The Headmaster's Wife (21 page)

“What?”

“I hit the water and I sank. It was so cold. Coldest thing I ever felt. And it was like—it was like hands pulling me down. It was so easy. Just go, Betsy, I thought. Let go. But then suddenly I didn’t want to. It was like my body said, ‘Fuck that. You need to live.’ I remember looking up, and everything was hazy. I couldn’t see anything. Next thing I was above the water gasping. I wanted air more than anything. And I swam. I didn’t know I could swim. How silly is that? But I did. I swam. It was like someone else was swimming for me.”

“You wanted to live.”

She smiled. Played with a piece of salmon on her plate. Outside, a barge moved down the river, and he saw it from his peripheral vision, lit like a Christmas tree. “Yes, I guess that’s true. Something wanted me to live.”

“Something?”

“It was so cold, Russell. I can’t remember what I was thinking. I just went for the bank as fast as I could. And when I climbed up it, I knew I wanted to live. I knew I needed to live. Maybe for Ethan, though I know that sounds hokey.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re kind.”

“There’s nothing I can say that will sound right.”

“I always loved that about you.”

“What?”

“Your honesty.”

“I work for the district attorney.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something about you. I don’t know. You are only yourself.”

“I know,” he says.

She cocks her head. “Yes, you do. That is your beauty.”

He laughs. “I didn’t know I had beauty. I mean, look at me…”

“I like you,” she says.

“You once loved me,” he says wistfully and then immediately regrets giving this idea words. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“That was another life,” she says.

“Yes,” he says.

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” she says.

“I know.”

They sit in silence. He reflexively takes a piece of dragon roll into his mouth, though he is not hungry. He eats because it gives him something to do with his big hands. It gives him something to do besides stare into her green eyes.

He says, “I have overstepped.”

“No,” she says.

“Arthur—are you?”

“We were done a long time ago,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.

“I want him to be well.”

“He will.”

“I hope so.”

“Betsy?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to be foolish.”

“Stop.”

“Okay.”

“I mean I am not ready for anything, you know?”

“Yes,” he says.

She smiles. “Sushi is good.”

“Sushi is great.”

“Yes, it’s great.”

He drops his head and cracks a smile. She is across the table from him. He looks out to the winter night. It has been forever since someone else shared this space with him. And he thinks about the nature of the world, that after all these years she is here and he loves her as if they were sixteen again, but he cannot say this to her, and that is okay, that is as it should be. He looks out to the winter night. Far below them is the river, timeless and uncaring. It moves to the sea as if they were not there at all.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I began this novel in the neonatal intensive care unit at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in the summer of 2009. Our second daughter, Jane, had just been born and born far too early. She weighed less than two pounds. Her lungs didn’t work. But nevertheless she was a miracle, and while I was in the middle of the arduous work of starting a college, I spent every moment I could next to her bedside during the six months she lived. And what began as one novel eventually became a very different one, a novel of grief and one that I dedicate to her, for though she did not live long, she taught everyone who came into touch with her the true meaning of courage and fearlessness. She was a remarkable brown-eyed baby girl, and this book, the most honest thing I have ever written, is for her.

This book is also for her mother, Tia, the true hero of that time of our lives. This book is also for my daughter Sarah, who just turned seven. She is a marvel.

It is also for the amazing nurses and doctors at Dartmouth-Hitchcock. I especially want to give a shout-out to the nurses: Someday, if there is any justice in this world, nurses will inherit the earth. I need to single out a few of you by name: Ali, Angela, Christy, Donna, and Eneroliza. You were like family to us, and I don’t know if we will cross paths again, but each of you is an amazing woman who gives so much love and labor to what you do.

I want to thank my agent, Marly Rusoff, without whom this book would not have been possible. She sets the standard for representation that every agent should aspire to.

My gratitude extends to the great Thomas Dunne, who saw in this book everything I had ever hoped a publisher could see in my work. I can’t thank you enough for your warm welcome and for bringing this novel to the world.

Likewise, I also want to thank my editor at Thomas Dunne Books, the talented Anne Brewer, whose insights made this book so much stronger. And thanks to Peter Wolverton, for his leadership and advocacy on behalf of my novel.

I also want to thank my early readers and hope I don’t miss any of you: Maura Greene, David Greene, Carolyn Greene, Meghan Westbrook, Miciah Bay Gault, Dana Routhier, Ann Wood, Alfred Donovan, and Alex Lehmann.

I would be remiss in not thanking all of my colleagues, trustees, staff, and faculty at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Your belief in my leadership and your willingness to give me the space to be an artist as well as your president mean the world to me. We are building something special and lasting together, and I am forever grateful to each one of you.

Finally, I need to thank my amazing parents for all their support of me and my work and especially for sacrificing to send me to Suffield Academy as a teenager. As my brother, Richard, recently put it, “If you hadn’t gotten into all that trouble in public school this book would be called
The Principal’s Wife,
and who wants to read that?”

ALSO BY THOMAS CHRISTOPHER GREENE

Envious Moon

I’ll Never Be Long Gone

Mirror Lake

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Thomas Christopher Greene is the author of three previous novels. His fiction has been translated into eleven languages and has won many awards and honors. In 2007, Tom founded the Vermont College of Fine Arts, a top fine arts college, making him the youngest college president in the United States at that time. He lives in Montpelier, Vermont, with his family. Visit him online at
www.thomaschristophergreene.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

THE HEADMASTER’S WIFE.
Copyright © 2014 by Thomas Christopher Greene. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Michael Storrings

Cover photograph © Joe Mercier/
Shutterstock.com

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-1-250-03894-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4668-3424-8 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781466834248

First Edition: March 2014