by simply appearing before her, passively. She wouldn’t want anyone to know who he was. All murderers want to keep their deeds secret, and he could count on her to isolate herself, in her shame and her terror.
Somehow it had never occurred to him that she would have the gall to act like she had nothing to hide; that she would herself believe the version she’d told the police. He’d assumed he would easily be able to go about making a life the unspoken purpose of which would be to become a weight on hers. Now it looked like he wasn’t going to be able to keep the purpose so unspoken, after all. She was going to make him explain himself, on top of everything else she’d done. The fact outraged him, and left him feeling even more adrift now than before he’d left Arkansas.
Six
The next day was Stewart’s day off. Charles worked the nine-to-five shift, and by chance left the store just as Marissa was leaving the building. He called after her—she paused to say hello and ask how he was. He didn’t think it was his imagination that she was giving him an appraising look, as if she were still deciding what to do with him. Which would be good, he figured, since it meant she hadn’t yet decided to blow him off.
She did keep glancing at the building entrance, and after a moment seemed to be trying to edge away. Charles hoped that was because Jean was still up there, and it would be awkward if she came out and saw Marissa talking to this guy who was friends with Stewart (and that it wasn’t simply because he repulsed her). He said, “You know, I talked to Stewart.”
“You did?” she said, her face getting livelier.
“Yeah. You want to, I don’t know, um.... There’s an Irish place a couple blocks away, called Muldoon’s. If you wanted to get a beer and talk about it. Or maybe, like, dinner.”
She thought it over. Charles waited. He had the impulse to say something like, “Or if you don’t feel like it, that’s fine too,” but bit it back. He was trying to get out of the habit of saying stuff like that to women. If they wanted to reject him, fine, but let them do the work.
Marissa eyed him just long enough for it to be awkward. In the end she decided he wasn’t bad. Besides, even if it did make her an evil nosey bitch, she really wanted to know more about this crazy thing that was going on. And she was afraid that if she bugged Jean about it, that would push her away and alienate her—so maybe she could just pump this guy till Jean felt like opening up.
They went to Muldoon’s. Opening the door to the pub they were hit with a blast of off-key, fuzzily amplified caterwauling. Charles had never been here on a Thursday—apparently that was when they had karaoke on the schedule. The singer stood beside the door, oblivious to Charles and Marissa, drunkenly beaming at the lyrics on the TV screen as his friends from the office cheered. The song was “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” by Wham.
“Is this okay?” asked Charles, taking advantage of the noise to put his mouth close to her ear.
“Totally!” said Marissa, and turned to grin at him. “I fucking love shameless people.”
They couldn’t sit at the bar if they were going to hear each other over that karaoke; they asked for a table in the back, somewhat shielded from the noise, which necessitated ordering dinner. Charles couldn’t really afford it, but it was worth it to be getting dinner with Marissa.
He told Marissa Stewart’s side of the story. At first she was indignant. “So he claims his brother didn’t even do anything?”
“Not exactly. He said Kevin was only pretending he was going to do something.”
“Well, how was Jean supposed to know that?”
“That’s kind of what I thought.”
The waitress came over. She was genuinely Irish, like from Ireland. They ordered their beers, and each ordered nachos. Neither had realized the other was also going to order nachos, so they got some quick easy laughs out of that. The opening of
Somehow it had never occurred to him that she would have the gall to act like she had nothing to hide; that she would herself believe the version she’d told the police. He’d assumed he would easily be able to go about making a life the unspoken purpose of which would be to become a weight on hers. Now it looked like he wasn’t going to be able to keep the purpose so unspoken, after all. She was going to make him explain himself, on top of everything else she’d done. The fact outraged him, and left him feeling even more adrift now than before he’d left Arkansas.
Six
The next day was Stewart’s day off. Charles worked the nine-to-five shift, and by chance left the store just as Marissa was leaving the building. He called after her—she paused to say hello and ask how he was. He didn’t think it was his imagination that she was giving him an appraising look, as if she were still deciding what to do with him. Which would be good, he figured, since it meant she hadn’t yet decided to blow him off.
She did keep glancing at the building entrance, and after a moment seemed to be trying to edge away. Charles hoped that was because Jean was still up there, and it would be awkward if she came out and saw Marissa talking to this guy who was friends with Stewart (and that it wasn’t simply because he repulsed her). He said, “You know, I talked to Stewart.”
“You did?” she said, her face getting livelier.
“Yeah. You want to, I don’t know, um.... There’s an Irish place a couple blocks away, called Muldoon’s. If you wanted to get a beer and talk about it. Or maybe, like, dinner.”
She thought it over. Charles waited. He had the impulse to say something like, “Or if you don’t feel like it, that’s fine too,” but bit it back. He was trying to get out of the habit of saying stuff like that to women. If they wanted to reject him, fine, but let them do the work.
Marissa eyed him just long enough for it to be awkward. In the end she decided he wasn’t bad. Besides, even if it did make her an evil nosey bitch, she really wanted to know more about this crazy thing that was going on. And she was afraid that if she bugged Jean about it, that would push her away and alienate her—so maybe she could just pump this guy till Jean felt like opening up.
They went to Muldoon’s. Opening the door to the pub they were hit with a blast of off-key, fuzzily amplified caterwauling. Charles had never been here on a Thursday—apparently that was when they had karaoke on the schedule. The singer stood beside the door, oblivious to Charles and Marissa, drunkenly beaming at the lyrics on the TV screen as his friends from the office cheered. The song was “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” by Wham.
“Is this okay?” asked Charles, taking advantage of the noise to put his mouth close to her ear.
“Totally!” said Marissa, and turned to grin at him. “I fucking love shameless people.”
They couldn’t sit at the bar if they were going to hear each other over that karaoke; they asked for a table in the back, somewhat shielded from the noise, which necessitated ordering dinner. Charles couldn’t really afford it, but it was worth it to be getting dinner with Marissa.
He told Marissa Stewart’s side of the story. At first she was indignant. “So he claims his brother didn’t even do anything?”
“Not exactly. He said Kevin was only pretending he was going to do something.”
“Well, how was Jean supposed to know that?”
“That’s kind of what I thought.”
The waitress came over. She was genuinely Irish, like from Ireland. They ordered their beers, and each ordered nachos. Neither had realized the other was also going to order nachos, so they got some quick easy laughs out of that. The opening of
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