• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 675 0

keep it running? And why the marriage? Isn't it their marriage? Maddening, all this dissection and second-guessing. But she's trying hard not to keep bringing things up. They have to move on. She's more than entitled to her anger and pain, Ken admitted. But as long as they were being honest about their feelings, then she has to know that the recrimination only wears him down, day after day, grinding away at him. Guilt isn't his strong suit: he actually said that last night. What is your strong suit then, she yearned to ask, was still wondering, hours later, as he snored next to her, telling herself she should be grateful. Yes. Be grateful for that snoring, for the mess, for the pain; she'd read that once, Dear Abby Dear someone, be grateful he is still here. Grateful she has a husband. A man. Anyone. Grateful she isn't alone.

She is proofing ad layouts when the phone rings, startling her. Hilda's not supposed to put any calls through until she's done.

“What?” she answers distractedly, still reading.

“You don't have an appointment, do you?” Hilda asks in a hushed tone.

“No.”

“That's what I thought. Someone's here, though. A Mr. Hawkins? He says he's got an appointment—” His voice in the background. “Nine thirty, he says.”

“No, he—” she starts to say, then tells Hilda to send him in. The nerve, thinking he can just barge in here like this. Hands folded to keep them from shaking, she stares at the opening door.

“Sorry I'm late,” he says, unbuttoning his suit coat and settling into the chair across from her desk like a celebrity about to be interviewed. Almost condescending, as he straightens his tie, smiles.

“Late for what?”

“I hate to keep anyone waiting.”

“I wasn't.”

“Yes you were.”

“We don't have an appointment.”

“I know.”

“I don't even want you here.”

“I know,” he says with a note of surprise. “But some things are unavoidable, aren't they?”

“What do you mean?” She struggles not to lose her temper. He enjoys this, catching her off guard, toying with her.

“Well.” He thinks a moment. “Death. Isn't that the most obvious one?”

“And taxes.” Said with a nod and sweat on her chest as she stares at him.

He draws back, blinking a few times, and she remembers both his dismissive contempt and her eagerness, once, for his approval. “So trite of you, Nora. I'm surprised.”

“Why? What did you expect?”

“Oh. I don't know. That teenage girl? The one I used to know. Whatever happened to her?”

“A few weeks. That's all that was.”

“Longer than that. I've spent twenty-six years with her. That's a long time. Long and lonesome.” He rubs his eyes, then peers out with a sudden thought. “He died. I told you that, right? Took him a while, but like I said, unavoidable.” He grins. “You were trying to protect me. But nobody'd believe me. And you weren't there! You could've told them. The guy was a pervert. A drunken pervert, trying to molest a young girl. I did pretty well, though. Held my own, but then, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what do they do but push the widow in, in this goddamn rickety wheelchair, you should've seen it. ‘My Phil's gone,’” he cries in quivering falsetto. “‘My poor Phillie. Because of him,’ she says, pointing at me. ‘And now there's no one to take care of me.’”

She can hardly breathe. He fills the room, depleting the air, his studied elegance, the drape of his suit, the fine silk shirt, the tilt of his smooth head, all calculated. Waiting.

“So off I went. In chains.” In agonizing detail, he describes his trip to the state prison, the shackles rubbing his wrists and ankles raw, the terror, and his constant faith that she would return and free him from the nightmarish injustice. “All those years, day after day, I kept thinking, she'll come. She's too decent, too good a person not to.”

“Well, I didn't know, did I?”

“You knew.”

“No. Not that he died.” She can hardly get the words out.

He chuckles. “But now you do. So. It's not too late.”

“Not too late for what?”

“I told you before.” He picks up the pictures of Chloe and Drew, studying them in the hinged sterling frame. “A chance. That's all I want.”

Her mind