Indiscretion (26 page)

I informed her that I did. “And children?”

“No, sadly not. Still looking for the right girl, I suppose.”

She gave me a patronizing little smile. It was a mixture of victory and compassion. “Poor you. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised to hear it. You certainly didn’t seem very interested in getting married.”

It was true, of course. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I wasn’t too upset when I found myself on the wrong side of forty and still single. There was only one woman for me, and she was already taken. The notion of marriage to anyone else was unthinkable. What bothered me the most about dating was that I could always envision the end of the relationship. After a while, it seemed to me pointless, and maybe even a little cruel, to let someone form an attachment that would only be broken off.

Not all the women I dated took it as well as Aggie. Often there were tears and recriminations. The protestations. The anger. A few girls even broke up with me first, but rarely with any objection on my part beyond simple good manners. The reason, of course, was that none of the girls were Maddy. It was too much to expect that any of them would be, so eventually I just stopped trying.

As a result, I really had no idea what it meant to break up with someone you loved. Maddy and I had never been a couple, so there was nothing to break up. Based on my limited understanding, I could only imagine the agonies she and Harry were going through. But Maddy and I were still friends, which was what mattered the most to me, second only to her own happiness. Nor did I know what was going through Harry’s mind when he thought of Claire, even though at this point I still didn’t know of her involvement.

What was Harry going to do? How would he extricate himself? Did he even want to? As I thought about it after, he was caught between two women. One whom he had cheated on and who now despised him but whom, I believed, he still loved. The other was his lover. Both were beautiful and both were important to him. Would he fight a possibly hopeless battle to win back his wife, or would he accept that life changes and embrace the other? The risks were great. By choosing Maddy he could lose them both. By choosing Claire, he would lose Maddy forever. Would that make him happy? I know which choice I would have made.

8

H
arry roams the streets. Stopping at windows, ducking in for coffee, occasionally a drink, browsing through bookstores. He is a man unmoored. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know where to go. His aimlessness, his loss. I pieced this all together after.

He walks by Claire’s building. Not for the first time. It is during the day. He knows she is not there. There is no chance she will walk out. She is at work. That is why he is there. He repeats words in his head. What he will say to her. The different scenarios.
I am sorry. I can’t do this anymore. You were right. Let’s run away. Somewhere in Mexico where they can’t find us. Panama. I have to stay with my son. I love my wife. I love you. I don’t know what to do. I have never been so confused in my life. Forgive me. One of you. Both of you.

He has been here every day, relieved that he is undiscovered. The only person who recognizes him is the man in the deli. Aztec eyes, a gold tooth. Two sugars, no milk. Then he walks around the block and then again, each time staring up at her window. Remembering what happened in that room, in that bed. Enshrining it in his mind. Wondering where his life went. It is still cold. The trees are bare, the buildings gray. Hardened, blackened mounds of snow cling stubbornly to the sidewalk. Every day he makes his pilgrimage. There is no one for him now. No one loves him. He has no one who will hold him to her.
I need you. I need someone. Not just anybody.
That is not the way he thinks. He needs warmth, love, acceptance, forgiveness.

One time when he’s there, he thinks he sees her and panics, not knowing what to say or do. But it isn’t her. He knows that if he wants to see her, all he needs to do is come here earlier. But that is not why he is here. It is in some ways enough to see the building. It is like playing a game of chance. I turn over a card, but what are the odds. He is being a coward. I am growing to hate him.

When he does call her, it is unexpected.

“Hi, it’s me.”

She is at work. “Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. I’ve been so worried. Are you all right? How are you? Where are you?”

He had been prepared for anger. Its absence surprises him, encourages him. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m in New York. How are you?”

“Can I see you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Tonight?”

“I can’t tonight. It’s my night with Johnny.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Come to my apartment at eight.”

