‘God. I’m too old and tired for this,’ I muttered. ‘Benton, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. Please sit back down.’
He didn’t at first, but stood in front of sliding glass doors, his back to me.
‘I’m not trying to hurt you, Kay,’ he said. ‘I don’t come around to see how badly I can fuck up your life, you know. I admire the hell out of everything you do. I just wish you’d let me in a little bit more.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.’
Blinking back tears, I sat down and stared up at the ceiling with its exposed beams and trowel marks visible on plaster. Wherever I looked there were details that had come from me. For a moment, I shut my eyes as tears rolled down my face. I did not wipe them away and Wesley knew when not to touch me. He knew when not to speak. He quietly sat beside me.
‘I’m a middle-aged woman set in her ways,’ I said as my voice shook. ‘I can’t help it. All I have is what I’ve built. No children. I can’t stand my only sister and she can’t stand me. My father was in bed dying my entire childhood, then gone when I was twelve. Mother’s impossible, and now she’s dying of emphysema. I can’t be what you want, the good wife. I don’t even know what the hell that is. I only know how to be Kay. And going to a psychiatrist isn’t going to change a goddamn thing.’
He said to me, ‘And I’m in love with you and want to marry you. And I can’t seem to help that, either.’
I did not reply.
He added, ‘And I thought you were in love with me.’
Still, I could not speak.
‘At least you used to be,’ he went on as pain overwhelmed his voice. ‘I’m leaving.’
He started to get up again, and I put my hand on his arm.
‘Not like this.’ I looked at him. ‘Don’t do this to me.’
‘To you?’ He was incredulous.
I dimmed the lights until they were almost out, and the moon was a polished coin against a clear black sky scattered with stars. I got more wine and started the fire, while he watched everything I did.
‘Sit closer to me,’ I said.
He did, and I took his hands this time.
‘Benton, patience. Don’t rush me,’ I said. ‘Please. I’m not like Connie. Like other people.’
‘I’m not asking you to be,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to be. I’m not like other people, either. We know what we see. Other people couldn’t possibly understand. I could never talk to Connie about how I spend my days. But I can talk to you.’
He kissed me sweetly, and we went deeper, touching faces, tongues and nimbly undressing, doing what we once did best. He gathered me in his mouth and hands, and we stayed on the couch until early morning, as light from the moon turned chilled and thin. After he drove home, I carried wine throughout my house, pacing, wandering with music on and flowing out speakers in every room. I landed in my office, where I was a master at distraction.
I began going through journals, tearing out articles that needed to be filed. I began working on an article I was due to write. But I was not in the mood for any of it, and decided to check my e-mail to see if Lucy had left word about when she might make it to Richmond. AOL announced I had mail waiting, and when I checked my box I felt as if someone had struck me. The address deadoc awaited me like an evil stranger.
His message was in lowercase, with no punctuation except spaces. It said, you think you re so smart. I opened the attached file and once again watched color images paint down my screen, severed feet and hands lined up on a table covered with what appeared to be the same bluish cloth. For a while I stared, wondering why this person was doing this to me. I hoped he had just made a very big mistake as I grabbed the phone.