I sank to the floor as soon as he left, sitting on the plush bath mat and leaning against the wood vanity. I heard him pound up the stairs and then come back down a minute later. He knelt on the floor beside me. I cringed when I saw the peroxide in his hand, the mass of cotton balls, gauze, and antibiotic ointment. He dabbed some of the peroxide on a cotton ball. He was in his element-he was a caretaker, the fix-it guy.
What about Jack? My sister’s favorite question, asked after every dating snafu and failed relationship. He’s such a good guy. He cares about you. It’s obvious.
It’s obvious we’re friends. There’s nothing else but that.
That’s enough for a start. It’s not all lightning bolts and shooting stars.
You sound like Mom.
“Isabel,” Jack said, poised with a dripping ball of cotton, the scent of antiseptic heavy in the air. “This is really going to hurt.”
“Good,” I said. “I like consistency.”
He gave me a look that was somehow amused and compassionate and then ruthlessly went to work on my injury while I tried to be stoic, but couldn’t stop a flood of tears welling from a deep place within me.
Jack just kept saying, over and over, “I’m sorry, Iz. I’m so sorry.”
“WHAT ARE YOU doing here, Ben?”
Her breath came out in big clouds. She pulled her coat tightly around her.
“Get in the car,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes. “It’s cold.”
“Ben. I’m not getting in your car. My children are sleeping inside that building.” She turned around and pointed to the large white structure. She had an uncomfortable fluttering in her chest thinking of them sleeping a few stories up next to Fred’s hospital bed. Either of them could wake, walk over to the window, and see her standing in the parking lot, talking to a strange man in his car. There would be lots of questions she couldn’t answer.
He’d seen her exit the building; she could tell by the way he straightened his posture and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. Did he think she’d be happy to see him here? Was he that delusional?
“Just for a minute. Please, Linda.”
She could smell the heavy, sharp odor of too many cigarettes smoked in close quarters. He looked tired, edgy, was listening to the blues. She wasn’t familiar with the song. A sad-voiced woman wailed about her lost man-her voice eerie, tinny, floating up to Linda’s ears.
“No, Ben. What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
He nodded, looking sheepish but not ashamed. Almost as if he thought she might find it funny or charming. She didn’t.
“So that means you were sitting outside my building how long?”
“Since the coffee shop.”
She saw her own reflection in the back passenger-seat window, her expression, angry, incredulous.
“That’s not okay. That’s-that is-” She paused to compose herself. “That’s weird, Ben.”
She expected him to cow, to say he was sorry, to then drive off. Tomorrow she’d tell him that they couldn’t see each other any longer. Her family was in crisis and she needed to focus on them, refocus on her marriage. He’d see that it was the right thing. Maybe he’d go back to his family. But instead his face went still, the line of his mouth looked angry. He released a bitter laugh.
“I trashed my whole life for you, Linda. The least you can do is get in the fucking car.”
His words cut through the space between them, changing everything they were to each other. His tone was such a departure from anything she’d ever heard coming from his mouth that she looked at him hard for a second, hoping in a final moment of denial that he might be joking. He wasn’t.
“I never asked you to do that,” she said gently. She didn’t want to hurt or anger him any further than he obviously was already. She could feel his tension and it unnerved her. But she wanted, needed him to go away. “In fact, quite the opposite.”
“You didn’t have to ask!” he yelled, startling her. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he almost whispered. “In your heart, you know it’s what you want. I know that. I know you. That’s love, right? Knowing what the other person wants and giving it to them without their having to ask?”
He wasn’t looking at her. That was the weird thing. He was staring straight ahead as if she wasn’t even there. She felt the first cold finger of fear in her abdomen as he started an odd, rhythmic gripping and releasing of the wheel.
“Come on, Ben,” she said, forcing a coaxing gentleness into her voice. “Get some rest. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
He turned his head quickly and she saw the depth of his fatigue, a frightening glimmer in his eyes. She took an involuntary step back, afraid he was going to get out of the car. How had this happened? How did they get from where they were to this place?
“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t sleep at all. I need you with me.”
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her whole body shivering with cold and fear. There was something really wrong. She’d never even seen a shade of this in him. But, she realized, they didn’t really know each other well. Sex is not intimacy. Not really. Though he seemed to think it was.
She forced a smile to soothe him, moved closer to the car and rested her hand on his arm. He seemed to relax a bit, seemed more like himself. Then: “I think she was glad, you know, relieved that the charade was over. Erik will be, too. He might be as unhappy as you are.”
She kept the smile on her face, even though his words almost made her knees buckle. She nodded. “You might be right. I’ll talk to him. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He smiled then, too, and put his hand on hers. “I’m going to make you really happy, Linda. You’ll see.”
“I know,” she said. “Just get some rest now. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
She backed away from him, then turned and started walking back toward the hospital. Everything in her wanted to run. Her heart was an engine in her chest.
“Linda.” The tone in his voice-cold, dead-stopped her. But she didn’t turn around.
“You tell him,” he said flatly. “Or I’m going to.”
She started walking more quickly and heard him call after her one more time. This time she didn’t stop until she was under the bright lights inside. She ducked quickly into the bathroom and held on to the sink until the quaking in her body subsided. Then she ran to the nearest stall and vomited-bile, water, coffee. She sank to the floor and rested her head against the mental divider.
The phone in her pocket was ringing then. She didn’t recognize the number but she answered it.
“Hey, it’s me.”
She’d never been so happy to hear her husband’s voice. He was so good. So safe. She knew his failings were nothing compared to her own.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound normal, “what’s going on? I’ve been calling and calling.”
“My phone died.”
“Where are you?”
In a whisper he told her about Camilla Novak and Isabel’s flight.
“She did what?”
“I didn’t tell the police. She didn’t mean it. She was just trying to give me a real reason for letting her go. It’s not like she would have shot me.”
“Oh my God.” What was it with everyone coming apart at the seams? Were they all stretched that thin? Just a little adversity and everyone broke in two? “Where are you now?”
“The police brought me in for questioning. They’re treating me-I don’t know. They seem suspicious, like they think I’m holding back.”
“Are you?”
“Just about the gun. And the fact that she took Camilla Novak’s purse.”