The Story Hour (7 page)

Maggie smiled as she felt Peter's mouth brushing lightly against her shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly. “You haven't even left yet, and already I'm missing you. How is this possible?”

She turned to face him. The thought of not seeing Peter again made her ache. “I know,” she said. How would she face Sudhir at the airport? Would he take one look at her and know? How would it feel to sleep in their bed tonight, after having spent four nights with Peter?

“But I will see you soon, right?” Peter had a curious expression on his face, as if he'd read her mind.

She sighed. “I don't know. I don't see how. Sudhir . . . When Sudhir's in town, we're pretty much together in the evenings.”

He grinned slowly, a cocky, wicked grin that made the breath catch in her throat. It was unfair, how handsome Peter was. Sudhir was a good-looking man, she knew that. In middle age, he had preserved his runner's body, and although his temples were beginning to gray, he had a head full of dark, thick hair. But Peter was beautiful. The sparkling green eyes, the long, angular face, the curly brown hair, the thin, ironic smile, it all hit Maggie so forcefully at times that she had to look away. The most attractive part about Peter was how carelessly he wore his beauty, like some cheap aftershave. She had the feeling that he would be offended if she ever commented on his looks.

“What?” she said. “Why're you smiling like that?”

“If you have to spend your evenings with Sudhir, then I guess we'll just have to visit during the day.”

“And how do we do that? Quit our jobs?”

He grinned again. “My mother always said, where there's a will, there's a way.”

But was there the will? Maggie asked herself as she set the two bowls of pasta on the small kitchen table. She was already ashamed of what she'd done during Sudhir's absence. It was so unlike her, this active courting of danger. Peter had a one-year contract at the university; he would be gone to God knows what forsaken country at the end of next semester. Whereas she and Sudhir had a forever contract that tied them to each other. Every strand of her life was woven into Sudhir's. For years, Maggie had marveled at how lucky she was to be married to a man whom she still loved and respected. In her profession, she had seen so many bad marriages, had witnessed how often love corroded into hatred or indifference. She had heard enough stories to know that bad behavior—cruelty, volatility, secrecy, violence, addiction—was rampant in many marriages. The worst thing she could say about Sudhir after all these years was that he was slightly . . . boring. That he was a homebody, not a thrill-seeker the way Peter was. Imagine that. That the worst thing about her husband was that he was predictable in his routines, that he was loyal and steadfast and reliable, and that the highlight of his day was coming home to his wife.

So what was she doing sitting barefoot in Peter Weiss's kitchen? How could she have so easily said goodbye to decades of fidelity, to years of counseling patients about the lasting damage that affairs inflicted on relationships? What did it mean that she had traded in her years with Sudhir for a few days with Peter?

The answer came from deep within her: It meant that, without her knowledge, a drought had existed in her. That she had been parched, thirsty in a way that Sudhir couldn't quench. Unbidden, a picture of her ten-year-old self in bed with Wallace rose in front of Maggie's eyes. And the next instant she knew: The strange, unnamable, ultimately shaming encounters with her father had dried up some part of her, had planted a seed of sexual restraint deep within her personality. No wonder she had picked someone like Sudhir—an Indian male from a conservative Brahmin family who was raised to be courteous to all, to be respectful and protective of women, who was cautious by instinct and precise by training. Sudhir had never seen the drought. Whereas Peter knew, had seen it the very first time they'd met three years ago. Recognized something, with his photographer's eyes, that she herself was oblivious to. In any case, what had happened between them four nights ago was not anything she could explain with her conscious mind. It was not a decision. It was not a desire that she had acted upon. Rather, it was movement. A flow. Like water. Like music. A river does not choose its direction. It just follows the path that has been laid out for it. That was how she had felt, that she had flowed into his body.

“Hey,” Peter was saying. “Where did you go? You're hardly eating.”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

The green eyes narrowed slightly. “You look so sad.”

“I'm not. Really. I just . . .” She swallowed. “It's going to be hard. Saying goodbye.”

