Once she’d done this it felt wrong again. And I felt wrong and sad. But this seemed all inside me. Like it had nothing to do with her anymore.
I started in on her only to get away from my loneliness. Soon this began working. Working just as well as what she’d done to me. And I could feed off her sounds and her movements, could feed off her wanting me. I got very far away on this. And so when she’d finished, or when I’d finished her, it could almost seem like this was the only thing there’d ever been between us. And that all we’d ever really needed or wanted was sleep.
Seven
We left each other alone about it for another day or so. Then we started planning. She began it. Out of nowhere she said, “We could go together.”
She said we’d have to put distance between him and us. At first we’d need to and then it might be safest to come back. Not here but nearby. Be far enough he wouldn’t run into us, near enough he wouldn’t think to look.
The way she said these things I could see she’d planned it over and over. Had every detail worked out. That she’d even planned it for two and that’s when I thought of the daughter. Worried this was why she said we should come back this way instead of going further away. Worried about this another day before asking her.
“No, that isn’t it,” she insisted with an absoluteness I believed, deciding the daughter’s school must be in Switzerland, somewhere that far away. But then I worried that’s where the husband went. Maybe even where he was right now. And I shouldn’t have asked her but I couldn’t not.
She said, “You think I’d allow that? Is that what you think of me?”
“What do you care what I think? Look where he found me.”
We left it there. I think both of us felt badly about ourselves. I did anyway. I knew I had to quit pressing the daughter thing. But because I was trying not to, I kept tripping over it. Finding things to ask about, and not being able to stop myself until one night we were sitting on the couch having drinks and I asked how old she was. I said, “How old is your daughter?”
Ingrid stared past me, not through me. Already I knew. I knew I’d known all along. And I wished I could take back every stupid question I’d asked her.
“Sixteen,” she said, “always sixteen. Do you understand now? Will you leave it alone?”
I didn’t say anything at first. I didn’t do anything. She went for another drink. When she sat down with it she asked me for a cigarette. I handed her one and lit it for her.
“How long ago?” I asked because to my mind this was a practical question – something I needed to know.
“Five years.”
She still stared off somewhere. I knew she’d tell me whatever I wanted to know if I could stand prodding her. I wanted to know all of it. I told myself I needed to, and so I began asking. “On purpose?” I said.
“No, no. He got carried away. That never describes him very well but that is what happened.”
“You were there?” I asked. I could hear the fear in my voice. The fear that she’d stood by and watched.
“I came home to him on the couch, sitting where you are. He told me to go up and look in on her. I found her just as I found you the other night.
“We called the police. He did. He called someone he knew. A report was written, describing an accident. I don’t know that he ever thinks about it except for bringing home you girls. I don’t know that that means he thinks about it.”
“You think about it.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. And she looked at me for the first time since we began this.
We went up to her bed again, but already everything between us was different. Our tiredness had been gauzy before but now it had a sharpness to it, like we knew where it came from. We lay down together, not touching at first. The lights were out, making the room seem smaller first and then bigger – a place you could get lost in.
I got up and went to the bathroom. Really just wanted somewhere else to be for a minute. Wanted to be without her, though I couldn’t tolerate this for very long.
On my way back I looked out at the pool. I stopped, stood still but the lights weren’t on tonight. Just blackness out there. When I got in the bed I held on to her. I didn’t know what to do except touch her. But I couldn’t be sure what she wanted. Whether she wanted this.
Soon I could tell from her body. It went loose in a way I’d never felt before. She became truly easy instead of resigned. Something about this softness made me soft. And I did everything slowly and stayed gentle. Stroked her and kissed her this way.
She was on her back and I spent a long time just touching her, her arms and her shoulders, her stomach. And after a while she began telling me things that couldn’t possibly be true but which I wanted to hear. Things I’d always wanted to hear. She told me I meant something to her. That I’d made a difference, had changed something for her.
I drew myself alongside her, kissed her mouth in a way I hadn’t before. She pulled me closer and held on and I held on too until I couldn’t. Then I slid her on to her back more, pressed my body into hers and began to rub against her. And even though this wasn’t about that, I made it into that. Was soon kissing her the way I usually did and opening her legs and trying very hard to make this just any other time.
She let me. Maybe she even helped me because after a while she’d turned on to her stomach. Was asking me to fuck her. Once this started she wanted it harder and I did what she said. I was wanting it this way myself but not wanting to be giving it this way. I didn’t think so. But I couldn’t be sure because I’d gotten caught up in her movement. The way she lifted her hips and then slumped down again. The sounds she was making. But when she asked me to hit her I stopped.
It wasn’t something we’d done before. And I didn’t think I could. Not even with her needing me to. We’d come halfway around and then some. We were so far from where we’d started I didn’t think we’d ever get back there. And I was afraid the only way back might be to do what she asked. And then, too, I figured the only reason I craved that softness again was how hard this was getting. And I didn’t think I’d like feeling tender once we got there. I thought instead it would bust me all up.
It was already too late. I’d left her out there alone and she turned away from me. Drew her knees to her chest and lay there not making a sound. I knew whatever I did now, soft or hard, would be forced. She was that unapproachable.
What I did was get up. I left her alone because I’d already done that. And I walked downstairs knowing I’d failed her. That I’d pushed her toward wanting something and then left her alone wanting it. Who was I to decide what was good for her? Though really that hadn’t had anything to do with it. Really, I was afraid. And I couldn’t be sure where the fear came from and this was the trouble. Except this wasn’t true either. What I might’ve done to her was the trouble. That I might’ve been too good at what she asked of me.
I spent the rest of the night on the couch. Curled up under that same afghan we’d used out by the pool. I didn’t sleep exactly. I kept floating in and out, and when I heard her come into the room I didn’t know what to expect so I played I was sleeping. She pulled the blanket up around me, sat beside me, petting me and it was like last night hadn’t happened.
I could almost believe this until I wanted to get up, wanted to put clothes on and realized I couldn’t wear the ones I’d been wearing anymore. Then I looked at her differently – the way I had yesterday.
She didn’t seem to notice or maybe she did because she began telling me things. Saying stuff like she had last night, stuff about having feelings for me. This is where I got scared. Not because I knew not to believe her, but because I wanted so much for her to say these things whether they were true or not. I knew how close this brought me to getting caught up in her make-believe, and so I began right then to ask when he’d be home.