Two by Two(74)

We ate on the back porch, just like old times. Afterward, London took a  bath and dressed in her pajamas. As bedtime approached, Vivian and I  slipped into our familiar roles-she read first, followed by me. But when  I finally came back downstairs, Vivian had already shouldered her  handbag and was waiting near the door.

"I need to get going," she said. Did I detect a hint of resignation in  her voice? I reminded myself again that it was pointless to read  anything into it.

"I figured."

She adjusted the strap of her handbag, as if stalling would help her  find the words she needed. "I noticed that you rearranged the house and  took a lot of the photos down. The ones that included me, I mean. I was  going to say something earlier, but I didn't think it was the right  time."

For whatever reason, I didn't want to admit that I'd done so in a fit of  anger. But I didn't feel I was wrong, either; I knew I would do the  same thing again.

"Like you, I'm just trying to move forward," I stated. "But I put some  of the family photos in her room. Because we'll always be her parents."         

     



 

"Thank you," she said. "That was thoughtful of you."

"I put the other photos in a box if you want to bring them with you. There are some fantastic ones of you and London."

"That would be great."

I went to the closet and retrieved the box; as I held it beneath my arm,  her eyes flashed to the photos. I felt acutely, perhaps more than ever,  that our era as a couple had really and truly come to an end, and I had  the sense she was thinking the same thing.

"Let me get my keys and I'll put this in the trunk," I said.

"I can carry it," she said, reaching for the box. "You don't need to drive me. There's a car waiting out front."

I handed it over. "A car?"

"It's not like we can leave London here alone, right?"

Right, I thought, wondering how I'd overlooked something so elementary.  Being around Vivian-a Vivian who reminded me of the woman I had married,  the very same Vivian with whom I had no future-seemed to have thrown  me.

"All right, then," I said. I put a hand in my pocket. "About this  weekend," I started, "and me having to stay at Marge's or my parents' … "

"You don't have to," she said, cutting me off. "I realized today that  there's no reason for you to do that. It's not fair to you. I'll just  stay in the guest room if that's okay."

"It's fine," I said.

"But you know I still want to spend as much time with London as I can.  Just the two of us. I know that may not seem fair, but right now, I  really don't want to confuse her."

"Of course," I said. "That makes sense."

She shifted the box beneath her arm and I wondered whether to offer a  hug or a kiss on the cheek. As if anticipating my action, she turned  toward the door.

"I'll see you in a few days," she said. "And I'll call London tomorrow."

"Sounds good," I said, opening the door for her. Behind her, idling on  the street, was a limousine. Vivian started toward it and I watched as  the driver quickly exited the car to help her carry the box. He opened  the door and put the box on the seat. Vivian waited for him to move  aside, then got into the car. I couldn't help thinking that it all  seemed as natural as breathing for her-as though she'd always had a car  and driver, had always been the lover of a billionaire.

I couldn't see her through the darkened glass of the car and I wondered  whether she was watching me, but in the end, I simply turned away.  Stepping into the house, I closed the door behind me, feeling strangely  sad.

For a moment I hesitated. Then I reached for my phone.

Emily answered on the second ring.

We were on the phone for nearly two hours. Though I did most of the  talking, working through my sense of loss, she managed to make me smile  and laugh more than once. And every time I wondered aloud if I was a  good person, she assured me that I was blameless. I needed to hear that,  somehow, and when I finally turned in for the night, I closed my eyes  wondering how I'd been lucky enough to rediscover Emily, who was exactly  the kind of friend I needed most.





CHAPTER 20





Autumn


I love autumn," Emily said to me. "It ‘wins you over with its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.'"

"Excuse me?"

"I was talking about autumn," Emily said.

"I got that. I'm just trying to understand what you said."

"Not me. Robert Browning. Well, kind of …  I might have gotten a few words wrong here or there. He was an English poet."

"I didn't know you read poetry."

It was October 2002, a few months after Emily and I had been stuck on  the Ferris wheel. It was also less than a few weeks after the Great  Mistake, the one involving the woman I'd met in the bar. Marge had  already warned me more than once not to say a thing to Emily, but I was  still agonizing over my terrible secret.

We were, in fact, on a double date with Marge and Liz. We'd taken a trip  to the Biltmore House in Asheville, which was for a long time the  largest private home in the world. I'd been there before as a child but  had never gone with Emily; it had been her idea to go, and also to  invite Marge and Liz. When Emily had begun to quote Browning, the four  of us were savoring wine from the Biltmore winery.

"I majored in art, but I had to take other classes, too," Emily pointed out.

"I did, too. But I never took one that included poetry."

"That's because you majored in business."

"Exactly," Marge cut in. "Just because you botched your education, there's no need to put Emily on the defensive."         

     



 

"I'm not putting her on the defensive. And I didn't botch my education …  I was just making conversation."

"Don't let him scare you off, Emily," Marge said. "He might be a bit lowbrow, but he's got good qualities, too."

Emily laughed. "I hope so. It's been more than two years. I'd hate to think I've been slumming with him all this time."

"I'm right here," I said to both of them. "I can hear you."

Emily giggled, this time joined by Marge. Liz wore a benevolent expression.

"Don't let them get to you, Russ," Liz said, laying a hand on my arm.  "If they keep picking on you, then you and I can go tour the greenhouse,  and we'll hold hands and make them jealous."

"Did you hear that, Marge?" I said. "Liz is hitting on me."

"Good luck," Marge shrugged. "I know her type, and you're not it. You've got a little too much of those Y chromosomes for her."

"That's a shame. Because I know a hundred guys who would probably jump at the chance to go out with her."

Marge smiled at Liz. "Of that I have no doubt."

Liz blushed and I caught Emily's eye. In response, she leaned over and whispered in my ear. "I think they're perfect together."

"I know," I whispered back. "I do, too."

Even as I said it, guilt began to eat away at me with renewed fury. Less than a week later, I told her about the Mistake.

Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut?





"No bruising? No cuts or blood or frantic calls to 911?"

After I dropped London off at school the next day, I found Marge waiting  in my kitchen. I'd called her that morning to tell her about my visit  with Vivian, but she'd told me to hold off because she wanted the full  account in person.

"London's still sore, but she's doing fine."

"I wasn't talking about London. I meant you. Or, I guess I could have  been talking about Vivian, too. Depending on how angry she made you."

"It was good," I assured her. "Surprisingly pleasant, in fact."

"What does that even mean?'

"She wasn't angry, and she didn't make me feel like the accident was my fault. She was …  nice."

"You do understand that it wasn't your fault," she said. "That's why they call them accidents."

"I know," I said, wondering whether I fully believed it.

Marge turned and coughed; when she reached for her inhaler, I noticed that she looked a little drawn.

"Are you okay? You were coughing a lot the other night," I said, frowning.

"Tell me about it. Last week, I spent two days locked in a room with a  client who was sick as a dog. Then, swell guy that he was, he called to  let me know he had bronchitis."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"I went by the urgent care over the weekend. The doctor thinks it's  probably viral, which means he didn't prescribe anything. I'm just  hoping I have it completely behind me by the time Liz and I leave for  Costa Rica."

"When is that trip again?"

"The twentieth until the twenty-eighth."

"I wonder what it would be like to have time for a vacation," I mused, feeling a little sorry for myself.

"It's wonderful," Marge shot back. "Whining, on the other hand, is less  than appealing. How are you and Emily getting along? Did you tell her  what happened to London?"