The Last Time They Met (8 page)
Read The Last Time They Met Online
Authors: Anita Shreve
Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Adult
Thomas put his leg down and reached into a back pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet, worn pale at the seams.
—
This is Billie.
This is Billie.
Linda took the picture from him and studied it. Dark curls spilled across a face. Navy irises, as large as marbles, lay cosseted between extravagant and glossy lashes. A pink mouth, neither smiling nor frowning (though the head was tilted warily or fetchingly
—
it was hard to tell), had perfect shape. The skin was luminous, a pink blush in the plump cheeks. Not credible if seen in a painting, but in this photograph one had to believe in it. How had the picture not burned a hole through the worn leather of its case?
—
it was hard to tell), had perfect shape. The skin was luminous, a pink blush in the plump cheeks. Not credible if seen in a painting, but in this photograph one had to believe in it. How had the picture not burned a hole through the worn leather of its case?
She glanced at Thomas, reassessing him. That Thomas was in the girl could not be denied, even though the father’s beauty had been something quite different. Curiosity, bordering on a kind of jealousy, took hold of her as she tried to imagine the mother: Jean, her name was. Thomas’s first wife, Regina, a woman she herself had once known, had been large and voluptuous, heavy with her sensuality, but somehow not a threat. Never a threat.
Linda shook her head. That she should be jealous of a woman who had lost everything.
—
That was taken in the backyard of our apartment in Cambridge.
Thomas was seemingly unable to look at the picture himself, though its worn edges spoke of many viewings.
That was taken in the backyard of our apartment in Cambridge.
Thomas was seemingly unable to look at the picture himself, though its worn edges spoke of many viewings.
Thomas glanced over at her, then quickly away, as if it were she who now needed the privacy. The cheeseburgers arrived, monumental irrelevance. She handed the photograph back to Thomas.
—
She was very bright,
Thomas said.
Well, all parents say that, don’t they. And maybe they’re right. Compared to us, I mean.
She was very bright,
Thomas said.
Well, all parents say that, don’t they. And maybe they’re right. Compared to us, I mean.
Linda’s appetite was gone. The cheeseburgers seemed obscene in their lakes of grease, soaking into the paper plates.
—
She could be stubborn. Jesus, could she be stubborn.
Thomas smiled at a memory he did not divulge.
And oddly brave. She wouldn’t cry when hurt. Though she could certainly whine when she wanted something.
She could be stubborn. Jesus, could she be stubborn.
Thomas smiled at a memory he did not divulge.
And oddly brave. She wouldn’t cry when hurt. Though she could certainly whine when she wanted something.
—
They all do.
They all do.
Thomas ate his cheeseburger, holding his tie as he did so. Well, he’d have to eat, wouldn’t he? Linda thought. Otherwise, he’d have starved to death years ago. He glanced at her untouched plate, but said nothing.
—
She was a good little athlete,
Thomas said.
I used to take a plastic lawn chair and sit and watch her T-ball games. Most of the kids would be in the outfield picking dandelions. Some would just sit down.
He laughed.
She was a good little athlete,
Thomas said.
I used to take a plastic lawn chair and sit and watch her T-ball games. Most of the kids would be in the outfield picking dandelions. Some would just sit down.
He laughed.
Linda smiled.
I remember those. Someone would hit a ball to the outfield and all the kids would run to get it.
I remember those. Someone would hit a ball to the outfield and all the kids would run to get it.
—
They say it would have lasted less than a minute. The drowning. A child gulps in water more quickly than an adult. And it was always possible she was knocked unconscious. I’ve spent years praying for that. That it was a blow and not a drowning. Amazing, isn’t it? Hundreds of hours of prayer just to spare her that one minute.
They say it would have lasted less than a minute. The drowning. A child gulps in water more quickly than an adult. And it was always possible she was knocked unconscious. I’ve spent years praying for that. That it was a blow and not a drowning. Amazing, isn’t it? Hundreds of hours of prayer just to spare her that one minute.
Not amazing, Linda thought. She’d have done the same.
—
It’s awful to think I’m letting go,
he said.
And I am. I don’t remember as much as I used to. I don’t even remember what I don’t remember.
It’s awful to think I’m letting go,
he said.
And I am. I don’t remember as much as I used to. I don’t even remember what I don’t remember.
She touched him then, on the arm. It would have been inhuman not to.
There are just no words, Thomas.
There are just no words, Thomas.
—
No, there aren’t, and isn’t that ironic? We who thought we had all the words. Jean, with her camera, has made us irrelevant.
No, there aren’t, and isn’t that ironic? We who thought we had all the words. Jean, with her camera, has made us irrelevant.
