The Pilot's Wife_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [2]
“I’m going to be —,” she said.
Quickly, she pushed him away with the palms of her hands and leaned against the wall for support. She coughed and gagged, but there was nothing in her stomach.
When she looked up, she could see that he was apprehensive. He took her by the arm and made her round the corner into the kitchen.
“Sit here in this chair,” he said. “Where’s the light?”
“On the wall.”
Her voice was raspy and faint. She realized she was shivering.
He swiped for the switch and found it. She put a hand up in front of her face to ward off the light. Instinctively, she did not want to be seen.
“Where do you keep the glasses?” he asked.
She pointed to a cabinet. He poured her a glass of water and handed it to her, but she couldn’t hold it steady. He braced her fingers while she took a sip.
“You’re in shock,” he said. “Where can I get you a blanket?” “You’re with the airline,” she said.
He took off his topcoat and his jacket and put the jacket around her shoulders. He made her slide her arms into the sleeves, which were surprisingly silky and warm.
“No,” he said. “The union.”
She nodded slowly, trying to make sense of this.
“Robert Hart,” he said, introducing himself.
She nodded again, took another sip of water. Her throat felt dry and sore.
“I’m here to help,” he said. “This is going to be difficult to get through. Is your daughter here?”
“You know I have a daughter?” she asked quickly.
And then she thought, Of course you do.
“Would you like me to tell her?” he asked.
Kathryn shook her head.
“They always said the union would get here first,” she said. “The wives, I mean. Do I have to wake her now?”
He glanced quickly at his watch, then at Kathryn, as if considering how much time was left to them.
“In a few minutes,” he said. “When you’re ready. Take your time.”
The telephone rang, a serrated edge in the silence of the kitchen. Robert Hart answered it immediately.
“No comment,” he said.
“No comment.
“No comment.
“No comment.”
She watched him lay the receiver back on its cradle and massage his forehead with his fingers. He had thick fingers and large hands, hands that seemed too big for his body.
She looked at the man’s shirt, a white oxford with a gray stripe, but all she could see was a fake plane in a fake sky blowing itself to bits in the distance.
She wanted the man from the union to turn around and tell her that he had made a mistake: He’d gotten the plane wrong; she was the wrong wife; it hadn’t happened the way he said it had. She could almost feel the joy of that.
“Is there someone you want me to call?” he asked. “To be with you.”
“No,” she said. “Yes.” She paused. “No.”
She shook her head. She wasn’t ready yet. She lowered her eyes and fixed them on the cabinet under the sink. What was in it? Cascade. Drano. Pine Sol. Jack’s black shoe polish. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked around at the kitchen, at the cracked pine table, the stained hearth behind it, the milk-green Hoosier cabinet. Her husband had shined his shoes in this room not two days ago, his foot braced on a bread drawer he had pulled out for the task. It was often the last thing he did before he left for work. She would sit and watch him from the chair, and lately it had become a kind of ritual, a part of his leaving her.
It had always been hard for her, his leaving the house — no matter how much work she had to do, no matter how much she looked forward to having time to herself. And it wasn’t that she had been afraid. She hadn’t been in the habit of being fearful. Safer than driving a car, he’d always said, and he’d had an offhand confidence, as though his safety were not even worthy of a conversation. No, it wasn’t exactly safety. It was the act of leaving itself, of Jack’s removing himself from the house, that had always been difficult. She often felt, watching him walk out of the door with his thick, boxy flight bag in one hand and his overnight bag in the other, his uniform cap tucked under his arm, that he was, in some profound way, separating from her. And, of course, he was. He was leaving her in order