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I pour myself another full glass of red wine even though it’s making my stomach lurch. Where the hell is Luis? Did something happen to him? And what the heck are those wine glasses doing there? I think about Mila, and Geoff, and work, and I drop my forehead on my forearms and start to cry because I am just so very, very tired.
Then Luis walks in. “What are you still doing up?” he says. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and he comes to my side, pulls out a chair next to me. “What’s wrong, Anna? The kids—”
“The kids are fine. They’re in bed.”
He puts his arm around my shoulders. “What’s the matter?”
I lean against him, my head on his chest, feeling the cold of his leather jacket against my cheek. He must have ridden his bike. I tell him about Alex, I speak through snot and tears. I’ve had so much wine by now I’m crying drunk.
“You should have called me.”
“I did, I left a bunch of messages,” I wail.
He quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m sorry. I forgot to turn it back on.”
“Where were you?”
“Oh, honey! At the studio! Did you forget? We talked about this, remember?” He brings me close again. “No, of course you don’t. No wonder, with everything that’s happened.”
My head is fuzzy with all the wine I’ve consumed. It’s sloshing inside me and I think I’m going to be sick. I should have eaten something, that’s my problem.
“I’ll be right back,” I manage to blurt before stumbling into the bathroom and vomiting into the toilet bowl. When it’s over I lean on the sink with both hands and stare at my reflection. Did Luis really say he was at the studio all evening?
I can hear him moving about out there and when I come out he’s in a T-shirt, his jacket thrown over the chair. He’s rinsing my glass. The memory of the two elegant wineglasses on the drying rack in his studio flash into my mind.
“You look pale, babe. You okay?”
I move him out of the way to fill a glass of water from the tap and nod. “I think so,” I say, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. But my heart is thumping and I feel tears sting at the back of my eyes again. I think I am more upset about where Luis has been than anything else. “Did you come from the studio just now?”
“Yes, I’m sorry it’s so late. I have so much to do. I got completely lost in my own head.”
“Did you go out to eat?” I ask, thinking that maybe he went to a diner somewhere and came from there. That we have our wires crossed, our timelines disjointed.
He has his back to me, but he shakes his head. “I got takeout delivered from the deli. Around seven, I think.”
No, you didn’t,I want to say. And it’s not just because I was there around seven, it’s the fact that he’s included the time.Around seven, I think.Inconsequential, so why mention it? But I keep my mouth shut and the question pops into my head, fully formed.Are you cheating on me?Because that’s sure what it sounds like. I realize the thought has been lurking inside my brain ever since I found the pretty dishes in his studio.
“Come to bed,” he says, and starts up the stairs, then stops to wait for me, even putting his hand out to me.
I am so angry my ears are hot. I take his hand because I see myself in my mind’s eye yanking it back hard enough to make him fall backwards. I wouldn’t try and catch him—that would defeat the purpose. I’d stand there, my vision blurry with alcohol and watch him crack his head on the wooden steps. But then I remember my children and I disengage my hand from his and grab the banister instead.
Nine
I wake up with a dry mouth and a feeling of doom. Luis’s side of the bed is empty and I roll into it, my fingers pressing into my eyes, turning the lie over in my head. But my head doesn’t work anymore, so I give up. The smell of coffee tugs at me, and I slowly swing my legs to the floor.
“How you feeling, babe? I thought I’d let you sleep.”
“Good, thanks. Better.” I take the steaming coffee mug Luis hands me and search his face, waiting for some kind of correction. A slap on the forehead followed by something like:Wait! Did I say I was at the studio last night? What an idiot! I was playing squash with Toby. He can confirm.Toby is our next-door neighbor and they do play squash sometimes, although not at night, I don’t think.
But all I get is, “You okay? You don’t look good. Is it because of Alex?” and my stomach flips.
There’s a kind of a hush around the department when I arrive. I go straight to my office without meeting anyone’s eyes, then June checks in on me, her face a picture of concern. She brings with her a chocolate chip cookie on a small white plate and a coffee, which she puts down in front of me.
“John is taking your class this morning. How you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I say, hoping she’ll go away so I can curl up beneath the desk. I stare at the cookie. June has never brought me a coffee before, let alone a cookie. I pick up the chocolate chip cookie and look at it closely. “Are you my mother?” I ask. She chuckles. Then I worry she might think I implied she was old enough to be my mother, which is ridiculous, obviously, so I add, “Because believe it or not, she bakes them just like that.” Which is a complete lie. Maybe I’m just saying things to fill the void. Or to stop myself from saying things like,By the way, I was there when Alex died and I can’t stop wondering if he would have jumped had I not been there. Oh, and my husband is probably cheating on me.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “You look tired.”