The next night he is back on the familiar street. He had stayed away that day. It is a few minutes past eight. This time, instead of passing by on the opposite side of the street, he walks up the short stoop and presses the buzzer. A moment later there is the answering buzz, and he pushes the door open. He climbs the familiar steps.

She is at the door. How does he greet her? Does he make a joke? Does he give her a polite kiss? Does he take her in his arms? Moments like these are crucial. They reveal everything. If it were me, I’d choose the polite kiss. But it is not me. It could never be.

It is a moment of confusion. Neither of them knows what the other is thinking. Standing in the doorway, halfway in, halfway out. Memories of her body. Shared breath. His hands. A powerful, undeniable attraction.

He embraces her, saying nothing. Remembering her scent, the feel of her hair. The beat of her heart. She grips him tightly, immersing herself in him. It is impossible to tell if it is a welcome or a farewell.

Her mouth finds his. Their lips meet. Again he is powerless.

“Oh god, I’ve missed you so much,” she says.

“Me too.”

Clothes are shed, resolutions shattered. It is too much for him, he succumbs. She, too, had been unsure how she would react. She had been angry at him, hurt by his absence. Feeling a fool, worse, a bitch. All of this I find out much later, when she tells me.

After, they are in her bed. He is talking. He describes what has happened to his life, to all our lives. Maddy’s anger, her flight from Rome, her decision.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure there is anything she wants me to do. I don’t think she wants me to fight for her. I think she wants me out of her life.”

“What about you? Do you want to be out of her life?”

“No. There is too much there. Too many years. Johnny. She will never be out of my life. It would be impossible.”

“Do you still love her?”

“Of course. I never stopped loving her. I never will.”

She closes her eyes. “Do you love me?”

“Yes. I love you both. Is that wrong?”

“Maddy seems to think so.”

“And what about you?”

“I never asked for you to love only me. I never wanted to compete with Maddy. I loved you so much I wanted you to love me too, if only a little.”

He pulls her gently toward him and kisses her forehead. “I love you more than that,” he says.

In the morning, he is awake first. It is Saturday. Outside it is snowing lightly. The flakes melting on impact. Claire sleeps naked beside him, snoring gently, her hands under her head. He does not want to disturb her, so he lies there. Later they will go out for breakfast. Normally he would get up and go to the kitchen, make coffee and then go to his office to work. But there is no normal anymore. In the span of a few short weeks, everything has been upended. The office in Rome is gone, the office in New York is gone. His former life is a dream. He is an exile. In his rental apartment up five flights of stairs sits his laptop computer, barely touched, atop the small kitchen table. Inside is a novel he is at times reluctant to return to—so much has it changed, so much of his own circumstance has changed.

Is he surprised to find himself there? The woman next to him is not his wife, not the mother of his child. And yet. And yet there is something about this girl that is so important that he is willing to throw away everything. Is it her? Or is it something he wants to see in her? Yes, she is lovely, but not as lovely as Maddy. Yes, she is smart, but Maddy has wisdom. Is she as generous? As kind? As indomitable? I know she is younger. Less inured to the familiarity that two decades of marriage brings. She has not heard all of his jokes, does not know all of his moods or stories. To her he is still an undiscovered country where even the most mundane routines and rituals appear thrilling.

And why does she choose him? She may be young, but she is not a child. She is ambitious, that is plain. There are numerous other men who would have gladly taken his place in her bed. Much of it was opportunity. How many other prize-winning authors had she met? For her this was the first circle, the top table. It was not enough for her to be with a rich man. Clive taught her that. No, she had sampled those wares and found them wanting. She did not want to simply be an appendage. She had dreams of her own.

And then she met Harry. Handsome still. Lively. Successful, highly regarded. How could she not fall in love with him? He was everything she wanted. There would be a brief scandal if he left his wife for her, but in literary circles such exchanges are unremarkable and any antipathy would soon subside. Being with him would burnish her own career. The dinner parties, the open doors. Maybe even a novel of her own? They would be happy together, she could see that. She even began wondering what people would write about her one day in his biography. What view would history take of her? Home wrecker, partner, mistress, savior, or maybe just a footnote before he passed on to another woman.

