It isn’t until the third session of this game that Seth begins to open up on his own. Over the next several weeks, he tells Tom, in pieces at first, of an older woman he works for named Marianne. Several months ago, he saw a job posted on the Whole Foods community board for a gardener/general yard worker for a house in the neighborhood, and when he went to ask about it, Marianne hired him on the spot.
Seth even describes the house-a big, gray Victorian with azaleas out front. “She had me paint the columns on the porch pink and green,” he tells Tom.
Immediately, Tom knows the house. There aren’t many Victorian-style houses around, and he can picture that porch. At first he can’t place it, but then he remembers; it’s just around the corner on Windsor Avenue.
It doesn’t take long for Tom to realize that Seth and Marianne are having an affair. Seth is smart and deliberately drops little hints. Initially, it’s just the general way he talks about her, saying things like, “Marianne likes me to come over straight from school,” or Marianne wants this and says that, etc. The more Seth lays it out for him, the more dubious Tom becomes. It’s possible, isn’t it, that Seth’s leading him on, just to stay entertained? Of course, if Seth really is having this affair, the worst thing Tom could do is not believe him, so he puts his doubts aside, confident that the truth will out itself.
From what Tom can gather, the affair is surprisingly sexually mature, and other than the considerable age difference, there is no outward manipulation. But when Seth answers Tom’s questions, he’s using someone else’s words. This is what worries Tom the most-Seth has no perspective. He doesn’t know which way is up and which is down.
Tom thinks very carefully about how to proceed. He considers it to the point of agony, but doesn’t discuss it with Jackie, sure that she’ll overreact. Ultimately he decides that since Seth is almost eighteen, he should keep the information confidential. The circus that it could create would be far more damaging to Seth than if they managed it together, through therapy.
So, in their next appointment, Tom decides to address the topic more frankly, and ask questions that encourage Seth to speak freely about the relationship. What do you talk about? Not very much. What do you do? Have sex, mostly. Are there any other girls who you are interested in? No, not exactly.
Eventually Tom asks, “Do you love her?”
“No,” Seth laughs, as if to say, Come on, we’re all adults here, which of course they aren’t.
The following weekend, Tom finds himself driving by the gray Victorian. The car in front of him has one of those bumper stickers that Tom hates: I drive under 25 m.p.h. in Narberth, PA, a pledge the driver observes with due diligence. As Tom creeps along well under the speed limit, he gets a good look at the house. He can see that Seth and Marianne haven’t only been fucking; Seth’s been working too. The yard looks immaculate.
The next day, passing by, he sees her. She is leaning against her doorframe, staring into nothing as if she is remembering something. Tom takes off his sunglasses to get a better look. He can’t believe it, but it’s her: Amelia Watson. She’s lost some weight and she’s dressing differently, maybe even dyed her hair too, but it is most definitely, unmistakably her, Amelia goddamn Watson. From the dark of the hallway, Seth emerges. She leans forward like she is going to kiss him goodbye, right there in the open. But before she gets too close, she catches herself and touches his shoulder instead. Tom slumps in the seat as Seth walks away, and Amelia retreats into the house.
At home, Tom unlocks his filing cabinet and thumbs through the manila folders until he finds it. Watson, Amelia. The first page of the file is the form that he requires all patients to fill out: a brief medical history and a confidentiality agreement. At the top of the page, in her tight handwriting, it reads, Watson, Amelia Marianne. Shaking, Tom closes the file.
It’d gone on for several months, and Jackie never knew. They’d kept up their weekly appointments for appearance, and they’d even done it on the couch in this very office. Once they started fucking it became impossible to talk, and the fifty-minute sessions were painfully slow. He’d ended it eventually, and Amelia had agreed it was best for her to move in with her sister in Rhinebeck, New York, where things are quieter and there are more open spaces. Tom even gave her the name of a therapist up there, a woman who’d come highly recommended.
That night, Tom takes Jackie out to dinner. Almost every Saturday they go into the city to try the latest restaurant written up in the Main Line Times, and tonight cannot be any different. They eat overpriced Mexican tapas, and on the way home, when Tom is careening down Schuylkill Expressway, Jackie reaches over and gently squeezes his crotch. Tom is stiff and guilty but he tells himself nothing’s wrong. It is a warm summer night and Jackie turns off the air-conditioning and opens the windows.
At home, Jackie suggests they to go for a night swim, something she likes to do when her belly is full and her mood is high. They change into their bathing suits, wrap themselves in towels, and go out onto the deck. Jackie walks down the steps to the poolside, and Tom crosses the deck to switch on the underwater light. As soon as he flips it on, Jackie screams. In their neighborhood, which some say was designed to be an outdoor amphitheater, whispers carry like they do in the valleys of mountains. Hers is not a scream that Narbrook Circle has heard before, and to be sure, all of Narbrook Circle hears her scream.
Tom is at the railing. He sees what she sees, a body of a man-a boy-floating facedown in the pool. He doesn’t have to look any closer to know that it’s Seth Lever.
The police arrive, Jackie is crying, and the whole neighborhood is out, trying to get a look. Tom wishes, more than anything, that he were wearing something besides a bathing suit. The yard is roped off, there are police swarming the property, red lights shining on the pine trees. Everyone whispers that it’s suicide. By the time they get Seth out of the pool, it’s after midnight. They ask Tom to put on some clothes and drive down to the station, which he does. They don’t make him bring Jackie with him. He tells them everything he can, but he doesn’t mention Amelia Marianne.
When Tom gets home, Jackie is waiting up for him. She’s upset and wants to talk. Tom sits down next to her in the bed, and holds her while she cries into his armpit.
“How could this have happened?” she asks.
“Seth was a very disturbed person,” says Tom.
“I know, I know. But it’s just… Was he? Really? And in our pool? Why in our pool?” she moans.
Tom pulls his arm away and swings his legs off his side of the bed.
Jackie kneels behind him and rubs his back. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault.”
Tom recoils. “I know it’s not my fault!” he snaps, and goes to brush his teeth.
Several days pass and Tom is deteriorating. He can’t sleep and on the rare occasions when he does drift off, Amelia is there, whispering something to him that he can’t decipher, coming to him in dreams and nightmares both.
And so, when he can no longer bear it, he knocks on the door of the Victorian. She is wearing a tight skirt, a silk blouse, and high heels-all of them black. Her straw-blond hair is tied up in the style of an earlier decade, and her eye makeup is heavy and dark. Dangling from her ears are two large turquoise-and-silver earrings. The weight of the jewelry stretches her pierced ears, making the holes look like tiny twin urethras.
“Tom?” she asks, without smiling. She is only vaguely surprised, as if she’d known he would come, but hadn’t expected him before noon.