” Jerry said, holding his palms up. “Easy now.”
“We just hate to see you get hurt,” Rob said.
“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Agnes snapped. She hadn’t meant to snap at Rob.
“How do you mean?” Harrison asked quietly.
“I know what you all think of me,” Agnes said. “Steady, sturdy Agnes. Too bad she never had a date. Never got married. Never had kids. Is she gay?”
From a hallway, Agnes could hear a woman calling for Ian. A waiter moved around the table, filling wineglasses. Nora gave him a subtle signal to leave.
“Agnes,” Nora said finally.
“I’m sorry, Bridget,” Agnes said. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this. It’s your wedding supper, and I’ve spoiled it.”
“You haven’t spoiled anything,” Bridget said.
But of course Agnes had. She could see it in their faces. Jerry’s determination to get at the gritty truth. Nora’s sadness. Harrison’s bewilderment. Rob’s desire to put the best face on this for Agnes.
“I just couldn’t stand having you all leave after this weekend,” Agnes said, “and not know this about me. That I have had a life. It’s a different life than most. A life dispensed in moments. But they were transcendent moments, never dull, intensely felt, full of joy. How many of you can say that? I have had riches. I have had my share. Tomorrow, we’ll all say that we’ll get together again, but we won’t, not really. I might die, and none of you would ever have known. Poor Agnes, you’d be saying. A spinster.”
“We wouldn’t have said that,” Nora said.
Having loosed her secret—and her anger—Agnes found that she couldn’t stop herself. Later tonight, or tomorrow morning while driving home to Maine, she might cringe at the memory of this moment. But right now all she felt was relief. Tremendous relief at not having to hide the central fact of her life.
“You’d have thought it,” Agnes said. “You’ve been thinking it. Just like I pitied you your whole marriage, Nora. Just like I’m wondering what’s eating at Harrison. Just like I’m wondering what it feels like to have cancer and still want to get married.”
“Agnes, stop it,” Rob said.
Agnes ignored the scolding. “Why are we all pretending? We’ve spent every minute of this reunion hiding the things that are closest to our hearts. We were once all best friends. Now we’re as good as strangers to one another. I don’t expect you to tell me your secrets—I don’t want you to. It’s just that I’ve lived that duality all my life, and I can spot it a mile away.”
Agnes knew that she’d gone too far, that she’d offended people she genuinely admired, even loved. She would not, however, take back what she had said. It was too late for that. There was only one more thing to be said before she left them.
“We’re all so full of it,” Agnes said, standing, “that we haven’t even talked about the thing we’re all not talking about. That night at the beach. It’s a kind of cancer all its own, isn’t it? We were all there. We all saw Stephen. We all watched him drink himself into oblivion.”
Nora very quietly pushed her chair back and stood. Agnes watched as she walked behind the others to a door that perhaps led to the kitchen.
“We were all complicit in Stephen’s death,” Agnes added. “We knew he was a drunk, and yet we didn’t keep a close enough eye on him. We didn’t even notice he was gone until