But it is still only a fantasy. She needs him to sever the cord. That had not been her original intention, but now it seems the only way. Only that way can both Harry and she be happy.

Sitting in a booth at the local diner, she asks, “Does Maddy know about me?”

“No. She hasn’t asked, and I haven’t told her.”

“Would you?”

“Do you want me to?”

She thinks for a moment. Would this be her life? Sitting across from him every morning watching him drinking his coffee, eating his eggs? He uses Tabasco sauce, she remembers that.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I don’t want you to lie if she asks.”

“No, there have been too many lies.”

“Let me tell her.”

He stares at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I don’t want her to hate you any more than she already does. I deserve some of the hate too.”

“No, it’s got to come from me.”

“Listen to me. It makes sense. It might even make things better. If I go in there and be honest with her, she might resent me, but she’ll respect the truth.”

He takes her hands. “Thank you. But it’s impossible. I would never ask you to do it. Or even want you to do it. It would be cowardly. It’s my responsibility. When the time comes, I’ll tell her, but not before. Please understand.”

She nods. “I understand.”

A week later she is ringing Maddy’s doorbell. It is raining hard. The sort of rain that makes an umbrella useless. She knows he will be angry when he finds out. But it is too late. She had not mentioned it again during the weekend. Waiting to see what he would do. If he would do it himself. When it seemed clear he wouldn’t, she decided it was up to her to act.

She is nervous. Her steps had faltered as she approached. For a moment, she almost turned and fled. It would have been easy to find an excuse. Something came up at work. Let’s try another time, shall we?

The door opens. “Claire,” says Maddy, kissing her on the cheek. “Come in. You poor thing, you’re soaked.”

Claire enters. “Here,” says Maddy. “Let me take that.” She helps Claire off with her coat and hangs it on a hook. “I can’t believe it’s been so long. You look beautiful. I love your haircut.”

Claire blushes and smiles. “Thank you. I forgot you hadn’t seen it.”

“I was so happy you called.”

“Thanks for letting me stop by.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s just what I needed. It’s wonderful to see you.”

Maddy disappears into the kitchen. “Can I bring you coffee? Or would you prefer tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

“I won’t be a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

Claire remains standing. “I love your home.”

“Thanks. It’s too bad it’s so miserable outside. When the weather’s fine, it’s nicest to sit in the garden.”

“How’s Johnny?”

“He’s doing very well. He seems happy to be back in New York. His old room, his old friends. You know how kids are. Here we go.”

Maddy emerges with a small silver tray, on which sit a porcelain teapot, two matching cups, creamer, and sugar bowl. Maddy has lots of lovely china she inherited from her grandmother. Did she use the Spode? I think so. “Hope Lapsang is all right. It seems like that sort of afternoon.” She pours, and the smoky aroma fills the room. Claire is glad for the distraction. Her hand shakes when she lifts up the delicate cup.

They are in the sunken living room. Outside the rain patters against the glass, drums on the flagstones. Claire is again struck by Maddy’s beauty, her poise. Her decency. It makes her feel insignificant. Doubly so now.

“So tell me about yourself,” says Maddy. “How have you been?”

“Fine. Work’s been good. I got a promotion. Better money. It allowed me to rent my own place.”

“That’s right. Walter mentioned something about that. He said he had a drink with you last fall.”

“We were meant to get together again in spring, but something came up. How is Walter?”

“Same as ever, bless his heart. And romance? Any progress on that front?”

“It’s been complicated.”

“Oh, I believe it. Isn’t it always?” Maddy laughs. “Speaking of which, I don’t know if you heard this already, but Harry and I have separated.”

Claire nods. “Yes, I know. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Thank you. It’s not been easy.”

Claire takes a breath. “Maddy, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s why I wanted to see you today.”