A motorboat with a young blond woman at the helm sped around the corner. The girl seemed exuberant with her own beauty and the first warm day of the season.
Thomas bent his head slightly forward.
Scratch up near my shoulders,
he said.
Scratch up near my shoulders,
he said.
On the way to the ferry, Thomas, who was either exceptionally hot or desiring to be cleansed, went into the water. Linda sat on a hillock and watched the way he dove in and stood, staggering with the shock of the cold, shaking his head like a dog, hiking his boxers up to his waist. They hung low on his thighs when he came out and molded his genitals, which had grown longer in the intervening years.
—
It’s like electric shock therapy,
Thomas reported as he used his shirt to dry himself.
It’s like electric shock therapy,
Thomas reported as he used his shirt to dry himself.
He shivered on the ferry, despite his jacket. Later they would learn that the lake was polluted. He held his shirt in a ball. She stood near to him to warm him, but the shiver came from deep within and would not be appeased. He seemed oblivious to curious stares, in the boat and at the entrance to the hotel, his hair dried into a comical sculpture by the water and the ferry breezes. He got out at her floor and accompanied her to her room, looking for all the world like a refugee from a disaster (and of course he was, she thought). He stood at the door and finger-combed his hair.
—
I won’t ask you in.
She meant it, actually, as a kind of joke, as if they had been on a date. But Thomas, as ever, took her seriously.
I won’t ask you in.
She meant it, actually, as a kind of joke, as if they had been on a date. But Thomas, as ever, took her seriously.
—
What’s the harm?
What’s the harm?
—
What’s the harm?
Linda asked, incredulous.
What’s the harm?
Linda asked, incredulous.
—
Antecedents,
he said.
Does this exist on its own, or because of what went before?
Antecedents,
he said.
Does this exist on its own, or because of what went before?
—
Because of what went before, I should think.
Because of what went before, I should think.
He studied her.
What large drama, do you suppose, will part us this time?
What large drama, do you suppose, will part us this time?
—
There doesn’t have to be any drama, Thomas. We’re too old for drama.
There doesn’t have to be any drama, Thomas. We’re too old for drama.
He turned to leave, then stopped.
Magdalene,
he said.
Magdalene,
he said.
The name, the old name. Nearly an endearment.
A
gainst her better judgment, she looked for evidence of others before her and found it in a single hair, disturbingly pubic, on the white tile beneath the sink. She was farsighted now and could blur her reflection in the mirror, and sometimes she did that if she was in a hurry. But today, she wanted sight: dispassionate and objective.
gainst her better judgment, she looked for evidence of others before her and found it in a single hair, disturbingly pubic, on the white tile beneath the sink. She was farsighted now and could blur her reflection in the mirror, and sometimes she did that if she was in a hurry. But today, she wanted sight: dispassionate and objective.
She unbuttoned her blouse in the way that a woman who is not being watched will do, unzipped her jeans, and kicked them from her feet. The underwear, unmatched, could stay. She put her hands on her hips and looked into the mirror. She did not like what she saw.
She was what was never possible: a fifty-two-year-old woman with thinning blond hair; no, not even that, not blond, but rather no color, a gray if you will, closer to invisible. Invisible at the roots and spreading out to a dirty gold that did not exist in nature. She examined squarish hips and a thickening waist that just a year ago she’d been convinced was only temporary. She’d read about girls who thought they were too fat when in fact they were frighteningly thin (well, Maria’s friend Charlotte had been one); whereas she, Linda, thought she was in general a thin woman when in reality she was overweight. And of course there were her hands, the skin long roughened, announcing her age and then some.
She turned abruptly away from the mirror, a peevish physician annoyed by his patient. She took the terrycloth hotel robe from its hook and meant to put it on, but instead she froze with it in her arms.
Was she mad? What had she been thinking? No one would see her body. So why the lover’s examination?
She tried her daughter again, this time on Maria’s cell phone. Though Linda had offered to pay for the calls, Maria had refused, her independence, even in the face of impressive student loans, no surprise. Whereas Marcus. Marcus needed to be taken care of, had developed charm to compensate for common sense, a nascent charisma to attract someone who might watch out for him. Such as David, Marcus’s lover, who was, at times, excessively protective, monitoring Marcus’s eating habits and sleep in a way she herself hadn’t done in years. Marcus was brilliant and would never use it; indeed, would make a point of denying this advantage.
Linda lay back on the bed, holding the telephone, hoping her daughter would answer and smiling when she did.
Is this a bad time?
Linda asked.
Is this a bad time?
Linda asked.
—
No, I’m finishing lab reports.
