A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [89]
“I hear one can get a wicked cup of coffee in here,” Rob said from the doorway of the library.
Harrison, startled from his reverie, glanced up. “The best,” he said.
“You were a hundred miles away,” Rob said.
“Four hundred. You have breakfast?”
“Don’t do breakfast. Never did.”
“That’s how you stay so trim,” Harrison said, admiring the long line of Rob’s cashmere sweater and jeans.
“Nerves,” Rob said, walking further into the room. He appeared fresh from the shower, his hair still wet.
“You get nervous before a concert?” Harrison asked.
“Every time.” Rob paused in front of the espresso machine and studied it. “How do you work this thing?”
“It’s incredibly difficult,” Harrison said, standing. “I’ll have to do it for you.”
Harrison pressed a button and shrugged. Rob smiled. “Don’t know if I can master that,” he said.
“Give it a few days.”
Rob took a seat across from Harrison and glanced around the room. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“I didn’t know Nora had it in her.”
“I think we’re all learning a great deal about one another this weekend,” Harrison offered.
Rob nodded. “You, for example. I didn’t know until two weeks ago that you were in publishing.”
Should Harrison reply with a comment about his not knowing that Rob was gay? Did Rob want that conversation? Harrison couldn’t tell. “I like your friend Josh,” Harrison said instead.
“He’s practicing.”
“He brought his cello with him?”
“Virtual practicing. He sits in a chair and closes his eyes and puts his fingers on imaginary strings and visualizes the playing.”
“Really,” Harrison said. He thought of Beethoven composing symphonies he couldn’t hear.
Rob crossed his legs, and Harrison noted the long trouser socks, the custom-made shoes. That Rob had understated elegance was a given. What interested Harrison was that Rob seemed a man perfectly of his era. The snowy white shirt under the V-neck sweater. The Movado watch. The trim cut of the hair, not drawing attention to itself, yet somehow suggesting with a few spikes in the front an edgier look than most. Harrison made a mental note to catch a concert if Rob should come to Toronto.
“I admire both of you,” Harrison said. “I’ve never had an ear for music.”
“I remember that about you.”
Harrison laughed.
“Stephen could sing, though,” Rob said. “Remember the night he got up and did that Neil Young thing?”
“Wow, I haven’t thought about that in years,” Harrison said.
“Actually I was jealous of you,” Rob said. “I had a wicked crush on Stephen.”
Harrison checked his surprise. “Didn’t everyone?” he asked casually.
“One day, I saw him running along the beach,” Rob said. “I was standing on the cliff near Rowan House, and I could see Stephen approaching from a distance. He had a beautiful stride, stepping in and out of the water with such ease. I always thought of him as a superbly aligned animal. Like a cheetah, maybe. He seemed oblivious to everything but the moment. I envied that.”
Harrison said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Rob said. “This must be hard for you. Being here with all of us must constantly remind you of him.”
“A little.”
“If we’d only known then what we know now,” Rob said. “That he was the one guy among us who should never have taken a drink. He used to say that one beer was too many, but twelve wasn’t enough.”
“Did he?” Harrison asked. “He once told me that having one beer and quitting made him feel lousy.”
“You can’t outrun that fate.”
“No, I guess not.”
“But, my God, he was the funniest guy. Remember the time Mitchell got called out of class, and Stephen—I swear he didn’t miss a beat—stood up front and pretended to be Mitchell and finished the class? He nailed the guy, just nailed him. That little hitch in Mitchell’s walk? The Boston accent? He even did his laugh. It was brilliant.”
“I’d forgotten that,” Harrison said, smiling at the memory.
“He was something,” Rob said.
“He was something,” Harrison said.
There was a long silence in the room.
“This is none of my business,” Harrison said, “but did you know at Kidd?”
“That I was gay?”
Harrison nodded and hoped he hadn’t overstepped