“So don't,” he said promptly. “Hey, I'm not going anywhere.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head. “I'm stuck in this job for a whole goddamn year.”

Even though Maggie knew better than to take it personally, the comment hurt. “You hate it so much? Living here? Teaching?”

Peter rubbed his eyes. “Ah, God, I don't know, Maggie,” he said. “I like it well enough, I guess. It's just that . . . I miss life. You know? Messy, unpredictable life. The adrenaline rush. Visiting new places. I don't do well with routine, I guess.” He covered Maggie's hand with his. “Though I'd miss you. And I'm very happy to have reconnected with you.”

They smiled shyly at each other as they ate. After a few moments, Peter said, “So how would you like to spend the few hours we have left?” The green eyes sparkled suggestively.

The thought of going directly to the airport from Peter's, which was what she'd planned on doing, suddenly lost its appeal. “I think I'm going to go home for a bit,” she said. “Before I go pick up Sudhir. Is that okay?”

Peter opened his mouth as if to argue but then closed it. “Yup,” he said simply. “Whatever you need.”

Her thoughts were jumbled as she drove swiftly down the darkening streets. She was happy that Sudhir was coming home, she really was. It would be easier to resist Peter once Sudhir was home. She'd be the world's biggest fool to risk her marriage over someone like Peter, she really would. Peter was a birthday party, all candles and cake and balloons. Now the party was over. Sudhir was the rest of the year, the real deal, the place where she'd built her nest. What she and Sudhir had constructed together, someone like Peter could only dream about. If he was even smart enough to realize and envy them what they had, that is. Which she somehow doubted he was.

You don't have to demonize Peter, she scolded herself. You don't have to let your guilt paper over how much fun you had these past few days. Or even over how your body answered his. Maybe everyone is entitled to one harmless fling, to one sexual adventure, and this was yours. A reward for a lifetime of good behavior. Which you will now proceed to implement. Which means you can't do this with Peter ever again.

Promise? she said to herself. Promise?

M
AGGIE SIGHED
. S
HE
and Lakshmi had sat across from each other in this small, airless room for almost ten minutes, and they were getting nowhere. After days of easy communication, Lakshmi had clamped up again, and Maggie had no idea why. The insurance company was throwing a fit over having to pay her hospital bills, and earlier today, Richard had called Maggie into his office and demanded to know why the Indian woman hadn't been discharged yet.

She decided to try again. “Listen,” she said. “Unless you tell me what made you attempt to kill yourself, I can't discharge you. Do you understand? We could resolve this in a few minutes. I know you're as anxious to go home as we are to let you go. Right?”

In response, Lakshmi rose from her bed and wandered over to the window. She gazed out onto the lush green lawn of the hospital for a second and then turned around. “Why this cannot open?” she asked.

“We've been through this before, Lakshmi.” Maggie fought to keep the impatience out of her voice. “It's for your own safety.”

“In my village, many birds. All different-different color. But crow come and . . .”

“Lakshmi. Not today. Today we need to talk about the reason—” Maggie stopped midsentence, struck by a thought. “Is that why you did it? Because you are homesick? For your village?”

Lakshmi shook her head briefly. “My home here, with my husband. I married woman.”

“Then why?”

Again silence. Lakshmi turned back to the window and stared out. Maggie followed her gaze out of the dark room and into the golden June afternoon. Lakshmi had not left this room from the day she'd arrived six days ago. The realization nauseated Maggie. Of course. That was what Lakshmi had been trying to tell her with the stories about the greenness of her village and its many birds.

Maggie got up from her chair. “Come on,” she said. “We're going for a walk.” The startled smile on Lakshmi's face confirmed the rightness of her call.

Patty, the head nurse, called out to them as they walked past the nurses' station. “Dr. Bose?” she said. “I don't think the patient is allowed to . . .”

Maggie waved her away. “It's okay, Patty,” she said. “I'll sign her out.”

