Huia Short Stories 11 (13 page)

Oho ake ana a Kui i te tangi mai o tana waea.

‘E Kui!'

‘Aīi, ko koe tēnā, e Tana? Kei te pēhea koe e moko?'

‘Pai ana, Nan. Kaua e wareware ki te mātaki i te tīwī hei te rima. Kei te kōrerotia koutou te hunga i whai wāhi atu ki tā koutou kerēme.'

‘Āna, kua hīkaka katoa ki te mātakitaki i ahau anō i te tīwī! Hehehe! Ko Marilyn Monroe taku rite!'

Ka kata te mokopuna, ka kī, ‘Kei te pai koe i konā, Marilyn? He parāoa, he miraka, he aha rānei māu?'

‘Pai katoa au e moko. Hei te pō nei tāua kitekite ai, nē rā?'

‘Āe, mō muri i taku rugby practice.'

‘Ōkei moko, hei konā.'

Ka weto te waea, ka titiro a Kuia ki te karaka e whanga rā i te kokonga tawhiti rawa o te rūma noho. Kua tata te rima. Ka whakatika, ka whakamau i ōna hiripa taika, ka puta atu ki te kīhini, ko ia me ana taika, mahi kapu tī ai.

I a ia e tatari ana kia hū tana tīkera, ka titiro atu a Kui ki te māra kai kei waho o te whare, ka rau ngā mahara ki tana taitamarikitanga. I pakeke mai ia i te whare nei, i ngā rekereke o ōna kaumātua. He mahi i ngā wā katoa – he whakatō kākano, he ngakingaki haere i te māra i te rā. I te pō, kua hoki ki roto i te whare, whatu kākahu ai. Ahakoa te uaua o te mahi, he ngahau tonu. Me uaua kē ka rangona te amuamu, he nui te katakata. āe, me te pai hoki ki a Kui te mahi māra me ana whanaunga. ‘Mai i te kātene ki te pereti' – pēnei tonu ai te kōrero a tōna kuia ake ki ana mokopuna i tōna wā. ā, nā Kui anō ki ana mokopuna i tēnei wā. He roa tonu te kanohi e pao ana, kātahi ka hū mai te tīkera, ka hoki mai a Kui ki te ao mārama, me tana kapu tī e tatari ana ki a ia.

Tau ana anō ki tōna tino tūru, ka toutou a Kui i te tīpēke ki te wai, kia kaha ai te pango o te tī. Ka tirotiro haere a Kui i ngā pikitia e iriiri ana i te pakitara o te rūma noho, i runga o te tīwī. Ko ana tauira o mua ērā i te kura, kua taiohi rawa ināianei, kua pakeke rawa anō ētahi, kua whai tamariki. Ka tae anō te titiro ki ana mokopuna. Āe, te tau hoki o ana mokopuna! Tokotoru rātou, he kōtiro katoa: ko Tana (ko ia te mātāmua, he taki tohutohu i ana tēina i ngā wā katoa), rātou ko Maka (ko ia te tamaiti tuarua, he noho puku, he āta haere, he ngākau māhaki), ko Pānia (ko ia te pōtiki, he haututū katoa).

Ahakoa kua mutu nei te whakaako ōkawa i te kura, he pai tonu ki a Kui te whāngai haere i ana moko ki ngā kōrero hou hei ako mā rātou. Ko Maka te taringa rahirahi o te katoa. He pai hoki a Tana, he whiuwhiu pātai i ngā wā katoa, ka mutu ko ia te mea kaha ki te toro mai ki tana kuia. Engari a Pānia, he mea peita ngā taringa! Ahakoa he aha, e kore e aro ki a wai. Ka tōtika atu ki te mahi, mea rawa ake – kua taka, kua whara te waewae, kua mamae rānei te mahunga i te korenga ōna e whakarongo ki ngā tūpato a te kuia. Engari anō, he upoko mārō ia, e kore e tangimeme ki te aha. He māia! Āe, nāna anō ngā uri nei, he hekenga whakapapa māreikura nō mai anō.

Ka rima karaka tonu, ka tau te titiro ki te tīwī. Kua roa ia e tatari ana ki ngā karere o te wā. Ko tana kapu tī kei tana taha mauī, kei te tēpu kawhe, e noho pātata ana ki te rimōta.

