The Last Time They Met_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [37]
—You left me alone in Africa.
—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.
—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.
—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.
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.
—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.
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.
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.
Of course. She had locked herself out.
—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.
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.
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.
—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.
Once inside the door, Linda ran to the phone, praying the ringing would not stop just before she got there. She listened to the voice at the other end. Her free hand spiraled into the air and fluttered awkwardly. Thomas, beside her, held her errant hand.
—I’m just so relieved to hear your voice, she said into the phone, half laughing, half crying. She sat heavily on the bed. Thomas sat with her, releasing her hand.
Linda turned and mouthed, It’s OK. It’s Marcus.
—I’m sorry about David, Marcus, who sounded remarkably clear-headed, said. I know he can be an asshole sometimes. I was too groggy to protest. I wanted to talk