“Can you just listen to me quietly for a minute, and then—”
“I’m not your child.”
She met my eyes finally. “I know,” she said.
I laughed when I saw the beds. I didn’t know anybody who had twin beds. I pulled the covers off her bed and put us both in. The bedroom was dim, and the moon was just coming up over the water. I jumped up and opened the doors that led out onto the upper deck and let the evening air flow in. Every now and then I looked over at George’s bed, as if he might be there quietly asleep, unnoticed.
“Isn’t this nice?” I asked her. “Isn’t it good? Isn’t it worth it?”
She did not reply, but her hands slid over me, carving me up, pulling me together.
When it was over, and after her tears had dried, she said, “That’s the last time.”
“No,” I said.
“But it was good. I want to be honest with you. It was good. I loved it.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It doesn’t have to stop. I won’t let it.” I didn’t say that as a threat, but she look it as one.
“Please don’t cause trouble,” she begged.
I grinned at her. If only she knew what a talent I have for causing trouble. It was a gift, almost. “Be reasonable and I won’t,” I said.
She was thoughtful. “I calculated the price I might have to pay for this... this adventure. It’s high, but I can do it. If things are going to be unpleasant, awkward, I’m ready for it. Even if things become painful, I’ve figured that in too. But there’s a point beyond which I won’t go. You might as well know that now. That’s why I stayed behind, to talk to you. The best thing is to end it now, while we can still be civil. While we can still be friends.”
“We’re not friends,” I told her. “We’re lovers. None of my friends are frustrated housewives.”
She threw off the covers, exasperated. She walked to a closet and reached in blindly. She must have recognized what she was looking for by touch alone; she pulled out a dressing gown and put it on, knotting the sash tightly. “I’m going to make some more coffee,” she said briskly, “and then we’ll see about getting you to the train station. Come down when you’re dressed.”
She walked out, and I listened to her steps fading down the stairs. Bitch, I thought. I didn’t get up immediately. I arranged the pillows under my head and watched the moon. I decided I liked it here. I wondered if I could drive George out of his wee little neat bed. I looked across at it. There was a night table between, with a lamp and a telephone extension on it. There was a lambskin rug between the beds, curling like waves in a channel. I wondered how often George crossed that moat.
The phone rang then. I could hear its echo downstairs. Without waiting for a second ring, I picked up the receiver. “Hello!” I said. “Hello?”
If only I had it on tape. By now Storey had picked up the downstairs phone, and we were all on the line.
“Is this George?” I interrupted him. “Did you get there all right? No trouble on the road? Did you—”
I was drowned out by a babble in my ear, Storey and George both talking at once. I replaced the receiver gently and left them to it.
Minutes later I heard her step on the stairs again. Her dressing gown made loud slithers of sound as she whirled through the door. I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined that she had gone white with rage; as she talked, I could hear her teeth striking as her jaws snapped on her words.
“Get out of my house.”
I lay still. It is always easy for me to stay calm when other people are angry.
“You have gone beyond any limits I recognize. Get out. Now, this minute. I have never been more serious in my life.”
When she saw that I was not listening to her, she began to fling herself around the room, jerking open drawers and throwing things around in the closet.
“You haven’t even told me how Screw died,” I told her.
“He just died. That’s all, he just died!”
“Nobody just dies. He was thirty-one years old, for God’s sake. How did he die?”
“If I tell you, will you get out?”
I lay back with my arms behind my head, waiting.
“He got meningitis. He went to Europe, and he got meningitis. His fever was a hundred and five. He just got sick and died.”
I lay still.
“I’ve told you. Now get out of here.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said.
“If you won’t leave, I will,” she said, and left the room with her clothes under her arm.
I hoped she wasn’t going to call in the cops. I reached over and took the telephone off the hook and laid it down on the night table.
The house was quiet. Reluctantly, I climbed out of bed and got dressed. I had wanted to stay the night. I opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall, passing the rooms that belonged to the children. It was quiet as a tomb, but I could imagine them there — Lizzie, the one Storey says never sleeps, with her transistor radio to her ear, and Cora, in the next room, grinding her teeth in her sleep.
Downstairs I heard a door open and close. Was it someone going out or coming in?
I retreated to the bedroom and let myself out onto the deck. From here I could simply descend to the beach and walk away. But I waited to see who was in the house.
I stood in the cool night air and peered in through the glass pane. The bedroom door opened slowly and spilled some light from the hall across the carpet. Douglas came creeping into the room like a blind mole. Doug! Of all people for Storey to summon to her rescue. Doug was about the most ineffectual soul she could have picked. I whistled at him, and he jumped as if he’d been prodded.
He came over to the door and looked out. “Nick?” he whispered.
“What do you want, Doug? Why don’t you go home and send Storey back over here? Stay out of it.”
“Nick, what in God’s name are you up to? You’re spoiling things for me, I can tell you that. You’re going to ruin me.”
“What will the neighbors say?” I asked mockingly.
“Now, come along,” he said, reaching for me. He grabbed for my shoulder and got a piece of shirt, which he began to twist. I never liked him touching me.
I hit him on the jaw first and then buried my fist in his belly. He wasn’t in shape, so that was enough. He staggered over to the railing and caught himself on it, retching to recover the breath I had driven out. “Take it easy, Doug,” I advised him. I went down the outside staircase, to avoid going through the lighted house.
As I was starting down the second flight of stairs, Doug passed me. If I had blinked I would not have seen him. He fell like a diver. He must have leaned too heavily on the railing, lost his balance, and flowed over. He made no sound as he fell, but he did make a sound when he landed on the terrace below. I was passing the living room level. I peered into the room, where one lamp was lit, but it was empty. I went on down to the bottom. Doug lay in a dark heap. I went over to him and felt around. I couldn’t feel any movement in his chest. I lifted his head and touched the back of it. My fingers went through his hair and seemed to keep going. I thought his hair was damp and his head was soft. I didn’t think a head should feel that way. I reached up to feel my own scalp for comparison, and my fingers were tacky with wet. I’d stayed long enough, I decided. Things were getting messy. I wasn’t in control anymore. I didn’t even want to be. Enough is enough.
I walked along the side of the house to the alley, and then through the narrow lanes to Doug’s house.
Storey sat in a straight chair, her hands clenched on the table in front of her. She was staring sightlessly at one of Doug’s awful oil paintings. I could see her through the unfinished window that would have given Doug one of the best views on the island. In a few minutes, I thought, she’ll realize how long Doug’s been gone. She’ll walk over to her house to see what is going on. How in the hell is she going to explain the events of the night? Jesus, George may think it was Doug who answered the phone! It was a mess, all right. And the ironic thing was that I would probably never even know how it all turned out.