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And now, it’s Sunday morning, and Luis and I are strolling around the flea market, holding each other’s gloved hand. I have a thing for winter outdoor markets. I love them. I love the icy air on my cheeks, the vendors with their fingerless gloves, the white sky, the promise of snow. I’m warm in my duffel coat, a blue and white woolen scarf that Carla knitted for me a few weeks ago around my neck. It’s a new hobby for her and we’re all wearing beanies that are too small and scarves that are strangely misshapen, and I love them all to bits.
Luis stops to look at a Bakelite clock and I turn around, scanning for the source of that roasted chestnut smell.
I nudge Luis. “Do you want some?” He looks up.
“Sure.”
The vendor is roasting them on a hot plate and selling them in paper cones. I’m digging up the right change, fingers like blocks of ice, when a voice behind us calls out. “Luis?”
We both turn around.
Isabelle.
“Hello,” she says, smiling at my husband. She’s stunning with her bright smile and her blonde hair cascading out of an elegant black fur hat. She looks like she’s just stepped out of a Disney movie.
I am not an angry person. I am a happy person. I am calm and dependable. Everyone says that about me. But right now I am livid as I watch my husband kiss her quickly on the cheek with a fake, desultoryHey-how-are-you?All very chaste, that goes without saying—I am here, after all. But my lips are trembling as I say hello through gritted teeth because is this meeting really accidental? They’re standing too close to each other and it’s making me boil. I imagine myself pushing her away with both hands, palms slapped hard against her long black leather coat. I picture her stumbling backwards and hitting her pretty head on the asphalt. I imagine her mouth making a perfect ‘O’ of surprise and her blue eyes wide in shock, and fear too, until her eyelids close like the eyes of a vintage doll. Then I imagine the blood. A tiny rivulet at first, seeping from the back of her head so slowly we don’t notice it until it grows into a pool and we have to step away so as not to get it on our shoes. I imagine everyone agreeing it was an accident. The heels of her tall leather boots were too high, too thin, too unstable. Silly girl, she couldn’t keep her balance.
I sigh. As tempting as it is, I don’t push her. Because I am a happy person. And a rallier, which is why I make myself smile. It takes some effort, but after a few tries, I get there. Then I realize they’re waiting for me to say something.
“Hello,” I say, with as much fake cheer as I can muster. She asks after the family, we tell her we’ve been well, the family is well, thank you for asking.
“Anna just won a prize for her research,” Luis says.
“Congratulations,” she says to me.
“Thank you,” I reply, then immediately ruin it by smirking and lifting one eyebrow in involuntary gleeful triumph.
Luis has put his arm around my shoulders and is giving me a kind of one-arm hug.
“I’m very happy for you,” she says, and I don’t know if she means about the prize or about Luis. I keep thinking about what June said, about how I should see them together and gauge their reaction. Now is the moment. I am looking for any evidence that they are still in touch, still screwing behind my back, and I can’t find one exactly. I search Luis’s face for any tell-tale sign: a tightening around the mouth, a quivering of the nostrils…and I find it.
It’s when she says, “It’s nice to see you.” He turns bright red. Then he rubs his hand over his chin and I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
They are trying to appear relaxed, casual even, as they chat about the art world: have you seen so-and-so’s show, what are you working on at the moment. What would I do if they were still cheating behind my back, I wonder? I don’t know. I’d drag him away, move the family to Martha’s Vineyard and add a moat around our house for good measure. I’d expose her, shame her. I’m not one to shame women when there’s adultery involved, but now that I’m the wronged party, screw it. I’d personally carve the letter ‘A’ on her smooth-as-an-egg forehead.
Then something completely unexpected happens. A man, good looking, athletic build, nice square jaw, joins us. He puts one arm around Isabelle’s waist and shakes Luis’s hand.
“Hey, buddy, long time. How are you?”
“I’m great, Patrick. This is my wife, Anna.”
I manage to close my jaw and say hello, and my gaze darts from Luis to Isabelle to Patrick. Luis seems to know a lot about Patrick: he asks him about some deep sea diving trip he took last summer, and how their vacation plans are coming along.
Everything shifts in an instant and suddenly I am sure of nothing. Is it possible that it was never Isabelle? Maybe I had my wires crossed and there really was another woman called Belle who’s been screwing my husband. Have I been so wrong? Do I see desire between every woman and my husband as a matter of course? Am I so insecure that I can’t tell anymore?
“Hey, you guys want to come over for dinner?” I blurt, interrupting everyone. I suddenly really want to see them together, up close over an evening: Luis and Isabelle, Patrick and Isabelle, Luis and Patrick. I want toknow.
There’s a chorus of, “Oh sure, why not, sounds like fun, when?” and everyone pulls out their phone but it’s harder than it looks because everyone isso verybusy.
“Yeah, sorry, not going to happen until after Christmas for me,” Patrick says, explaining he has to travel to Colorado for a conference and then somewhere else for something else. We all make noises about what busy lives we lead, then Patrick turns to Isabelle. “But you can go.” And we laugh, because we’re not joined at the hip, are we? The way some couples are? Don’t we all hate that when one can’t make it then the other is automatically also out of action?
“Great! Come next Friday night! It’ll be fun!” I say very brightly. Too brightly. She smiles sweetly and taps the date into her calendar.
We say goodbye like old friends, she kisses me, one on each cheek. The collar of her coat is tall and folded back over itself. It gapes slightly as she leans to kiss me, and when I pull back I catch a glint of something. Just between the tip her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.
Two thin diamond baguettes on a gossamer thread of gold.
Twenty
