headed for the law library, in the upper reaches of the building, but admitting that would have given me excuse to dawdle.
“Call me,” she said. “Come see me.”
I kissed her then. I meant it as a quick good-bye, but I was sloppy and let the moment linger. The feel of her so close reminded me of that moment in her bed, back in her apartment.
I pulled myself away, avoiding her eyes, trying not to think of how she looked standing there in that yellow dress, leaning into herself, one foot tucked behind the other
In the end, though, I didn’t go to see Sara. I didn’t call. I concentrated on my work and tried to put her from my mind. I wanted things under control. The business with the ambulance had rattled me—and I did not want Elizabeth to find out about us. (Or that is what I told myself. There was an edge I walked, a line between revealing myself and staving hidden. It excited me, if I admit the truth; part of me wanted to be discovered.)
A few days later, Sara caught me on the phone. I was in my office going over my notes for the Dillard case.
“Jake?”
“Sara,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to call.”
There was an awkward pause. I could feel her wanting something more from me, there on the other end of the line. She was upset with me for not having come.
“Is it cold?” I asked.
It was the first line of a game I had played with her on the phone a couple of times. I resorted to it now, I guess, because I didn’t want to face what was on her mind.
“Not now, Jake. I don’t want to play that game. We need to talk.”
“Is it breezy?”
“No, Jake. I told you. I don’t want to play that right now.”
“Oh. So it’s hot. That’s what you’re telling me. It’s hot. And I’ve just got on too many clothes.”
Sara laughed, but it was a weary laugh, and I could feel things shifting between us. “Yeah, Jake. It’s hot. But I don’t know how much longer it’s going to stay that way.”
“You’re wearing your summer dress?”
She didn’t answer, and I felt the moment fade. My heart wasn’t in it, and neither was hers. Maybe she was wearing her summer dress, maybe she wasn’t. Ultimately that wasn’t the point of the game. We guessed at each other’s clothes, then took them off in our imaginations. The last time we’d talked like this, it had been a few weeks back, in the evening, while Elizabeth sat in her armchair in an adjoining room, reading one of her books.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Sara said. Her voice was earnest and sad.
“I can’t either.”
“The incident—the other day at our apartment,” she said. “I know what was behind it, and so do you.”
“You do?”
“The stress, the infidelity. It’s too much. No matter how bold we think we are, how sophisticated. It’s not healthy.”
I didn’t say anything.
“We have to make a decision. About us. Can you get away? Come talk to me.”
“The Dillard case. It’s got me swamped.”
“Jake,” she said. “I think it’s gotten to a certain point. Either we do something with what’s going on between us. Or we let it go. We end it.”
Once again I was silent. In some ways I was surprised that she pushed things this hard.
“Deceit, it causes tension,” she said. “It makes things build up inside. I pretend like I’m one way. Like I can do this kind of thing, but . . . Why don’t you come over, and we can talk.”
“Sara . . .”
I heard sorrow in my voice, and regret, and for a second I didn’t know what to say. I imagined Sara over me—that unfulfilled moment, when I had been reaching toward her—and though part of me wanted to go back to that moment, another part said no. Elizabeth was supposed to be home around five. She had gone off to another one of her academic conferences, but this one was nearby in Sonoma.
“It’s not a good time,” I said. “I’ve got this report. I’ve got to prepare my testimony.”
“All right. If that’s the way it is.”
“I’m
“Call me,” she said. “Come see me.”
I kissed her then. I meant it as a quick good-bye, but I was sloppy and let the moment linger. The feel of her so close reminded me of that moment in her bed, back in her apartment.
I pulled myself away, avoiding her eyes, trying not to think of how she looked standing there in that yellow dress, leaning into herself, one foot tucked behind the other
In the end, though, I didn’t go to see Sara. I didn’t call. I concentrated on my work and tried to put her from my mind. I wanted things under control. The business with the ambulance had rattled me—and I did not want Elizabeth to find out about us. (Or that is what I told myself. There was an edge I walked, a line between revealing myself and staving hidden. It excited me, if I admit the truth; part of me wanted to be discovered.)
A few days later, Sara caught me on the phone. I was in my office going over my notes for the Dillard case.
“Jake?”
“Sara,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to call.”
There was an awkward pause. I could feel her wanting something more from me, there on the other end of the line. She was upset with me for not having come.
“Is it cold?” I asked.
It was the first line of a game I had played with her on the phone a couple of times. I resorted to it now, I guess, because I didn’t want to face what was on her mind.
“Not now, Jake. I don’t want to play that game. We need to talk.”
“Is it breezy?”
“No, Jake. I told you. I don’t want to play that right now.”
“Oh. So it’s hot. That’s what you’re telling me. It’s hot. And I’ve just got on too many clothes.”
Sara laughed, but it was a weary laugh, and I could feel things shifting between us. “Yeah, Jake. It’s hot. But I don’t know how much longer it’s going to stay that way.”
“You’re wearing your summer dress?”
She didn’t answer, and I felt the moment fade. My heart wasn’t in it, and neither was hers. Maybe she was wearing her summer dress, maybe she wasn’t. Ultimately that wasn’t the point of the game. We guessed at each other’s clothes, then took them off in our imaginations. The last time we’d talked like this, it had been a few weeks back, in the evening, while Elizabeth sat in her armchair in an adjoining room, reading one of her books.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Sara said. Her voice was earnest and sad.
“I can’t either.”
“The incident—the other day at our apartment,” she said. “I know what was behind it, and so do you.”
“You do?”
“The stress, the infidelity. It’s too much. No matter how bold we think we are, how sophisticated. It’s not healthy.”
I didn’t say anything.
“We have to make a decision. About us. Can you get away? Come talk to me.”
“The Dillard case. It’s got me swamped.”
“Jake,” she said. “I think it’s gotten to a certain point. Either we do something with what’s going on between us. Or we let it go. We end it.”
Once again I was silent. In some ways I was surprised that she pushed things this hard.
“Deceit, it causes tension,” she said. “It makes things build up inside. I pretend like I’m one way. Like I can do this kind of thing, but . . . Why don’t you come over, and we can talk.”
“Sara . . .”
I heard sorrow in my voice, and regret, and for a second I didn’t know what to say. I imagined Sara over me—that unfulfilled moment, when I had been reaching toward her—and though part of me wanted to go back to that moment, another part said no. Elizabeth was supposed to be home around five. She had gone off to another one of her academic conferences, but this one was nearby in Sonoma.
“It’s not a good time,” I said. “I’ve got this report. I’ve got to prepare my testimony.”
“All right. If that’s the way it is.”
“I’m
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