The Last Time They Met (31 page)
Read The Last Time They Met Online
Authors: Anita Shreve
Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Adult
—
What’s wrong with you?
Regina asked, perhaps hearing a faint and distant echo of the silent scream.
You’re just standing there.
What’s wrong with you?
Regina asked, perhaps hearing a faint and distant echo of the silent scream.
You’re just standing there.
—
I’m . . .
Words deserted him. His system, trying to save itself, was shutting down bit by bit.
I’m . . .
Words deserted him. His system, trying to save itself, was shutting down bit by bit.
—
You’re stunned,
she said.
You’re stunned,
she said.
Still he couldn’t move. To move was to go on with the other life, the one he would have after this one. How hideous that it should be such joyous news that hurt so much.
Yes,
he managed.
Yes,
he managed.
It was, apparently, enough. Regina moved to embrace him, petrified statue, and his arms, involuntary appendages, responded with something like an embrace on his part.
—
Oh, I’m stunned, too!
she cried.
I never thought. Oh, God, isn’t it fabulous?
Oh, I’m stunned, too!
she cried.
I never thought. Oh, God, isn’t it fabulous?
His hand, without signal from his brain, gently patted her back.
—
It’s what we’ve always wanted,
she said, burying her face into his shoulder and beginning to sob.
It’s what we’ve always wanted,
she said, burying her face into his shoulder and beginning to sob.
Tears popped to the lower lids of his own eyes as well, horrifying him, and he tried to blink them back. They seemed treacherous, beside the point now. Though they, too, would be misread, might be taken for joy.
She pulled away from him, remembering the hour, ordinary things, already having crossed over into the new life.
—
I’m so late,
she crowed happily.
I’m so late,
she crowed happily.
______
He sat on the bed in his underwear and socks, his shirt half buttoned, left unfinished by the natural disaster, as women holding cooking pots had been found at Pompeii. Thinking half-sentences from time to time, not often, the rest a misty white blank.
I need to warn
and
If only I hadn’t.
Thinking, in particularly lucid moments, and as all men will inevitably try to calculate,
The night of Roland’s party.
Having obeyed the biological clock, he and Regina were being rewarded with a child. But then the mist furled, and the fog swamped him, and he wanted never to have to move again. Bitter irony. Had he not just said he would do the honorable and courageous thing? Unthinkable now. Not possible. Honor and courage flipped head over heels.
I need to warn
and
If only I hadn’t.
Thinking, in particularly lucid moments, and as all men will inevitably try to calculate,
The night of Roland’s party.
Having obeyed the biological clock, he and Regina were being rewarded with a child. But then the mist furled, and the fog swamped him, and he wanted never to have to move again. Bitter irony. Had he not just said he would do the honorable and courageous thing? Unthinkable now. Not possible. Honor and courage flipped head over heels.
Regina emerged from the bathroom, more awed than annoyed by his immobility, the half-buttoned shirt.
My God,
she said.
You really are stunned.
My God,
she said.
You really are stunned.
She was radiant. In a simple black dress with thin straps. Her breasts pushed somehow out and up so that their smooth white crests were exposed. Voluptuous Regina, who would become more voluptuous now. With his child.
—
How do I look?
she asked, spinning happily.
How do I look?
she asked, spinning happily.
______
They were late. He might have said
embarrassingly late,
though embarrassment belonged to his other life. They ascended stairs and emerged into a crowd, voices already risen past a decent decibel. The party seemed to be held in a series of rooms, like chambers in a museum
—
the drinks in here, the food in there. White-coated waiters, diplomatically not African, moved from room to room with silver trays. Regina, beside him, turned heads, as she did not normally do, her glow like plutonium, the radiation high. His own radar tuned elsewhere, a personal early warning system deploying. Needing to find Linda before Regina crowed. He searched for blond hair and a cross, found blond hair more often than it occurred in nature, but not a cross. As disastrous as the circumstances were, he wanted nothing more than to see Linda
—
if only a glimpse
—
though that would simply fuel desire. And he was surprised by how much it hurt, this returning to life. Numbed limbs remembering pain.
