Read The Last Time They Met Online
Authors: Anita Shreve
Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Adult
The Last Time They Met (18 page)
He looked at her, astounded.
—
It’s a pinching you get around your eyes.
It’s a pinching you get around your eyes.
She who had seen dozens.
—
I don’t get them as often as I used to. The doctor tells me that by the time I’m fifty, they’ll have disappeared.
He took in a great suck of air, hoping to disguise it as a sigh.
I don’t get them as often as I used to. The doctor tells me that by the time I’m fifty, they’ll have disappeared.
He took in a great suck of air, hoping to disguise it as a sigh.
—
It’s hard to imagine living that long,
she said lightly.
It’s hard to imagine living that long,
she said lightly.
—
I used to think I’d be dead by thirty.
I used to think I’d be dead by thirty.
—
We all did.
We all did.
She had water-blue eyes and long, blond lashes. Shallow wrinkles already spoking out from the eyes. Her face tanned, an Indian red. After the accident, it had not been possible to be together. Her aunt and her uncles had forbidden it. He had besieged her house for days. Until, finally, they had sent her away. He still didn’t know where she had gone.
He had sent four letters, none of which had been answered. And then it was fall, and he had enrolled at Harvard. She had chosen Middlebury. He’d made himself give it up then, accept her silence as his punishment.
A decade had changed her. She looked a woman now. Her breasts were loose inside her blouse, and he struggled not to look at them.
—
We live in Karen,
he said.
We live in Karen,
he said.
She nodded slowly.
—
It’s west of here.
He waved his hand in a direction that might be west.
It’s west of here.
He waved his hand in a direction that might be west.
—
I know the place.
I know the place.
—
I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was,
he said.
I tried to write you.
I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was,
he said.
I tried to write you.
She looked away. Her chest was red in the deep
V
of her blouse.
—
For the accident,
he said.
It was inexcusable. If I hadn’t been driving so fast. If I hadn’t been drinking.
V
of her blouse.
—
For the accident,
he said.
It was inexcusable. If I hadn’t been driving so fast. If I hadn’t been drinking.
She glanced quickly back at him.
I was there. I was as much a part of what happened as you.
I was there. I was as much a part of what happened as you.
—
No, you weren’t. I was the one who was driving.
No, you weren’t. I was the one who was driving.
She put a hand out and touched his wrist. The touch so electric that he flinched.
Thomas, let’s not do this. That was years ago. Everything is different now.
Thomas, let’s not do this. That was years ago. Everything is different now.
Her kanga was only a single piece of cloth she had wrapped at her waist like the African women did. A slight tug, and it would slide to her sandals. He couldn’t think about that now.
—
I just want to know where they sent you,
he said.
I’ve always wondered.
I just want to know where they sent you,
he said.
I’ve always wondered.
She withdrew her hand.
I went to stay with Eileen in New York.
I went to stay with Eileen in New York.
He nodded slowly.
—
Then I went to Middlebury.
Then I went to Middlebury.
He took a long breath.
—
There’s so much to catch up on,
she said. As any woman might. Trying, he knew, to make it normal.
There’s so much to catch up on,
she said. As any woman might. Trying, he knew, to make it normal.
—
How’s your aunt?
he asked. For the moment, acquiescing.
How’s your aunt?
he asked. For the moment, acquiescing.
She pressed her lips together. She shrugged. Her relationship with her aunt would always be complex.
The same, I guess.
The same, I guess.
—
Why didn’t you answer my letters?
he asked too quickly
—
unable, after all, to keep it normal.
Why didn’t you answer my letters?
he asked too quickly
—
unable, after all, to keep it normal.
She put a hand to the side of her head and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
I didn’t get any letters.
I didn’t get any letters.
—
You didn’t get my letters?
You didn’t get my letters?
She shook her head.
His chest felt squeezed.
—
So,
she said. A small frown disappearing.
You’re shopping?
So,
she said. A small frown disappearing.
You’re shopping?
—
Oh,
he said. Confused.
I did the shopping. Well, my part. Although I should get some cashews.
Hoping she wouldn’t notice the Tusker on his breath. It wasn’t even noon.
Oh,
he said. Confused.
I did the shopping. Well, my part. Although I should get some cashews.
Hoping she wouldn’t notice the Tusker on his breath. It wasn’t even noon.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Regina approaching. Carrying a straw basket filled with food in her arms. Panic swelled inside of him. It seemed important that he speak to Linda before Regina got there.