Ka tīmata te hōtaka, ka tīkina atu te rimōta, ka whakakaha i te reo kia tino mārama ai te rongo i ngā kupu:

‘E te iwi, ki tā tātou kōrero matua i te rangi nei, he ikapahitanga kua ūngutungutu atu ki te marae o Waingōhia kia whakatauria te uakoau kua tau mai i te whenua kōkēi o …'

Aīi! Tē aro i a Kui ngā kupu nei. Ka mate ki te whakatika, me te haere ki te tiki papakupu. Ka tae ki tērā taha o te rūma noho, ka whāwhā haere i ngā tuarā o ngā pukapuka. Ka kitea te papakupu, ka hoki atu anō ki tōna tūru, ka tīmata te wherawhera haere i tana Wīremu kia tae ki te wāhanga ‘i.' I te whārangi 76 kitea ai ko tāna e rapu ana, arā, te ‘ikapahitanga':

Ikapahi
, v.i.
Assemble
. I to tatou ikapahitanga (
When we were assembled
). ||
ika
(iv).

‘Auē,' tā Kui ki a ia anō, ‘he aha rātou i kore ai e “hui” mai?'

Ka haere tonu te kuia, e wherawera ana i te papakupu kia tae ki te wāhanga ‘u.' Ka kitea i te whārangi 468 te ‘ūngutungutu':

Ūngutu, ūngutungutu. 1.
v.t.
Place with the ends touching or converging
. Ungutungutua nga motumotu. – Ka pa he ahi wahine he nui nga motumotu hei ungutungutu, katahi ka nui te muranga.

‘Hmmm …' tā te kuia. ‘Ehara tēnei tikanga i tōku e pīrangi nei.' Ka haere tonu te pānui:

2.
v.i.
Meet together, converge
. Taria koe e oho kia kitea mai nga waka o teo hoariri ka ungutu nga ihu ki te take o te pa (W. Iv, 137).

‘Āe, koia pea. Ikapahi, ūngutu. Sheesh, i hui ētahi ki te marae o Waingōhia, koinā noa iho? He aha e mate nei rātou ki te homai kupu whitu mita te roa, mō te ‘hui' noa iho? Ki te hiahia hui atu au ki ngā ika i runga i te pahi, kua haere tōtika au ki te whai pahi – me te hī ika! Hei, e te kaiwhakapāho, kei hea tō fishing rod?' Ka pukukata a Kui ki a ia anō.

Mutu rawa ake te kata, kua mahue katoa i a ia te pūrongo. ‘Hei aha,' tana whakaaro. ‘Kia haere tonu taku whakarongo.'

‘Ā, ki Te Whanganui-a-Tara ināianei kei reira tā tātou kairīpoata kei te Taraipiunara o Waitangi …'

Hīkaka katoa a Kui, i tana tino mōhio koinei tana kerēme. Mai i te tīmatanga o te kerēme nei, ko ia tētahi e kōkiri ana i te kerēme nei kia whakahokia mai te whenua o tōna iwi ki te iwi tonu māna hei whakahaere. I tōna wā, ko ia tērā me ana tini whanaunga e huri haere ana i tana rohe ki ngā momo hui ki te whakawhiti whakaaro, ka mutu, ko ia anō tērā e taetae ana ki Pōneke ki te whakatakoto i ngā kōrero ki mua i te Taraipiunara. Kua rua tekau tau te kerēme e haere ana, me te aha, e tū tonu ana! I ēnei rā ia o te mahunga hina, kua mutu tana huri haere i te motu ki ngā hui rā. Ināianei, ko ngā pūrongo pēnei tana whai wāhi atu ki taua kerēme.

‘Kei konei au kei Pōneke e rongo ana ki te kokoraho matua a WAI3958 kua neke atu i te rua tekau tau e tohea ana …'

Tino pukukata katoa a Kui i te rongo i te kōrero nei. ‘Koko raho?' Kāore kau i mārama ki a ia he aha te ‘koko raho', engari te pikitia i peitahia i te hinengaro, auē!

‘Āe e tika ana kāore pea he Māori kotahi e noho kūware ana ki tēnei kokoraho, ko te ngare i konei e taringa rahirahi ana ki tā te Kāwanatanga e whakapae ana. Ko te raru ia, ko te mahi a te kokoraho e kore e mōhiotia ko wai ka whakaihuwaka, ka pīwai rānei …'

I te kata tonu a Kui i a ia e wherawhera ana i te papakupu e kitea ai te kupu kokoraho:

Kokoraho
, ‘
take or claim for oneself
'

‘
Take
i te aha?
Claim
i te aha?' tā te kuia. ‘Pēnei tonu au ko te mahi a te Taraipiunara he whakahoki whenua ki te iwi tonu, kaua ki te tangata! Oh well, at least kāore rātou i te koko i ō rātou raho!'