Maria was truly happiest when doing two things at once.
How are you?
No, I’m finishing lab reports.
Maria was truly happiest when doing two things at once.
How are you?
—
I’m at a writers’ festival,
Linda said. And quickly thought, One needn’t tell the truth. The truth being that she’d become unhinged by the unexpected.
I’m at a writers’ festival,
Linda said. And quickly thought, One needn’t tell the truth. The truth being that she’d become unhinged by the unexpected.
The merits of the northern city were discussed.
—
I was just thinking about your father,
Linda added. A partial truth, though it had not been thoughts of Vincent that had unhinged her. And for that she felt a disloyal pang.
I was just thinking about your father,
Linda added. A partial truth, though it had not been thoughts of Vincent that had unhinged her. And for that she felt a disloyal pang.
—
You’re missing him,
Maria said.
You’re missing him,
Maria said.
Linda could see herself in the mirror over the dresser. She looked better in the softer light of the bedroom
—
smaller, possibly even desirable in the plush hotel robe.
Will you get any time off this summer?
Linda asked.
—
smaller, possibly even desirable in the plush hotel robe.
Will you get any time off this summer?
Linda asked.
—
A week. Maybe ten days if I’m lucky.
A week. Maybe ten days if I’m lucky.
—
Could I talk you into coming up to Maine?
Could I talk you into coming up to Maine?
There was a second’s hesitation, long enough to forfeit plans already made or hoped for. Linda heard the pause and was annoyed with herself for having asked. She remembered when Maria and Marcus had been children and had begged for rides downtown or had hoped to invite friends to the house. And her own moment’s pause while parental agendas had been consulted and discarded.
Of course I can. Of course I will.
When had nature flipped the balance, causing the parent to ask the favor of the child? At twenty? At twenty-two?
Of course I can. Of course I will.
When had nature flipped the balance, causing the parent to ask the favor of the child? At twenty? At twenty-two?
—
Just for a few days,
Linda said immediately, qualifying her request.
I don’t expect you to give up your entire vacation.
Just for a few days,
Linda said immediately, qualifying her request.
I don’t expect you to give up your entire vacation.
—
No, I’d love to come.
To her credit, Maria sounded enthusiastic.
We’ll see about the dates.
No, I’d love to come.
To her credit, Maria sounded enthusiastic.
We’ll see about the dates.
But Linda would release her daughter from this promise; release her to her own young life.
Are you getting any sleep?
the mother asked.
Are you getting any sleep?
the mother asked.
Static stole her daughter’s answer. Linda rolled over, dragging the phone off the nightstand. She pulled it up by the cord. One day Maria would be a pediatric cardiologist. Staggering to think of that. Staggering for Linda, who’d been the first in her family ever to go to college.
—
I’ve met someone,
Maria said, apparently for the second time.
I’ve met someone,
Maria said, apparently for the second time.
For a moment, Linda was confused, afraid the words had issued from her own mouth.
—
Tell me about him.
Tell me about him.
—
He’s a resident. His name is Steven.
He’s a resident. His name is Steven.
An image formed in Linda’s mind, doubtless incorrect, doubtless composed of other Stevens, though she couldn’t think of any at the moment.
And you like him,
Linda said cautiously.
And you like him,
Linda said cautiously.
Another pause on Maria’s part, possibly for emphasis.
I do. He’s very good-looking.
I do. He’s very good-looking.
—
That counts,
Linda said, never one to dismiss beauty in a man.
That counts,
Linda said, never one to dismiss beauty in a man.
—
Maybe I’ll bring him to Maine with me.
Maybe I’ll bring him to Maine with me.
And Linda thought, This is serious.
—
What were you remembering about Dad?
Maria asked.
What were you remembering about Dad?
Maria asked.
—
About his white shirts. And the way they fit across his shoulders.
The daughter was silent in the face of a memory too private for a child to share.
Are there people at the festival you know?
she asked instead.
About his white shirts. And the way they fit across his shoulders.
The daughter was silent in the face of a memory too private for a child to share.
Are there people at the festival you know?
she asked instead.
—
I do now,
Linda said, wishing to dispel the sense of being needy.
I do now,
Linda said, wishing to dispel the sense of being needy.
—
Good,
Maria said, unburdened.
I’d better go. If I don’t have these lab reports done by six, the resident will kill me.
Good,
Maria said, unburdened.
I’d better go. If I don’t have these lab reports done by six, the resident will kill me.
Linda doubted that, though the sacrifice required of someone wishing to be a doctor was staggering. Mistakes were made from lack of sleep. One day Maria, in a fit of tears, had confessed her own.
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