looking out, and had her open all the doors on the appliances for us, and go boringly on about all the plumbing work and electrical business, and let her compliment us on our happiness, like we were newlyweds—and all the while, let’s face it, we were fooling her. My mind drifts back, sometimes, to that shingled, lost house. And then I wonder—what if? But no. We fobbed her off, that realtor. And then we were having dinner after, and whatever crab you were having was covered in sauce, and you had it all over your face and hands, and you were calling the waiter for another steamed towel, but I didn’t wait, I put my hands on both sides of your face and kissed you, rubbing us both in it, and we were all alone in that dark booth, and I started to slide my hand down your neck, just a little, and I said, God, I think I’ll just throw you over the side of this table and drown you in butter, you need to be drowned with my love, but you pulled away from me and said, You would never say that to HER, and I said who? and you said, the kind of woman you should be living with, a woman from Connecticut. And I still have absolutely no idea what you meant, and I’ve never understood it, and I will never understand what you meant, who you were talking about, and why you got so angry… What is even harder to remember, but what I don’t fear to remember, because it’s us, such as we are, or such as we were, is that in the parking lot, you pushed me away again with your words, though I wanted nothing but to take you back to the hotel, and you said, I am not a story, I am not a patient, you have no right to me, and then you swore… I know you don’t like to be reminded of such coarseness, but if you are going to ask why I haven’t written lately, Hannah, it seems only fair and honest to remind you. There is only so much grease in the fire a man can take.
I don’t know if I could find that lost, shingled house again on my own, but if I do I think I’ll go back to that restaurant, sometime, when I’m back on the coast, if I get the chance, and see if by dint of effort I can locate again that hole in the universe that allowed us to imagine something peaceful, for a moment. I will write again when I get back from Lebanon. Yes, it is a bit dangerous. No, don’t worry. Be well, old girl. Love.
*
I’M STILL LOOKING OUT at the dry bone of the barn. But what luck, here comes Maia, pulling in across the gravel drive in her bright blue compact car. She is, without question, a responsible, fine, sturdy, upstanding woman. One you can trust. The kind of person who can always be counted on to do the right thing. No need for me to ever have worried or even to have imagined for an instant that she was going to be late.
“Mr. Bardawil,” I gesture toward the banister, “would you go up while I take just a moment to catch up with my assistant? You can make yourself comfortable up there. My study is the first door to the right when you reach the top landing. Have a look around, at anything you like. There are pictures and placards and things on the walls, things that might help you.”
“All right, but—”
A brief exchange of looks between the two of them as Maia comes in. A blunt, sexual sizing up. Ah, the young. He turns away.
When he’s gone, I ask her:
“Did you have a nice break, Maia? Are you feeling rested?”
“I did and do.” She opens the hall closet and tosses her bag in, as she always does. “I had some lunch and checked your e-mail while I was there. Also I checked the weather for you. It’s shaping up to be a nice evening. Your friends are going to have a beautiful drive up from the city. Oh, and what else, let’s see. More birthday snail mail in your P.O. box.” She holds out a packet. “Do you want it now?”
“Later is fine.” No more letters. No.
She lifts her heavy chin, pointing upstairs. “I thought he’d be long done by now. What have you two been talking about all this time?”
“Oh, legal
I don’t know if I could find that lost, shingled house again on my own, but if I do I think I’ll go back to that restaurant, sometime, when I’m back on the coast, if I get the chance, and see if by dint of effort I can locate again that hole in the universe that allowed us to imagine something peaceful, for a moment. I will write again when I get back from Lebanon. Yes, it is a bit dangerous. No, don’t worry. Be well, old girl. Love.
*
I’M STILL LOOKING OUT at the dry bone of the barn. But what luck, here comes Maia, pulling in across the gravel drive in her bright blue compact car. She is, without question, a responsible, fine, sturdy, upstanding woman. One you can trust. The kind of person who can always be counted on to do the right thing. No need for me to ever have worried or even to have imagined for an instant that she was going to be late.
“Mr. Bardawil,” I gesture toward the banister, “would you go up while I take just a moment to catch up with my assistant? You can make yourself comfortable up there. My study is the first door to the right when you reach the top landing. Have a look around, at anything you like. There are pictures and placards and things on the walls, things that might help you.”
“All right, but—”
A brief exchange of looks between the two of them as Maia comes in. A blunt, sexual sizing up. Ah, the young. He turns away.
When he’s gone, I ask her:
“Did you have a nice break, Maia? Are you feeling rested?”
“I did and do.” She opens the hall closet and tosses her bag in, as she always does. “I had some lunch and checked your e-mail while I was there. Also I checked the weather for you. It’s shaping up to be a nice evening. Your friends are going to have a beautiful drive up from the city. Oh, and what else, let’s see. More birthday snail mail in your P.O. box.” She holds out a packet. “Do you want it now?”
“Later is fine.” No more letters. No.
She lifts her heavy chin, pointing upstairs. “I thought he’d be long done by now. What have you two been talking about all this time?”
“Oh, legal
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