The Last Time They Met_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [51]
Her kanga was only a single piece of cloth she had wrapped at her waist like the African women did. A slight tug, and it would slide to her sandals. He couldn’t think about that now.
—I just want to know where they sent you, he said. I’ve always wondered.
She withdrew her hand. I went to stay with Eileen in New York.
He nodded slowly.
—Then I went to Middlebury.
He took a long breath.
—There’s so much to catch up on, she said. As any woman might. Trying, he knew, to make it normal.
—How’s your aunt? he asked. For the moment, acquiescing.
She pressed her lips together. She shrugged. Her relationship with her aunt would always be complex. The same, I guess.
—Why didn’t you answer my letters? he asked too quickly — unable, after all, to keep it normal.
She put a hand to the side of her head and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I didn’t get any letters.
—You didn’t get my letters?
She shook her head.
His chest felt squeezed.
—So, she said. A small frown disappearing. You’re shopping?
—Oh, he said. Confused. I did the shopping. Well, my part. Although I should get some cashews. Hoping she wouldn’t notice the Tusker on his breath. It wasn’t even noon.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Regina approaching. Carrying a straw basket filled with food in her arms. Panic swelled inside of him. It seemed important that he speak to Linda before Regina got there.
—Linda, he said, but then he stopped. Words, heartless and fickle, failed him.
Her eyes flicked up at his, and he held them.
Regina stood beside them, and there seemed a terrible pause. Linda smiled in Regina’s direction. Hello. I’m Linda Fallon.
Thomas struggled toward the surface. He glanced at Regina and wondered if Linda’s name would register. He hoped it wouldn’t. Linda, this is my wife, Regina.
Regina set down her straw basket and shook Linda’s hand. Regina’s pink sleeveless blouse stained beneath her arms, her hair wild and sticky about her face. She looked at Thomas, at his empty hands. She had worn shorts, and, disloyally, he felt embarrassed for her.
—Didn’t you get the fruit? Regina asked. Even now, a slight whine.
—It’s in the car.
She studied him. You have a migraine?
Linda looked away.
Thomas sought and failed to find a normal voice. Linda’s an old friend. From Hull.
Regina turned to the stranger. Really? Are you on safari?
—No. I’m in the Peace Corps.
—In Nairobi?
—In Njia.
—Oh, really. What do you do?
—I teach.
—Oh, wow. The wow automatic, without emotion. Behind Linda, the shopkeeper was packing up his leftover fruit.
—They’re closing up, Thomas said. Racked between wanting the two women to separate as soon as possible and wishing to make his conversation with Linda last forever. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, questions he’d been asking her for years.
Linda let them see that she was checking her watch. I’ve got to run. Peter’s waiting for me to go to lunch.
The name a slug to the center of his chest. That there was a Peter might have been expected, but the name shocked him even so.
Linda turned to Regina. It was so nice to meet you. She glanced at Thomas. There was nothing she could say. She smiled instead.
Thomas watched her walk away, all the blood in his veins following her.
He bent to pick up Regina’s basket. Giving himself something to do to cover the hole inside him. Regina was silent as they made their way through the stalls and into the noonday sun.
—Roland and Elaine want us for dinner, she said.
Roland, Regina’s supervisor, was an asshole, but Thomas was relieved there would be a party. He didn’t think he could bear a long night in the cottage with Regina. Not this night.
—Wasn’t that the gal you used to go out with in high school?
Willing himself to sound casual, even bored. For a couple of months.
—And didn’t you have some sort of car accident with her?
—She was in the car.
Regina nodding. I remember now. You told me that.
Thomas put the basket in the trunk. He opened the driver’s-side door and slipped inside, the seat so hot