Ka haere tonu me te rapu i te ‘ngare':
Send? Urge? Quarrell?
Tē aro i a Kui!

Auē, he ika, he pahi, he raho? He moumou wā te mātakitaki atu i ngā pūrongo nei me he kupu kei roto e pēnei ana te roa. Mēnā kāore i te mārama ngā kupu, he aha ka pahawa i te pūrongo? Ko wai ka noho ki te āta wetewete i ia kupu, mō te mārama noa iho?

Ka rongo a Kui i te omaoma haere mai o tētahi. Ko Tana tērā e kuhu mai ana i te kūaha matua, ā, ki te rūma noho e tūngāngā ana. Ka hopuhopu hau, kātahi ka pauta ake:

‘Nan, i kite rānei koe i ngā kōrero? Kua mahue rānei i ahau?'

‘I kitea, āe, kāore i paku whai i ngā kōrero, he uaua nō te reo! I rongo au i ētahi kōrero mō te ika, he ika i runga i te pahi. He ngutu ō rātou. Anyway, i te koko ētahi i ō rātou raho i te Taraipiunara o Waitangi …'

‘Ei?' te tumeke a Tana, me te tumeke katoa ki ēnei kōrero a tōna kuia.

‘Te kapo raho, e kō!?' tā te kuia.'

Ka kata tana moko. ‘Nan, ko te kokoraho tāu e kōrero nā. Ko te kokoraho he kerēme, ko WAI3958, tā koutou kerēme. Mōhio au kua roa koe e tatari ana kia tau taua kerēme. Nan, kua tau! Kei te whakahokia mai ō tātou whenua!'

I noho atu a Tana ki tana kuia i te tūru, ka awhi i a ia. Kua harikoa katoa a Kui! Kua tau – āna whakapau kaha katoa, kua whai hua!

Nāwai rā ka kōrero a Tana, ‘Nan?'

‘Āe, e kō?'

‘Kāore koe i mōhio ki ētahi o ngā kupu e putaputa ana i ngā pūrongo, nē rā?'

‘Kāo, moko.'

‘Kāore i whāngaihia ki a koe i a koe e tamariki ana?'

‘Kāo, moko.'

‘He reo hou ērā kupu?'

‘Kāore, e moko. He kupu tawhito kua hahua ake, engari kīhai i kōrerotia ki a mātou. Ināianei, kua kore e aro i ahau he aha te aha me ērā kupu!'

‘Oh.'

‘Ehara i te mea e hē ana te hahu ake i ngā kupu nei. Kei te whakaora tātou i tō tātou reo, me pērā ka tika! Ko te mate kē, kāore anō tātou kia noho ki te kōrero āhea e tika ai te tuku i ērā kupu kia rere, āhea kē e tika ai kia haere ko te reo māmā.'

‘Āe, Nan, mārama au.'

Ka noho puku mō te wā poto. ‘Nan, i puta he kōrero i taku kaiako mō tēnā āhuatanga.'

‘He aha nā, moko?'

‘I mea mai taku kaiako he nui te hunga kūare e whakanonenone ana ki t–'

‘Whakanonenone?'

‘He amuamu … e kaha amuamu ana ki te whakamahia o ēnei kupu i te pouaka whakaata. Engari, ehara koe i te kūare ki te reo Māori, i taketake mai koe i tō reo, ka mutu ki tāna …' Kāore tana moko e hiahia whakaoti i tana kōrero.

‘He aha, moko?'

‘I mea mai taku kaiako mēnā kāore e pai ki te tangata ngā kupu nei me hoki ia ki te kura ako ai …'

‘Aīii?'

Kua tū ngā pihi o te kuia, kāore ki tana mokopuna, engari ki te hē o te whakaaro, ānō nei kāore ia i āta mōhio ki tōna reo!

‘Te hia pai hoki! Nō hea mai te pōhēhē kāore au e mōhio ana ki taku reo!?'