embarrassingly late,
though embarrassment belonged to his other life. They ascended stairs and emerged into a crowd, voices already risen past a decent decibel. The party seemed to be held in a series of rooms, like chambers in a museum
—
the drinks in here, the food in there. White-coated waiters, diplomatically not African, moved from room to room with silver trays. Regina, beside him, turned heads, as she did not normally do, her glow like plutonium, the radiation high. His own radar tuned elsewhere, a personal early warning system deploying. Needing to find Linda before Regina crowed. He searched for blond hair and a cross, found blond hair more often than it occurred in nature, but not a cross. As disastrous as the circumstances were, he wanted nothing more than to see Linda
—
if only a glimpse
—
though that would simply fuel desire. And he was surprised by how much it hurt, this returning to life. Numbed limbs remembering pain.
Thomas, not discovering Linda, found his Marine instead. The man looking uncharacteristically deflated, a defeated Marine a sorry sight. Introductions were offered and received, Regina towering over the Marine’s wife, a diminutive dun-colored woman in a royal-blue suit.
—
Your boy’s not here,
the embassy official said.
Your boy’s not here,
the embassy official said.
Thomas, at first not understanding the reference to “your boy,” thought the man had the wrong person. And then, suddenly, he comprehended.
Kennedy?
he asked.
Kennedy?
he asked.
—
Not coming.
The Marine took a large swallow of what looked to be straight scotch. No ice. His face was white and hollow-cheeked.
Not coming.
The Marine took a large swallow of what looked to be straight scotch. No ice. His face was white and hollow-cheeked.
—
What happened?
What happened?
—
Scheduling conflict. So they say.
The Marine spoke through tight lips. Bearing up. Though the wife looked as though she had been crushed long ago.
Scheduling conflict. So they say.
The Marine spoke through tight lips. Bearing up. Though the wife looked as though she had been crushed long ago.
—
He’s in the country?
Thomas asked.
He’s in the country?
Thomas asked.
—
No,
the man said, aggrieved.
That’s the point.
No,
the man said, aggrieved.
That’s the point.
There seemed nothing to say but I’m sorry.
I’m sorry,
Thomas said.
I’m sorry,
Thomas said.
—
It’s your gig,
the unhappy official said.
It’s your gig,
the unhappy official said.
Thomas, out of politeness
—
manners instilled from long ago, seemingly irrelevant now
—
lingered with the Marine as one would with a man who’d just been fired or lost a valuable contract. All the while scanning the crowd, unable to help himself, breaching irrelevant manners with his sporadic inattention. Regina, contrary to expectation, kept her secret to herself, though to be fair, she didn’t know the embassy wife at all. Still, Thomas had expected a joyous blurting out. Had braced himself for an announcement that couldn’t fail to reach unwilling ears. Perhaps Regina was simply being prudent, waiting for confirmation. She had, after all, already lost one child late into the game. Or possibly his wife was superstitious, a trait he’d failed to notice before.
—
manners instilled from long ago, seemingly irrelevant now
—
lingered with the Marine as one would with a man who’d just been fired or lost a valuable contract. All the while scanning the crowd, unable to help himself, breaching irrelevant manners with his sporadic inattention. Regina, contrary to expectation, kept her secret to herself, though to be fair, she didn’t know the embassy wife at all. Still, Thomas had expected a joyous blurting out. Had braced himself for an announcement that couldn’t fail to reach unwilling ears. Perhaps Regina was simply being prudent, waiting for confirmation. She had, after all, already lost one child late into the game. Or possibly his wife was superstitious, a trait he’d failed to notice before.
