As his life had turned out, she’d been the only woman he’d ever slept with. In his early twenties he was certain his queerness was a result of that night. No other woman, he would tell himself, could possibly be the equal of Katya Lupi. But that was just serf-justification. He’d been born queer, and Katya was his one grand exception to the rule.
As he reached the door of the master bedroom, there was an aftershock. A short jolt, no more; but enough to set the antiquated chandelier that hung in the turret gently swaying and tinkling again. Jerry waited for a few moments, holding onto the banister, waiting to see if there were going to be any more shocks coming immediately upon the heels of this one. But there were none.
He glanced down the stairwell. No one was in view. Then he tried the bedroom door. It was locked from the inside. There was only one thing to construe from this: the room had an occupant, or occupants. He glanced down at the shiny boards at his feet, and saw that there were a few droplets of water on the polished timber.
It wasn’t hard to put the pieces of this puzzle together; nor to imagine the scene on the other side of the locked door. Todd and Katya had survived their brush with the Pacific. They were alive; sleeping, no doubt, in the great bed. The voyeur in him would have liked very much to have slid through the closed door and spied on the lovers as they slept; both naked, Todd lying face up on the bed, Katya pressed to his side. She was probably snoring, as he’d heard her do several times when she’d catnapped in his presence.
He didn’t blame Katya for her covetousness one iota. If being hungry for life meant being hungry for an eternity of nights wrapped in the arms of a man who loved you, then that was an entirely understandable appetite.
And there was just a little part of him which thought that if he stayed loyal to her long enough-if he played his part-then she would let him have a piece of her eternity. That she would show him how the years could be made to melt away.
He retreated from the door, and headed downstairs, leaving the sleepers to their secret slumber.
When he got to the mid-level landing Eppstadt had gone. Apparently, he’d made the decision to do downstairs and look for Joe. Jerry looked over the balcony. There was no sound from below. The wind had died away to nothing. The door was no longer slamming.
He went from the stairs to the front door, which stood ajar.
Perhaps this was his moment to depart. He had nothing more to contribute here. Katya had her man; Todd had found some measure of peace after his own disappointments. What else was there for Jerry to do, but make his silent farewells and slip away?
He stood at the front door for two or three minutes, unable to make the final break. Eventually, he convinced himself to just linger here a little longer, simply to see the look on Maxine’s face when she realized Todd was still alive. He went back into the kitchen, and sat down, waiting-like anyone who’d spent their time watching other lives rather than having one of their own-to see what happened next.
Eppstadt had been two steps from the bottom of the stairs when the aftershock hit. He was by no means an agile man, but he leapt the last two steps without a stumble. There were ominous growlings in the walls, as though several hungry tigers had been sealed up in them. This was, he knew, one of the most foolish places to be caught in an earthquake, especially if (as was perfectly possible) the aftershock turned out not to be an aftershock at all, but a warm-up for something bigger. It would be more sensible-much more sensible-to ascend the stairs again and wait until the tigers had quieted down. But he wasn’t going to do that. He’d been sensible for most of his life; always taking the safe road, the conservative route. For once, he wanted to play life a little dangerously, and take the consequences.