—
Linda,
he said, but then he stopped. Words, heartless and fickle, failed him.
Linda,
he said, but then he stopped. Words, heartless and fickle, failed him.
Her eyes flicked up at his, and he held them.
Regina stood beside them, and there seemed a terrible pause. Linda smiled in Regina’s direction.
Hello. I’m Linda Fallon.
Hello. I’m Linda Fallon.
Thomas struggled toward the surface. He glanced at Regina and wondered if Linda’s name would register. He hoped it wouldn’t.
Linda, this is my wife, Regina.
Linda, this is my wife, Regina.
Regina set down her straw basket and shook Linda’s hand. Regina’s pink sleeveless blouse stained beneath her arms, her hair wild and sticky about her face. She looked at Thomas, at his empty hands. She had worn shorts, and, disloyally, he felt embarrassed for her.
—
Didn’t you get the fruit?
Regina asked. Even now, a slight whine.
Didn’t you get the fruit?
Regina asked. Even now, a slight whine.
—
It’s in the car.
It’s in the car.
She studied him.
You have a migraine?
You have a migraine?
Linda looked away.
Thomas sought and failed to find a normal voice.
Linda’s an old friend. From Hull.
Linda’s an old friend. From Hull.
Regina turned to the stranger.
Really? Are you on safari?
Really? Are you on safari?
—
No. I’m in the Peace Corps.
No. I’m in the Peace Corps.
—
In Nairobi?
In Nairobi?
—
In Njia.
In Njia.
—
Oh, really. What do you do?
Oh, really. What do you do?
—
I teach.
I teach.
—
Oh, wow.
The
wow
automatic, without emotion. Behind Linda, the shopkeeper was packing up his leftover fruit.
Oh, wow.
The
wow
automatic, without emotion. Behind Linda, the shopkeeper was packing up his leftover fruit.
—
They’re closing up,
Thomas said. Racked between wanting the two women to separate as soon as possible and wishing to make his conversation with Linda last forever. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, questions he’d been asking her for years.
They’re closing up,
Thomas said. Racked between wanting the two women to separate as soon as possible and wishing to make his conversation with Linda last forever. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, questions he’d been asking her for years.
Linda let them see that she was checking her watch.
I’ve got to run. Peter’s waiting for me to go to lunch.
I’ve got to run. Peter’s waiting for me to go to lunch.
The name a slug to the center of his chest. That there was a Peter might have been expected, but the name shocked him even so.
Linda turned to Regina.
It was so nice to meet you.
She glanced at Thomas. There was nothing she could say. She smiled instead.
It was so nice to meet you.
She glanced at Thomas. There was nothing she could say. She smiled instead.
Thomas watched her walk away, all the blood in his veins following her.
He bent to pick up Regina’s basket. Giving himself something to do to cover the hole inside him. Regina was silent as they made their way through the stalls and into the noonday sun.
—
Roland and Elaine want us for dinner,
she said.
Roland and Elaine want us for dinner,
she said.
Roland, Regina’s supervisor, was an asshole, but Thomas was relieved there would be a party. He didn’t think he could bear a long night in the cottage with Regina. Not this night.
—
Wasn’t that the gal you used to go out with in high school?
Wasn’t that the gal you used to go out with in high school?
Willing himself to sound casual, even bored.
For a couple of months.
For a couple of months.
—
And didn’t you have some sort of car accident with her?
And didn’t you have some sort of car accident with her?
—
She was in the car.
She was in the car.
Regina nodding.
I remember now. You told me that.
I remember now. You told me that.
Thomas put the basket in the trunk. He opened the driver’s-side door and slipped inside, the seat so hot it burned his thighs. The parking boy was watching him, waiting for a tip. Thomas rolled down his window, and the boy was on him in a flash.
Regina settled in beside him.
Blondes shouldn’t let themselves get that much sun,
she said.
Did you notice how she’s ruining her skin?
Blondes shouldn’t let themselves get that much sun,
she said.
Did you notice how she’s ruining her skin?