When it was feasible, Thomas excused himself from the crestfallen embassy official (Regina remaining, the wife and she apparently having found something in common) and made a more determined search for Linda. Though the event was not black-tie, everyone was attired just a notch down from that, so that there were many long dresses and dark suits. He saw his editor across the floor and might have tried to part the crowd to get to him, the editor being nearly the most interesting person Thomas knew. But Thomas, a man with a mission, merely waved instead. He spotted Roland, who did not, mercifully, see him, as well as a journalist he knew from somewhere
—
the university or the Thorn Tree. Men and women seemed locked in conversations that required shouting. Thomas took a glass of champagne from a silver tray and guessed the waiters were Marines. Was that possible? He entertained for a moment the notion they were spies
—
an idea abandoned in the next minute with the realization there’d be little of value to spy
on.
Still he could not find Linda. From the center of the room, Mary Ndegwa waved to him. Thomas gravitated to her, as a subject will be drawn toward a royal personage. She was holding court in a gold headdress with a caftan of a similar color that made him think of frankincense and myrrh. Thomas could not suppress the thought that Ndegwa’s imprisonment had freed the wife and mother. Freed her to become what had perhaps all along been her nature: a leader with a following. Which raised the question: What would happen if and when Ndegwa were ever released?
—
the university or the Thorn Tree. Men and women seemed locked in conversations that required shouting. Thomas took a glass of champagne from a silver tray and guessed the waiters were Marines. Was that possible? He entertained for a moment the notion they were spies
—
an idea abandoned in the next minute with the realization there’d be little of value to spy
on.
Still he could not find Linda. From the center of the room, Mary Ndegwa waved to him. Thomas gravitated to her, as a subject will be drawn toward a royal personage. She was holding court in a gold headdress with a caftan of a similar color that made him think of frankincense and myrrh. Thomas could not suppress the thought that Ndegwa’s imprisonment had freed the wife and mother. Freed her to become what had perhaps all along been her nature: a leader with a following. Which raised the question: What would happen if and when Ndegwa were ever released?
—
Mr. Thomas,
she said.
You are looking very handsome tonight.
Mr. Thomas,
she said.
You are looking very handsome tonight.
Power had made her flirtatious.
No more handsome than you,
he said as expected.
No more handsome than you,
he said as expected.
—
I was hoping I would meet your wife.
I was hoping I would meet your wife.
—
She’s here somewhere,
Thomas said, making an effort to search the gathering, growing like a culture in a petri dish, crowding other cells.
I’ll find her in a minute and bring her over.
She’s here somewhere,
Thomas said, making an effort to search the gathering, growing like a culture in a petri dish, crowding other cells.
I’ll find her in a minute and bring her over.
—
I have thanked you already for arranging this,
she said.
But may I be permitted to thank you again?
I have thanked you already for arranging this,
she said.
But may I be permitted to thank you again?
—
It’s not necessary,
Thomas said, waving his hand.
Actually, I had very little to do with it.
It’s not necessary,
Thomas said, waving his hand.
Actually, I had very little to do with it.
—
Mr. Kennedy did not come.
Mr. Kennedy did not come.
—
No. I’m surprised.
No. I’m surprised.
—
It is no matter.
It is no matter.
And Thomas thought, no, it wasn’t. That now Mary Ndegwa was the personage without peer, though there were supposed to be one or two MPs at the party as well. The guest list had been composed largely of people the embassy wished to reward with attendance at a party at which Kennedy would be (and now wasn’t) present.
—
And how is Ndegwa?
Thomas asked.
And how is Ndegwa?
Thomas asked.
—
I fear for him,
she said, though Thomas noted she did not look distraught.
I fear for him,
she said, though Thomas noted she did not look distraught.
—
Your book is doing well,
he said.
Your book is doing well,
he said.
—
Yes. Very well. It, too, will be repressed one day.
Yes. Very well. It, too, will be repressed one day.
—
You seem certain.
You seem certain.
—
Oh, but I am,
she said, amused that he should doubt this perfectly obvious truth.
Oh, but I am,
she said, amused that he should doubt this perfectly obvious truth.
—
I’m sorry to hear that.
I’m sorry to hear that.
—
Mr. Thomas, you must not desert us,
she said, touching him on the shoulder.