Ka noho puku mō tētahi wā, e huri taiāwhio ana ngā whakaaro i te hinengaro. Kātahi a Kui ka mea atu:

‘E moko, kia rongo mai koe i tēnei kupu. Kei ahau te mana o tōku reo, kei a koe tōu. Me hoki rawa au ki te kura? Tino kore rawa atu nei! Heoi, kia mōhio tonu koe: competent intercommunicative events are rarely consummated successfully with loquacious references equally expressed via those unadorned.'

‘Umm … What?' tā Tana, e menemene ana ki te heahea o te reo Pākehā nei.

‘Ana, koia! Hehe! Ehara mā te taki kupu roa noa iho e tika ai te reo. He tāutuutu tēnei mea te whakawhiti kōrero i waenganui i te tangata. Ki te kore e tika tō tuku i te kōrero, kāore e whāia. Ki te kore e whāia, kāti, kua moumou te hau. Koinei tāku e mea nei, e moko, te mārama ki te whiu i te kupu. Koinei te tohu o te matatau. Koinā hoki te pūtake o tēnei mea te whakawhiti kōrero. Mārama?'

‘Āe, e Kui. Kei te mārama tēnā.'

‘C'mon e moko, haere tāua ki te māra kai. Me tiki kai mō te pō nei.'

‘What edible fare is more momentously savoured than that propagated by oneself, eh Nan?'

Ka kata te kuia. ‘Āe, e moko, mai i te kātene ki te pereti!'

1
Kei te mihi au ki te hunga āwhina i taku tuhi i tēnei kōrero. Me kore ake koutou katoa!

It's not every day your wife returns from the dead. She was looking through a thick book of fairy tales when he spotted her. At first he didn't trust his eyes, it couldn't possibly be her. But it had to be, surely. He'd know her anywhere. Yet she looked completely different. Completely different but exactly the same. Suddenly all the noises and colours slowed down and he wasn't quite sure if he was okay. Maybe he was about to faint.

He looked over at Emmy, mere metres away, but thankfully she was absorbed in a
Where's Wally?
hunt. He wondered whether she'd remember her at all. This woman that was once so important to her. It had been close on four years now.

He saw her look up, and felt whatever composure he had drain from his body, but her eyes swept right past him. He was unsure whether he felt anger or relief at the fact that she didn't recognise him. But then, why would she? He had changed – aged– from everything he'd lost. He'd gone far beyond the point of counting the greys in his beard now.

‘Nathan.' He came to at the sound of the soft gasp. He hadn't realised he'd spaced out for a moment. Dammit, of course she had seen him. Why hadn't he ducked down? Hidden? Was he ready for this scene? He knew the answer to that question and it was a definite and resounding
no
.

. . .

Patrice couldn't believe that he was here. Of all the places for him to be, he was here. Miles and oceans away from home, they had been brought together. She grimaced internally at the irony. She had always firmly believed there was no such thing as a coincidence, but this was beyond cruel. The kids. Were they here too? They couldn't see her, they mustn't know the truth. She looked around, her heart suddenly pounding like a gong. God, it was so loud, it was going to give her away. She couldn't see them anywhere though. It was a big store so they could be anywhere, most likely far from the book section. She noticed Nathan's eyes dart to the left, behind a shelf displaying children's books. There was a hint of worry in his eyes so she knew that one of her children must be there, but distracted. The older two would have outgrown that shelf by now. It must be Emmy. It took Patrice all of her will power not to race over and steal a glimpse of her little girl.

. . .

Nathan hadn't moved. He hadn't blinked. He wasn't even sure he had breathed recently, so he made a concerted effort to drag in a lungful of air and drew his mind back to those hazy days and months when Patrice had disappeared. That weary time when his world had been tipped on its axis and nothing was ever to be the same.

Everything still seemed to be moving too slowly, and he wondered absently whether he was in shock. He used to dream about this moment. It had always been a happy one in his imagination. Reality didn't always match up with what you wanted, though. He hadn't counted on the anger.

When he looked back to the time when his life had shattered, he could never seem to recall it with any clarity. He remembered the flashing lights of police cars, interview rooms with two-way mirrors and video cameras, casseroles from family. He didn't remember much of what was said, only images. His baby girl curled up on the corner of the couch with her eyes squeezed closed, her thumb plugged into her mouth and her tiny fist clenching her snuggle rug. His son stirring a pot of noodles on the stove with snail tracks of dried tears trailing down his cheeks. The lump in the blankets that was his Janey, hidden away in denial of the entire world.

. . .

