Mr Peanut - Adam Ross [132]
“Hello, Sam.”
“Susan.”
He looked at the stranger, who in turn looked at him. “I’m Dr. Sheppard.”
“Dr. Kessler.”
“Mark and I work together at Samaritan,” Susan said.
They waited.
“Can I talk with you?” Sheppard said, taking her by the arm and leading her away. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
“Well, you found me.”
He stopped and studied her. Her eyes kept sinking toward his neck, then bobbed back up.
“Maybe we should go,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“No?”
“Not now, no. I’m having fun.”
Sheppard glanced over her shoulder at Kessler. “Maybe you’re just drunk.”
“Really? Thank you, but excuse me.”
She turned to leave and he took her arm again.
“Let me go.”
“Let’s get some air.”
“I don’t want air, I want to be away. From you.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right. You’re a big, embarrassing question mark.”
“Susan—”
“Even Mark, he just asked me. He said, ‘Who are you here with?’ And when I told him, he says, ‘Are you two involved?’ And I couldn’t answer really, could I? Because what are we? What do I say? What do I tell people anywhere, let alone at a party?”
“You’re being foolish.”
“You’re right. I’m a fool. I’m your fuckmate of a fool.”
He took her by both elbows and raised her whole body toward him, her ear nearly pressed to his lips. “If you ever want to see me again,” he whispered, “you’ll walk with me out that door right now. Do you understand?”
She chuckled, and he squeezed her in his fists.
“Do you?” he said, and he let her down.
She looked at both her elbows, at the fading red marks where his fingers had gripped them. Then after she checked to see how serious he was, her eyes narrowed and she smiled. “You’re a funny boy,” she said.
It had been a mistake to take the coast road, Sheppard thought, not just for the weather or the state of the car but because of the added time of the added miles, the winding road’s restrictions on his speed, because he and Susan could have gotten back to Los Angeles sooner, which would have meant being safely asleep, and then he could wake up the next morning and be off with Chappie to Big Sur, where Marilyn was now. It was a mistake and also, in these conditions, dangerous. It was one of many mistakes, he thought, his thumb throbbing so badly where he’d cut it earlier he was sure he’d need stitches. And now the same anxiety he’d felt earlier came over him—the irrational, nameless fear that he wouldn’t survive this night, not with every single mistake somehow conspiring to bring about his own death, here, with Susan, so his dying would bring only harm. Sickness presented symptoms, diagnosis trailing infection or accident, but mistakes were the results of choices, of sequences that could be traced back to their origins. It was a mistake, Sheppard thought, to have gotten involved with Susan, then to think that the woman he’d known as a mistress could be anything more. No, their beginnings were themselves a set of limits imposed on any possible future. But none of these observations led to anything approaching a solution or remedy.
And with a sudden clarity he understood what his wife’s last words had meant. Don’t have too much fun. She knew. She always knew. He smiled humbly. From the minute she came out here, and probably long before, she knew that he’d see Susan. She knew and she forgave him from the outset, but that was only part of what she meant. The rest was this: she was waiting. If this was to be their end, so be it. If this was just another of his flings, that was fine. She, meanwhile, would wait for him to come around. He might cut her loose; he might embrace her. But she wouldn’t end them. She would wait. She loved him, would give them another chance—and that was final.
Lord, Sheppard prayed, get me home.
“Stop the car,” Susan said.
“Why?” he said.
“I’m freezing,” she said. “I want you to put the top up.”
“The cold keeps me alert.”
“Stop this car, Sam, or I swear to God I’ll jump out.”
“Jump out, then. I don