there hasn't been anyone else since then. You know that."
"I know your friend is on our doorstep. After all these years, showing up between planes, droning on about his superiority."
"Matt, let it go!" She began stacking dishes again, banging them recklessly. "Why do you keep bringing him up? He's not a serious person!"
"He's a very serious person. In his own dramatic way he's as serious as they come. He's decided he loves you. From afar, of course. It's safer that way, as long as you're married, and it adds to the drama: unattainable love, at least for now, like a shining star, remote, unreachable—what is it?"
Elizabeth was staring at him. "I didn't think you understood—"
"My God, you don't give me much credit. If you'd asked me what I thought about him, I would have told you."
"You could have brought it up without being asked. Whenever I told you he'd been here you didn't say anything. We never talked about him."
"Or anything else. I'd better sit down; I'm feeling shaky."
"Let me help you."
"No thanks." He made his way to the living room and Elizabeth followed, biting her lip. The truth was, she hadn't wanted to talk to Matt about Tony, about those phone calls and long lunches where he pretended she'd been his one true love for more than twenty years, that he should have stayed with her instead of marrying someone else, that he'd longed for her ever since. Matt would have asked why she listened to it, and how could she tell him she listened because even though she knew it was playacting it made her feel young?
And I don't, Matt would say.
We never talk about that.
"No, we never talked about him," Matt said as if there had been no break in the conversation. He was in his chair again, gazing through the window, his face hard. "But, at the very least, isn't it a bit curious—and worth a discussion between husband and wife? Old lover comes calling. Between planes."
"Matt." She sat on a hassock beside his chair, her chin on her clasped hands. "We have more important things to talk about."
"Such as?"
"Your lousy mood. Your depression. What you'll do when you're recovered. What I'll do. What this family will do."
Matt looked at her curiously. "Why should anything change?"
"It already has. You know that. It's been changing for years, but I didn't really think about it until Zachary died. Now I think about it all the time."
"Think about what?"
"What's happened to us. What we've lost. It's not only Tony we don't talk about; we don't talk about anything except the house and the chil-
dren, the printing company, sometimes my job at the Examiner . . , Everyday things; surface things."
Matt nodded. He was looking at the garden again, thinking it had never looked so lovely. Flowers bordered the patio, vegetables flourished in the corner, irrigated by a system Peter had invented when he was ten. A beautiful courtyard in a beautiful home, filled with life. Maybe that's why it looked especially lovely. Another few inches in the car, and he'd never have seen it again.
How short is a man's life?
Once I might have asked how long it was. No more.
He glanced at Elizabeth, and suddenly, thinking of Tony, he realized how beautiful she was. Other men and women frequently told him so and he always agreed, but when had he last looked at her through the eyes of someone else? When had he last thought of his wife as a stunning woman, instead of thinking that Holly was growing up to be as lovely as her mother? When had he last thought of Elizabeth?
In two months they'd both be forty. Did she think time was slipping away from her, leaving so much undone? Did she think she was a failure? Did she ask herself how short was a woman's life?
"Matt." Elizabeth was studying him, her chin still resting on her hands. "How much have we lost? We had so much love and excitement about each other; we talked about everything. And you never would have thought I was sleeping with another man."
He pondered it. "We let other things fill our
"I know your friend is on our doorstep. After all these years, showing up between planes, droning on about his superiority."
"Matt, let it go!" She began stacking dishes again, banging them recklessly. "Why do you keep bringing him up? He's not a serious person!"
"He's a very serious person. In his own dramatic way he's as serious as they come. He's decided he loves you. From afar, of course. It's safer that way, as long as you're married, and it adds to the drama: unattainable love, at least for now, like a shining star, remote, unreachable—what is it?"
Elizabeth was staring at him. "I didn't think you understood—"
"My God, you don't give me much credit. If you'd asked me what I thought about him, I would have told you."
"You could have brought it up without being asked. Whenever I told you he'd been here you didn't say anything. We never talked about him."
"Or anything else. I'd better sit down; I'm feeling shaky."
"Let me help you."
"No thanks." He made his way to the living room and Elizabeth followed, biting her lip. The truth was, she hadn't wanted to talk to Matt about Tony, about those phone calls and long lunches where he pretended she'd been his one true love for more than twenty years, that he should have stayed with her instead of marrying someone else, that he'd longed for her ever since. Matt would have asked why she listened to it, and how could she tell him she listened because even though she knew it was playacting it made her feel young?
And I don't, Matt would say.
We never talk about that.
"No, we never talked about him," Matt said as if there had been no break in the conversation. He was in his chair again, gazing through the window, his face hard. "But, at the very least, isn't it a bit curious—and worth a discussion between husband and wife? Old lover comes calling. Between planes."
"Matt." She sat on a hassock beside his chair, her chin on her clasped hands. "We have more important things to talk about."
"Such as?"
"Your lousy mood. Your depression. What you'll do when you're recovered. What I'll do. What this family will do."
Matt looked at her curiously. "Why should anything change?"
"It already has. You know that. It's been changing for years, but I didn't really think about it until Zachary died. Now I think about it all the time."
"Think about what?"
"What's happened to us. What we've lost. It's not only Tony we don't talk about; we don't talk about anything except the house and the chil-
dren, the printing company, sometimes my job at the Examiner . . , Everyday things; surface things."
Matt nodded. He was looking at the garden again, thinking it had never looked so lovely. Flowers bordered the patio, vegetables flourished in the corner, irrigated by a system Peter had invented when he was ten. A beautiful courtyard in a beautiful home, filled with life. Maybe that's why it looked especially lovely. Another few inches in the car, and he'd never have seen it again.
How short is a man's life?
Once I might have asked how long it was. No more.
He glanced at Elizabeth, and suddenly, thinking of Tony, he realized how beautiful she was. Other men and women frequently told him so and he always agreed, but when had he last looked at her through the eyes of someone else? When had he last thought of his wife as a stunning woman, instead of thinking that Holly was growing up to be as lovely as her mother? When had he last thought of Elizabeth?
In two months they'd both be forty. Did she think time was slipping away from her, leaving so much undone? Did she think she was a failure? Did she ask herself how short was a woman's life?
"Matt." Elizabeth was studying him, her chin still resting on her hands. "How much have we lost? We had so much love and excitement about each other; we talked about everything. And you never would have thought I was sleeping with another man."
He pondered it. "We let other things fill our
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