Mr. Thomas, you must not desert us,
she said, touching him on the shoulder.
He was slightly taken aback by the imperative. He hadn’t been thinking of deserting, though, truthfully, he hadn’t been thinking of Ndegwa at all. He sought a suitable reply, but already Mary Ndegwa had lost interest in him, was looking over his shoulder at a woman Thomas vaguely recognized as an Italian journalist. It was an abrupt and total dismissal, not intended to dismiss so much as to discard and move along.
He wandered to the edges of the gathering, trying to get outside of the building so that he could have a cigarette, though the rooms were filled with smoke already and he needn’t have bothered. He wanted to watch for Linda, anxious now lest she not come at all. And then what would happen? Would he have to go to the Norfolk tomorrow only to tell her his wife was pregnant? It was inconceivable, like the earth shifting in its orbit.
He leaned upon a wall at the top of the steps and smoked. There were stragglers and fashionably late arrivals. It was nearly eight o’clock and soon, he thought, people would begin to leave to go to their dinners. Marines stood at attention at the bottom of the steps and made a kind of honor guard through which the guests, in uncomfortable shoes, paraded. He saw her before she had even crossed the street, her companion looking to his right for traffic, his hand at her back, nudging her forward when he thought it was safe. She wore a shawl around her shoulders, holding it closed with her hands just above her waist, and it was such a precise repetition of the image of her walking toward him at Petley’s that his breath caught. For a moment, before she saw him, he endured the sweet mix of pleasure and pain that observing her cross the street caused, running a step at the end (a rude driver) and then lifting the skirt of her dress, white linen, as she stepped onto the curb (she had worn her best dress in Lamu to meet him, he realized now). And watching her, he understood why she was late: she’d been drinking already. How did he know this? It was in the slight loss of balance as she stepped up onto the sidewalk, the ready hand of the man she was with, as if he knew her condition. Peter, it had to be, though the man looked older than in the photograph.
She negotiated the stairs with her head bowed, studying her feet, so that she passed by without noticing him. Or if she’d seen him, it was an expert performance. He had to step from the shadows and call her name. Her very common name.
—
Linda.
Linda.
No, she hadn’t known he was there. He could see that at once
—
her emotions, less carefully guarded now, twitching across her face. The shock. The joy. Then remembering her circumstances. She took a step toward him. Not unsteadily. Perhaps he had been wrong about the drinking. It was all he could do not to touch her arms, which seemed to beg to be touched.
—
her emotions, less carefully guarded now, twitching across her face. The shock. The joy. Then remembering her circumstances. She took a step toward him. Not unsteadily. Perhaps he had been wrong about the drinking. It was all he could do not to touch her arms, which seemed to beg to be touched.
The man with her, momentarily disconcerted, turned as well.
—
Thomas,
she said. And then repeated herself.
Thomas.
Thomas,
she said. And then repeated herself.
Thomas.
It was he who had to put out his hand and introduce himself to the man with her. Who was Peter after all. Perhaps it was simply that she hadn’t been able to say the word
husband.
husband.
—
Peter,
she said, recovering.
Thomas and I knew each other in high school.
Peter,
she said, recovering.
Thomas and I knew each other in high school.
—
Really,
Peter said, unwittingly parroting Regina in similar circumstances.
Really,
Peter said, unwittingly parroting Regina in similar circumstances.
—
We met each other in the market one day a few months ago,
she said.
We’ve already been amazed.
We met each other in the market one day a few months ago,
she said.
We’ve already been amazed.
It was an astonishing sentence. Perfectly acceptable in its context, even ordinary and without real interest, yet utterly true. They had been amazed by each other, by the chance meeting. So thoroughly amazed.
—
You’re still in Njia?
Thomas asked, plucking dialogue from the air. Would being a playwright instead of a poet make one a better conversationalist?
You’re still in Njia?
Thomas asked, plucking dialogue from the air. Would being a playwright instead of a poet make one a better conversationalist?
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