H
e stood on Roland’s verandah, a Pimm’s in his hand, his chest suffused with a sensation he thought, from no recent recognizable experience, must be joy. A feeling that went all the way to his thighs. At the start of the evening, arriving amid a welter of cool but paradoxically welcoming asides
—
Roland, aren’t Americans funny the way they walk to everything? Now this dress I like —
he’d felt his attention sparingly lent, plucked from him unwillingly. And so had sought refuge on the verandah, where no one else had yet gone.
e stood on Roland’s verandah, a Pimm’s in his hand, his chest suffused with a sensation he thought, from no recent recognizable experience, must be joy. A feeling that went all the way to his thighs. At the start of the evening, arriving amid a welter of cool but paradoxically welcoming asides
—
Roland, aren’t Americans funny the way they walk to everything? Now this dress I like —
he’d felt his attention sparingly lent, plucked from him unwillingly. And so had sought refuge on the verandah, where no one else had yet gone.
And knew himself to be in love. If, indeed, he’d ever not been. Not since a day in 1966 when a girl in a gray skirt and a white blouse had crossed the threshold of a schoolroom. It was as if he’d merely been distracted all these years, or had grown weary of loving only memories. And had, against all the odds, been returned to a rightful state. Not reminded, but restored. As a sightless man who once had sight will learn to live with his condition, adjust to his darkened universe, and then, years later, when astonishingly he can see again, will know how glorious his world once was. And all this on nothing but an unlikely meeting and the exchange of a dozen sentences
—
small miracles in themselves.
—
small miracles in themselves.
The verandah overlooked a garden of hibiscus and moonflowers, the latter giving off a spectral glow from the lit lanterns hanging in the trees. On the equator, the sun set at six every night of the year, a light that extinguished itself without apology or dimming, a fact Thomas found disconcerting. He missed the slow leaching of summer evenings, and even the dawns he had hardly ever seen. He also, to his vast surprise, missed snow, and occasionally he had snow dreams in the night. Eye-level now with an avocado tree ponderous with fruit
—
so close he could have leaned over and picked one of the scaly green pears
—
he remembered he’d never eaten one until he’d gone to college, the fruit far too exotic for his mother’s Calvinist table.
—
so close he could have leaned over and picked one of the scaly green pears
—
he remembered he’d never eaten one until he’d gone to college, the fruit far too exotic for his mother’s Calvinist table.
Roland had insisted he have a Pimm’s, a sweetish gin drink, though Thomas had wanted a simple beer. Roland was as executive at home as he was on the job, a man who made insistent pronouncements with a certitude that was baffling. Mark his words, there would be tribal anarchy when Kenyatta died. He’d tell you right now, if an African bought a European house it could be counted on to go to ruin. It was axiomatic that you could never trust an Asian. Thomas, having no opinions on these subjects, found the acknowledged
—
no,
brandished
racism
—
appalling. In turn, Roland thought Thomas hopelessly naive and said so. Amusingly naive, actually. An earnest American was an entertainment.
You’ll see,
Roland was fond of adding.
—
no,
brandished
racism
—
appalling. In turn, Roland thought Thomas hopelessly naive and said so. Amusingly naive, actually. An earnest American was an entertainment.
You’ll see,
Roland was fond of adding.
The night air floated around Thomas’s arms, bare to the elbows. In the distance, he could hear music and the fading away of a woman’s laughter. Smoke rose from the cement garage where the servants lived, raising, as it always did, the question of degree: Was the confinement of servants in a cement garage any different from slavery? Beneath this thought, also wanting to know: Where was Linda right now? What was she doing this very minute? He imagined her in a hut in the bush
—
why, he couldn’t have said. It was the idea of the Peace Corps, he supposed, with its suggestion of good works and mild suffering. How easily they might have missed each other in the market, might never have known the other was even in the country. It made him weak in the knees just to think of it. He saw again the shallow curve of her waist and hips, the way her breasts swayed inside her blouse. A longing he hadn’t felt since adolescence made his bones ache.
—
why, he couldn’t have said. It was the idea of the Peace Corps, he supposed, with its suggestion of good works and mild suffering. How easily they might have missed each other in the market, might never have known the other was even in the country. It made him weak in the knees just to think of it. He saw again the shallow curve of her waist and hips, the way her breasts swayed inside her blouse. A longing he hadn’t felt since adolescence made his bones ache.
Her fingers had trembled when she’d brought them to her face; he was certain he had seen that. And yet she had seemed so calm, so preternaturally composed. Had the chance meeting meant something to her, or would she have regarded it merely as a wistful moment, something to be put aside so that one could get on with life? It seemed impossible that either should have forgotten the other. And yet he had married another woman, and she was with a man named Peter. He pictured an anemic academic for no more reason than he wished it so. He wondered if they lived together, guessed that they did. Didn’t everyone these days, especially in this country of lawlessness and illicit love?
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