The Last Time They Met_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [38]
—Protective.
—Yeah.
—Where are you?
—I’m here. In Brattleboro. There was a pause. Mom, are you OK?
—I ran to get the phone. I was locked out. It’s a long story. I’m glad you let the phone ring so long.
—They only let us have one phone call. Like jail. I wasn’t sure they’d let me try again.
—How are you?
—I suppose I should be scared shitless, but, truthfully, all I feel is relief.
—Oh, Marcus.
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. Marcus is at Brattleboro, she said to Thomas.
—Mom? Who are you talking to?
—A man, Marcus. A man I used to know. Before your father.
—Really? That sounds intriguing.
She was silent.
—They only let you talk for five minutes, Marcus said. That’s what they said. And I can only make two calls a week.
—Is David there with you?
—No, they made him leave. Almost immediately. I think the theory is that people from home put you in jeopardy. They want them out as soon as possible.
She, of course, was a person from home.
—But they do allow visits. They invite you to come. In fact, I think they’ll insist that you come. They have all-day seminars so that you can learn how to handle me when I get out.
She smiled. Marcus’s irony might get him through this. Or was the irony part of the problem?
—You’ll have to come with David, Marcus added tentatively.
—I like David, Linda said.
—No you don’t. Sometimes I’m not even sure if I like him. You know how you can love someone but sometimes wonder why you’re with him?
—Yes. Yes, I do.
—I’m going to have to go. There’s a man standing next to me, telling me to hang up. I can’t call Maria. I’ve used my one phone call . . .
—I’ll call her, Linda said, relieved to have been given a task. — Don’t worry about that.
—I love you, Mom.
The ease with which he said it.
—You’re doing the right thing, Marcus. You’re doing a wonderful thing.
—Mom, just one question. Did you know? Did you know I was a . . . an alcoholic?
Not telling the truth now would be disastrous. Yes, she said.
—Oh. I just wondered.
This was not the time to discuss why she had refused to allow herself to think the word, to say the word aloud. I love you, too, Marcus, she offered instead.
She held the telephone in her hand for a long minute after he had broken the connection. She tried to picture Marcus at Brattleboro, but all she could see was a prison with a guard standing next to her son. This would be so much harder than either he or she knew.
—There must be some relief in knowing that he’s safe, Thomas said.
And she nodded with the truth of what he’d said, although she also knew that he might easily have added, with equal sympathy, None of us is safe.
* * *
For a time, they sat together on the bed, thinking about the phone call, not speaking. It was she, finally, who turned to him. She said his name. Not to keep the wonder alive, but for simple comfort, as two who are lost on a mountain will press their bodies together for warmth. She put a hand on his shirt, and he, his face lit with hope, answered with her name. Not Magdalene this time, but rather Linda, stripping away all artifice so that there was only clarity.
And then, as might have been anticipated, as might have been known, the gesture that she’d made became a sexual one. Animallike, Thomas smelled her hair, and she, likewise, was jolted by the scent of his skin. So much to recognize, and yet everything was different. She could not feel his bones along his back as she had once been able to, and she held her breath as his hand traveled along her belly and touched her breast. For a moment, the gesture felt illicit, and she had to remind herself that nothing was illicit now. And that knowledge was so surprising, she almost said it aloud, as one will blurt out a sudden truth. She moved her face to the side as he kissed her neck and collarbone. How long would it have been since he had last made love to a woman? Years ago? Last week? She didn’t want to know.
In silent agreement, they stood and removed their clothing, each avoiding examining the other while they did this, though together they