Patrice thought back over her meticulous planning. She was sure she'd been thorough, dropping hints about domestic life, letting Nathan in on the seemingly menial but important things in the kids' lives.

‘Honey, could you sneak into Emmy's room and get her snuggle rug? I have to get it washed and dried overnight. It's filthy but if I dare try to do it in her waking hours, I'll never hear the end of it,' she had said one night as he was sitting in front of the television.

‘Sian was telling me about the babysitting service she uses, apparently they're wonderful!' she'd thrown in while he was helping her unpack the groceries.

Patrice had never considered it an easy decision. In fact, she never would have made a decision at all had the desperate need not arisen. She would have continued to live with the deceit. The blissful betrayal of one part of herself to liberate another, more vital part. How could she return to her drab and monotonous life of pure domesticity after this awakening? No one would expect her to turn her back on this type of ecstasy; God Himself wouldn't deny her this. Once she'd been given the ultimatum, though, she had ceased to function. This time it was real.

Patrice had always been a strong woman, and fiercely independent. But over the years she'd lost her autonomy, drop by drop. First it was marriage, then the baby. And then it was the next baby and the next. As the months and years ticked over, she'd been robbed of almost every ounce of independence. Almost. It turned out that she hadn't lost it all.

Nathan had floundered in his newfound role as sole provider and caregiver. He had rejected his widowed status and fought to move forward only once it was clear to him that Patrice was gone for good. He had eventually found some solace in a new friendship. A tiny sliver of relief. Glenn and Alison had been their neighbours for years, but when Patrice had disappeared Glenn had been far more understanding than any of his life-long friends. Glenn's wife, Alison, had left him a few months earlier. She had told him she was in love with someone else and that she couldn't go on living a lie. It was a relatively tidy separation, but Glenn was devastated.

Nathan had been envious of the closure Glenn had had. At least he knew what had happened to his wife. At least he knew she was still alive. At least he hadn't ever been interrogated by cops, friends and family alike. Plus, they didn't have children, so Glenn didn't have to deal with their heartache alongside his own.

Their stories weren't the same, but at least he and Glenn could commiserate together in the knowledge that they had both lost the women who had meant the most to them. No one else in their lives knew that pain.

. . .

Even though it wasn't an easy decision, there had been no doubt in Patrice's mind – no doubt in her
heart
– that it was the right one. Kids were resilient. That was a well-known fact. It had been proven time and time again that it was true. Kids could recover from almost any trauma far more easily than an adult could. Men walked out of their kids' lives every day. It wasn't so common for a woman to do it, but it wasn't totally unheard of. If fatherless children could survive and turn out okay, so too could a motherless child. It was pure logic.

From the beginning, she knew she'd never be able to go back. Yes, because once she made up her mind, it would be permanent. She was not one of those weak-hearted fickle women. No, when she knew what she wanted, nothing would get in her way. Even in her frailest moments she wouldn't allow even a shadow of regret to inch its way into her heart. Ever. Because a passion such as this only happens once in a woman's life, and if she doesn't embrace it then she has no option but to mourn it for the rest of her life, and Patrice was not prepared to do that. Even the idea of the looming loss of her newfound love had her breaking out in a cold sweat. Once she had realised that, she accepted what she must do completely.

She looked closely at Nathan and noticed the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. The dark shadows below them, far darker than they should be on a man his age. You are responsible for your own happiness, Patrice, she reminded herself. And everyone else is responsible for theirs. She had discovered it was impossible to hold on to the illusion that one person must forsake their happiness to bring joy to others. You live your own life for yourself, and at the end of the day you must do things that make you happy. After all, isn't that what life is about?

There was a time when it would have been the most unthinkable act she could have committed. Leaving her family? Her children? No way. There was no way she could have left her sweet children in their early years. But then they had gotten older and more independent; she was confident they would be okay. She had chosen a good man in Nathan. Sure, he was a little absent as a father, but that was because of the demands of his job. If his priorities changed, then the children would become his number one focus and he would excel, just as he had with everything else he'd ever attempted. Yes, she had been right not to worry about them. Nathan would have stepped up to the plate and hit a home run.

She had toyed with the ethics of her choice, consulted text books and the masters of morality in the form of ancient philosophers, but resigned herself to the fact that she was the only one in a position to judge herself and deem what was right for her life. She couldn't go to her friends – no way! – because she could have no witnesses to her parting. If she were to go through with it, it must be on her own terms. And her own terms considered it imperative that if she were to leave, no one would know. Sure, they may have their ideas, their theories and their hindsight, but they would never know for sure.

