The Woman Who Married a Cloud: The Collected Short Stories by Jonathan Carroll

in.”
    Despite my displeasure, my antennae went up, and the signals sent were not good. Roberta’s arms were crossed. A bad sign. Her face was expressionless. Bad sign two. My wife is an optimistic, good-natured person. If she gets mad once every two months, it’s surprising—and most of the time, that anger is totally justified.
    “What’s the matter, dear?”
    “The matter is, you are going to take me out to lunch and explain these.”
    Our family had spent four years in Hale, Texas. A few of the only good times I remember there were sitting in the Lone Star Bar, drinking beer with Glenda Revelle, who might have been the most beautiful student I have ever known. If they’re honest, all teachers will admit that, at least once in their careers, a young person walked into the class who had the potential to turn both the teacher and their world inside out. Some get involved; most don’t. The problem for those who don’t is, this ravishing student continues to sit in front of us half a year, her physical presence alone a daily reminder of the erotic dare: how intriguing it would be to live in a land way far from the mind. A land where the senses are everything, humiliation is likely, and outside the door of the room is probably nothing. Glenda and I did not have an affair, although she made it plain that would have been fine. We came close twice, and I was tempted. Close enough to smell her breath and the heat off the skin of her shoulder. But it did not happen.
    She was persistent, and sent me a number of letters. Silver calligraphic letters on black paper. Stupidly, I kept two—and Roberta found them. That led to the evening across the kitchen table when she called me a mean loser. Eventually she believed I had not been with the girl, and we reached a thin truce. The best one can hope for in situations like that.
    Now Roberta stood in front of the fireplace, holding out two black envelopes as if they were diseased.
    “Ro—”
    “Why did you save these, Scott?”
    “I didn’t. You saw what I did with those letters. Where did you get those?”
    “Beenie found them.”
    “Oh, Beenie, huh? Well, where is she? I want to ask her a few questions.”
    “She left for the day. She’s too upset to work. But that doesn’t explain these. Why did you lie to me? Have you been writing to her?”
    I walked over, took the letters out of her hand, and threw them in the fire. “I haven’t done anything! I threw those letters away just like that, a long time ago, and you watched me do it! I have been a good man since then, Roberta. I’ve worked very hard to make amends to you and the children for treating you all badly, and I think I’ve done OK. If you don’t trust me any more than to think for twenty years I kept some half-assed love letters from a student hidden in the back of a drawer to moon over ... Where is Beenie? I want to talk to her.”
    “She left. I told you she left. Why did you keep those letters?”
    “ I DIDN’T! ”
    “Then why did she find them?”
    “ I DON’T KNOW! ”
    “—Do, too!”
    “ DO NOT! YOU SAW ME THROW THEM IN THE FIREPLACE IN HALE! ”
    “Obviously not all of them!”
    “For Christ’s sake, Roberta, I’m telling you the truth!”
    “They why’d she find these?”
    “I don’t know! How did she know I had sent the manuscript to Annette’s family? How did she find it in the first place? I left it with the police, THAT’S WHY I WANT TO TALK TO HER! ” Fuming, I gave her my back and walked to the door.
    “Where are you going? Come back here and start telling the truth!”
    I turned again and faced her. “What is holy to you, wife!”
    “The grandchildren.”
    “Then I swear to you on all of their heads that you saw me burn each and every one of Glenda Revelle’s letters back in Hale. OK? Is there anything else I can say? Shall I slice my throat for further proof? Do I deserve no trust?”
    That was a terrible moment, because we looked at each other across a room that