They rode down the seven floors in silence, but Maggie was aware that Lakshmi was looking at her out of the corner of her eye. For the first time since she'd started working with her, Maggie felt in control. It was a good feeling. Over the years, she'd developed a reputation for being slightly unconventional in her treatments. The hospital staff had looked askance in the beginning, but there was no doubting her ability to work with the difficult cases, and in time, they had learned to trust her judgment. And private practice had taught her the value of flexibility: She had shut the blinds to her office to accommodate a patient who was talking about childhood incest for the first time; she had gone driving on several occasions with a male client who was afraid to drive over bridges; she had kept her eyes closed during an entire session as a patient slowly, hesitantly confessed to having had an affair with her husband's brother; she had allowed a patient to arrive each week with a boom box because Mozart helped her relax. Whatever it took. She did whatever it took to help clients share their secrets with her.

And if that meant walking around the hospital grounds with Lakshmi on a sunny afternoon, that was what they'd do. She already knew that the woman had a hard time maintaining eye contact. This way, Lakshmi didn't have to look at her. And there was something conducive about talking as one walked, the rhythm of the feet allowing the tongue to move also.

“Is it nice to be outside?” Maggie asked. “Get some fresh air?”

“Madam, it so nice. I feels clean, like taking shower in sunshine.”

Maggie smiled. “I thought you would like it.” She paused for effect and then started walking again, pulling on her lower lip in an exaggerated gesture. “You know, I just thought of something. Most people try suicide in the winter months. Around the holidays, that kind of thing. Unusual to have someone as young as you attempt it at such a lovely time of the year.”

As she had anticipated, the younger woman's eyes filled with tears. “I not doing on purpose, madam. I not thinking. I . . . I just feeling so sadly that day. Husband not home, also. I not thinking.”

“You mean you hadn't planned it for weeks?”

“No, madam, I swears.” Lakshmi pulled at the skin near her Adam's apple for emphasis. “God-swear, madam. That day only, I decide.”

Maggie felt something relax within her. So the attempt had been an impulsive gesture. Good. Good. It meant Lakshmi probably would not repeat it.

Still, she frowned as if puzzled. “I don't understand. What happened on that particular day to make you feel so sad? Did you have a fight with your husband?”

“No, no, madam. Not husband fault. I wicked woman. I do wicked thought.”

It hit Maggie. Of course. There was someone else. Why hadn't she picked up on it sooner?

They were now about forty yards away from the path that led to the woods behind the hospital, and Maggie decided to walk into the dense grove of trees. Here, on the back lawn, Lakshmi would feel exposed, naked, in the glare of the sunlit afternoon. But the light would be weak in the woods, and if there was one thing that Maggie had learned in her years as a therapist, it was that shame required darkness.

Lakshmi relaxed visibly as soon as they entered the woods. Maggie saw that it was more than the anonymity provided by the shade. For the first time, Lakshmi looked at home, in her element: She plucked a leaf off a tree, crushed it in her hand, inhaled its smell, and then said its name in her language; she got down on her haunches to examine a mushroom growing at the base of a trunk; she turned her radiant face up to gaze at the sliver of sky that showed through the leaves. Despite the awareness that they were wasting time, despite the realization that they didn't have much of a window before her next appointment, Maggie was transfixed. She felt as if these woods were magical, and that they had transformed the sullen, crushed woman into a pixie.

She knew that the pixie would disappear with the next question, but she had no choice. “What was the wicked thought? That made you attempt it, I mean.”

Lakshmi, who had been running her hand across the soft spindles of a pine tree, stopped. Slowly, she turned to face Maggie, who held her gaze. Come on, she willed her silently. Tell me, so I can make a judgment about whether it's safe to release you. She saw a cluster of emotions cross Lakshmi's face before it went slack.

“This customer, he came to restaurant every Thursday,” she said. “So nice he was, madam. Always saying please-thank-you to me. Always, without fail. He my only friend, madam. And he smell”—Lakshmi looked around them—“he smell like this place. Clean.” She plucked a pine needle off the tree and held it to her nose.

Here it was, Maggie thought. She'd slept with this guy and was terrified her husband would find out. After having met the husband, a mountain of a man, Maggie couldn't blame her. He would probably kill her if he knew.