. . .

Nathan wanted her to know he had been on her side. When the cops had told him there was no sign of struggle, and no evidence to suggest foul play, he told them they were wrong. When they asked whether his wife had been unhappy in their marriage, he had told them, no, of course not, he would have known. When they finally closed the case and left him with their cold conclusion that his wife, the mother of his children, had walked out and left him, he was dumbfounded and angry that they could be so blind and so damn wrong. He wanted her to know that he had had faith in her. He also wanted her to know that, in this moment, he just wanted to scream.

Instead he took a breath and a small step forward.

‘You abandoned us?' he asked. His voice was quiet, almost flat. It didn't really sound like the question it was meant to be. He was trying not to attract his kids' attention, so he kept his voice quiet, but even to his own ears he sounded menacing. Even he could hear the restrained anger just below the surface. Her eyes darted and she shifted her shoulders as if her shirt was too tight. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then shut it again and took a step back, leaning towards the door.

. . .

‘You abandoned us?' he said. What was there for her to say? She dropped her head and felt her shoulders round. What was the point in denying what was so obvious now? Then she spotted them. Her kids were right there, they must have just walked through the door. They were talking to each other and they hadn't seen her, but in a few short steps she could reach out and touch them. In that moment there was nothing she wanted more. It would be so easy to have them in her arms. They looked happy.

The moment passed quickly as she realised it would undo everything she had set in place. She had made it so easy for him to pick up what slack there would be. She had planned it carefully. Withdrawing small amounts of cash over a period of months. Once she left she wouldn't be able to use her cards, she just had to disappear. She had thought it would be easier that way. Wouldn't it? For the kids and for Nathan. Wouldn't it be easier for them to believe that something had happened to her? That she was taken from them, kicking and screaming? Wouldn't it be so much harder for them to recover if they knew that she had walked away willingly? She never wanted them to know that she had forced this situation upon them all. That she had chosen to leave them forever. This is what had been and still was most important to her. She had had to make sure her family would be okay once she had done the unthinkable.

It had taken her a long time to acknowledge the notion that once she left there was no turning back. But accept it she did, and time had trickled slowly away so that the weeks disappeared and she was left with a mere seven-day block of time in which she had to say her farewells. Every time she bathed her baby girl, still only in her infancy, it was in love and in parting. She adored bubbling her up and making facecloth bubbles in the bath for her. She said goodbye in the way she kissed her son on his way out the door. He who was stumbling awkwardly into his teenage years and dodging gawkily from her loving lips. Another adieu in the mending of a favourite yellow dress of her eight-year-old daughter, as warm and free as the sunny-coloured dress she lived in and had torn falling out of a tree. She said goodbye in the last grocery shop, stocking up on the comfort food her family loved. Crumbed chicken nuggets and Watties sauce for her baby Emmy, chocolate fudge cookie ice cream for her sweet-toothed husband, two-minute mi goreng noodles for her eldest boy, Chris, and lamingtons for Janey. She knew they would need comfort food when their mother and wife vanished. Who wouldn't?

Looking at the smiles on her kids' faces, she thought that maybe she had been right. But looking at Nathan's face, she realised he had needed more than a few sweet treats to move on. All of a sudden there was not enough air or space for her.

. . .

You selfish bitch, he wanted to tell her. Her face suddenly lost all colour, and he wondered abruptly whether she could read his mind. He saw a shudder run through her body; a fine vibration that travelled over her skin like a current. She blinked once, then blinked again and her eyes lost all trace of recognition. She looked at him – no, not at him, through him – as if he were a stranger or not even there at all. He looked right at her, hard, daring her with his eyes to acknowledge him. But her eyes just swept away. She looked back at the book, forgotten in her hands. She twisted it awkwardly and put it back on the shelf. He heard the sound of the book shuddering on the metal ledge as she failed to replace it with the poise she was aiming for. His wife turned her back towards him, paused for a beat as if deciding, and then walked out the door. Other than his name, she hadn't spoken a word to him. His eyes followed her through the window as she walked away. At the corner she crossed the street. He didn't take his eyes off her. As she reached the other side, he saw a woman who looked familiar. Was that … Alison? It was. Alison took a step towards Patrice and gave her a kiss on the cheek. No, not the cheek. They joined hands, interlacing their fingers, and continued on their way. Patrice never looked back.