These are the notes I made during my talk with Caitlin, and they tell me more than anything she said. She told me I had faced great sadness in my life. (And who, I wanted to ask her, who hasn’t? Who, at least among those willing to pay three hundred dollars an hour for advice, hasn’t faced some misery they don’t know how to bear?) She told me things would get better. She told me she saw a woman in my future, and when I balked, when I told her I couldn’t imagine such a thing ever again, she told me she saw a man. Granted, I didn’t give her much to work with. I told her my real birthday and my real name, but when she asked if I was married, I said only, “Not anymore,” and I left her to draw her own conclusions. I resisted her attempts to draw my story out of me; if she’s being paid to be a psychic, I thought, then let her figure it out. Part of me, I admit, wanted her to tell me something true; part of me wanted her powers to be real. It’s a strange role they play, these “psychics,” part priest-confessor, part therapist, and I was half hoping she would tell me something that would make everything make sense. I was half hoping that somehow she would save me. But in the end, she was just some woman from Ohio sitting in her living room, talking to a stranger in the middle of the night. And me, I was just some schmuck paying for a phone call he couldn’t afford.
Now, outside, the dawn is breaking. It’s been a very long night. I feel empty now, too tired to think anymore about Lexy and her call to Lady Arabelle and what it all means. When I go into the bedroom, I find Lorelei sleeping across the foot of the bed, and I decide not to shoo her off. I crawl between the sheets, curling myself into a ball so as not to kick her, and almost immediately, I am asleep.
TWENTY-THREE
I run into Maura today. The ex-wife. Or, well, when I say I run into her, I mean I run into her on my front porch. I open the door to get the newspaper and there she is. It’s quite a surprise. She hasn’t knocked. She has a note in her hand, and I guess she’s trying to decide whether to leave it. She jumps when I open the door.
“Hi,” I say. I’m a little taken aback to see her there.
“Oh, Paul,” she says. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Well, here I am.”
She smiles and goes into a kind of artificial sympathy mode. “I just heard about Lexy,” she says. “Paul, I’m so sorry.”
I nod and smile sadly and look at my feet and mumble my thanks. I’m still not very good at accepting condolences from people, especially people who didn’t know Lexy.
“Well, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” I ask finally. It’s strange to see Maura standing on my porch smiling at me. We didn’t part on very good terms, as I think I’ve mentioned. But it’s kind of nice to see her. I realize I haven’t spoken to an actual human being in two days.
“That would be nice,” she says.
Don’t worry. This isn’t headed where you might think.
As she comes in, I look around the house and see it as she must see it. It’s a mess. There are dishes everywhere, and stacks of books piled precariously high. I’m sure I look rumpled as well. I am certainly unshaven.
It’s not until Maura is already inside the house that Lorelei comes barreling in, barking. She must be losing her watchdog touch, I think. There was a time when she would’ve known Maura was standing on the porch before I even opened the door. It occurs to me for the first time that Lorelei is getting older—she must be eight years old by now—and that I may not have unlimited time to conduct my research. Or to enjoy the quiet pleasure of her company. I will lose her someday, that much is certain, and it makes me ache to think of it. But, as all dog owners must, I put the thought quickly out of my mind.
Maura backs away and shrinks against the wall when Lorelei comes into view. She never was a dog person.
“Down, girl,” I say in my most commanding voice. “It’s okay.” To Maura I say, “Let her sniff your hand. Don’t worry, she won’t bite.”
Maura holds her hand out uncertainly. Lorelei sniffs it avidly and thoroughly and gives it a tentative lick. Satisfied, I guess, that the situation is under control, she turns and walks away.
“So,” Maura says. “I guess that’s Lorelei.”
“How do you know her name?”
“I’ll be honest with you, Paul. Matthew Rice called me.” She brightens for a moment. “He told me he’s head of the department now. That’s great. Good for him.” Then she puts her concerned face back on. “He’s worried about you, Paul. He thought maybe I should talk to you.”
I feel a flash of annoyance at Matthew Rice. He knows how I feel about Maura. And I have work to do. This unexpected visit is quite a disruption.
“Well, come and sit down then and talk to me,” I say. I’m sure the irritation is clear in my voice.
I lead her into the living room. She stops to look at a picture on a side table, a photograph of Lexy and me taken on our wedding day.
“So this is Lexy,” she says. There’s a brittleness to her voice that she doesn’t quite manage to hide. “She was pretty.” She sounds as if she’s accusing me of something.
“Yes,” I say. “She was.”
I clear the couch of newspapers and notepads and gesture for Maura to sit down.
“God, Paul,” she says. “Look how you’re living.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting company,” I say shortly. “Did you want some coffee?”
She eyes a pile of dishes on the table with a kind of horror. “No,” she says. “That’s all right.”
I sit down in a chair facing her. “So,” I say. “How have you been?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“How’s work?”
“Fine.”
“Are you… seeing anyone?” The question sounds absurd.
“No. Not at the moment.”
“Okay,” I say. “Well, let’s get down to business. What’d you come here to say?”
“Paul, Matthew thinks you’ve lost your mind. He says you’ve stopped interacting with people, and you didn’t show up for dinner at his house…”
That’s true. It was on a day when I felt I was very close to making some headway with Lorelei—it was the day of the wa breakthrough, as a matter of fact—and I simply forgot I had made plans with Matthew and Eleanor. I called the next day and apologized, and I thought I had explained the situation perfectly well. Matthew himself is extremely single-minded when it comes to research. I thought he, of all people, would understand.
Maura’s still listing my shortcomings. “And he says you actually think you’re going to teach that dog to talk. I mean, really, Paul, you don’t believe that, do you?”
“I believe that interspecies communication is an area that has not been fully explored,” I begin. “And I think that we have much to learn —”
“Jesus Christ,” Maura breaks in. “Paul, do you hear yourself? You need help. Look, I’m sorry Lexy died, that’s a tragedy, but you have to get over it. You’re ruining your life and you’re ruining your career.”
I stand up. Haven’t I spent enough of my life already listening to this woman? So she thinks I’m crazy. Fine. I’ll give her something to take back to Matthew.