Nathan said they were lucky to have such good neighbors. Then again, her husband saw good fortune everywhere. They were blessed to have their home, their health, their jobs. She should be thankful she’s married to an accountant, someone who would never be out of work. In fact, for reasons she kept to herself, Elaine did consider herself lucky. What no one knew — what someone like Samantha could never imagine — was that when Elaine met Nathan their junior year in college, she had been on only two dates her entire life. And, truth be told, both were more like an evening with a friend than a date. Those old movies and TV shows where teenage girls gossip about boyfriends and spend weeks getting ready for the prom don’t apply to everyone. Some girls are shy and awkward and plain. But no one seems to notice them.
Now Samantha is in the kitchen — Elaine’s kitchen — helping with the last-minute preparations for the big holiday meal. It’s what the girls do while the men talk football and cars. Just tell me how I can help, dear. Anything at all. Samantha cuts mushrooms for the salad, pulls some plates from the cupboard. Just enough to fulfill her obligation.
Elaine tested him once. Starting a few weeks after she lost her virginity in Nathan’s dorm room one Saturday afternoon when his roommate was out of town. She complained when he wore wrinkled shirts, criticized his friends, groused when something annoyed her. He saw her with unwashed hair, without makeup. She came as close to showing him her real self as she dared. And, to her surprise and relief, he stayed. He even started ironing his shirts.
They were married two months after graduation. Nathan had job offers waiting; she took a series of temporary positions. The plan had always been to open her own studio. Family portraits and weddings would pay the bills, but there would also be time for creative work. She could exhibit her photography in her own gallery adjacent to the studio. It all seemed entirely plausible, and Nathan was supportive. But that was before. Before two cars, furniture, and a mortgage barely within reach of their paychecks. A studio? How would they pay for the space, the equipment, the advertising, and all the overhead? Maybe someday, when things were more settled. As Nathan would say, they were doing fine. And there was nothing wrong with being a receptionist in an insurance office.
The reel ends with the predictable shot of Nathan carving the turkey. The table is set with their wedding china, tiny flames flicker atop new candles. The camera keeps rolling while everyone takes a moment to say grace. Two young couples enjoying each other’s company on a day set aside to give thanks. How appropriate, Elaine thinks, that she is not in the picture. Exactly what did she have to be thankful for? That she had one more week before everything fell apart? That for a few more days she could still believe in the fairy tale? She stares at the image of Samantha — eyes closed and head bowed devoutly — until the scene mercifully comes to an end.
“Reel Four,” Elaine bellows. Her tone is defiant. Anyone who doesn’t want to watch doesn’t have to. “The Plot Thickens.”
On the screen, more neighbors. Some of them the same as in Reel One. They are gathered in her den, a decorated tree perched in the background. Most years they didn’t bother with a tree, but Nathan said they couldn’t host a Christmas party without one. The lights are low, the images darker than in the earlier films. Deliberately so. The camera moves boldly, some might say belligerently, from person to person. She gets right in people’s faces. You want to be in the movie? How’s this? How do you like it now? The smiles are forced, the expressions pained. The discomfort palpable.
The blinders had come off a few weeks earlier, the Thursday Elaine had come home in the middle of the day with what surely were early signs of the flu. She called Nathan at the office. She needed some over-the-counter medicines; they didn’t even have aspirin in the house. But Nathan wasn’t in. She called a little later. Still not in, and they didn’t know where he was or when he would return. So reluctantly she phoned the only person she knew who didn’t have a daytime job. But Samantha wasn’t home. She tried both numbers off and on the rest of the afternoon. About a quarter after 5:00, she saw Samantha pull into her driveway. Then, before she could pick up the phone, Nathan drove up in his car.
The movie shifts to the kitchen. Elaine leans forward. On the screen before her, a conversation between Samantha and Nathan. Just a friendly chat, nothing suspicious. It takes a trained eye. The two neighbors are standing farther apart than one would expect. Only by a few inches, but noticeable and revealing. Nathan seems uncharacteristically self-conscious. He thinks about each movement, his gestures are awkward and unnatural. He laughs too readily and exaggerates his expressions. An actor too aware of the audience. Samantha is better, but her usual air of self-assurance is missing. She is stiff, formal. She glances about, eyeing nearby guests instead of the other way around.
Everything had quickly fallen into place, the unraveling as predictable as a movie plot. It was all there. The hint of perfume, the excuses, even the long dark hair on the jacket. Then there was Nathan’s out-of-place defensiveness, the obvious lies. I was seeing clients. I see clients, you know. And the late meetings that often coincided with Samantha’s comings and goings.
You deny the facts as long as possible. The eye willfully follows the magician’s misdirection. But at some point it all collapses, leaving everything exposed and indisputable right before your eyes. Each of Nathan’s desperate efforts becomes more evident and more insulting than the last. An expensive dinner for no reason. Compliments for routine things. You look wonderful in that dress. Is it new? What little respect he must have for your intelligence. Are you supposed to be flattered? Blinded by all the attention? Oblivious to the forced passion, the empty smiles?
How long can this go on?
We think we know ourselves. We rely on our principles, values, and character to guide us. But you might be surprised. We may all be capable of things we never imagined possible. We may all harbor longings and passions no more available to us than the inner worlds of the people who surround us.
There are times you have to act, when continuing the pretense is unbearable. Sometimes choices narrow to a single path. And you know even at the time that there will forever be a before and an after.
“Reel Five,” Elaine says, barely above a whisper. Or maybe she doesn’t say it at all. She starts the projector.
Nathan and Bruce are working on the backyard fence that separates the properties. The winter weather has taken its toll. Their breath clouds in the chilly air, hammers rhythmically pound nails into new posts. Men’s work. Nathan correctly guessed that it would do Bruce some good. At this point it’s been more than eight weeks since anyone has seen Samantha.
Bruce is a broken man. Although only a few months have passed, he looks as if he has aged five years since the last reel. Everything about him seems drab — his cotton work shirt, his complexion, his once-glistening eyes. He needs a haircut. Nathan has become his pillar of support. He checks on Bruce daily, invites him to dinner at least once a week.