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“Saying what?”
She lies back on the bed and draws her knees up, covering her eyes with her forearm. Her shorts hang off her hips, the bones jutting outward, visible beneath the sheets. She’s lost weight. I know; I’ve spent many hours of my life studying the curve of those bones. “You keep referring to her as ‘that girl.’”
I take her wrist from her eyes and place it at her side.
She glares at me, her brow furrowed. “I’ve seen her up close. She’s hardly a girl.”
I know better than to offer a response. No matter what I say, it will lead to trouble.
Eve props herself up on her elbows. “She’s pretty, don’t you think?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Sure you have, darling,” she says with a closed smile. “I saw your face when you were with her.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I reply, drawing smooth circles with my finger on her knee. “For one, she’s not my type. And two, even if she were, what does it matter?”
“A woman like that, dear, is everyone’s type.”
I lean toward her. “Interesting,” I murmur against her neck. “But there’s only one woman for me.”
She pulls away. “Is that so?”
“How long have we been married?”
Her brows stretch toward the ceiling and her eyes follow suit. “A very long time.”
“Then why do you insist on asking such silly questions?”
Eve scoots as far away from me as she can manage, forcing herself into a ball. “I’m tired, George.”
“So rest.”
“I’m not talking about that kind of tired. You know what I mean.”
I stare down at the floor, singling out carpet fibers with my eyes, one by one. I’ve seen Eve pick them apart during a manic phase. It’s not pretty. “We should replace this,” I tell her with a nod.
“George?”
Our eyes meet. “Have you even heard anything I’ve said?”
“You’re tired.”
“Yes.” Tears well up in her eyes. Finally, she sighs. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Chapter Thirty
The party goes about the way I imagine. All I can think about is Eve locked in that room. About what she’s done to me and about what I’m doing to her. About where this all ends. It’s for the best, I realize, her being in there, safe. It sucks, nonetheless, to have people crawling all over my property, enjoying themselves, and my wife not be one of them.
She said this would be fun, otherwise I’d have put a stop to it, and even though I’d rather be doing just about anything else, she wasn’t entirely wrong. After managing nearly a thousand words and partially editing several chapters, I step out onto the balcony that’s off the great room. I bring along a drink and a cigar, even though I have no intention of lighting it. It’s been ages since I smoked, but there’s something about rolling one between my fingers that I can’t let go of.
Kicked back under the stars, I am surprised to find myself enjoying the party from afar. Eavesdropping can be very enlightening. I’m three drinks deep and overlooking the lawn when I hear a familiar voice behind me. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
I don’t have to turn in my chair to know who it is. But that doesn’t stop me. Her long hair swept up, my wife is right—she is pretty. She’s wearing a dress, black, not as short as the last time. “Whatever you’re speaking of,” I say, “I’m sure the answer is yes.”
“It’s funny,” she sighs whimsically. “We can be so together and yet so alone.”
I watch her hands as she pulls a cigarette from her clutch, sticks it between her lips and then fishes for a lighter. “You mind?”
