Chapter Twenty-One
Helen handed Isaac the Yeats book. He was still shirtless, the pajamas she’d given him resting on the guest bed. He’d had
plenty of time to put on the shirt while she’d been in the living room picking out the book. Briefly, she wondered why he
hadn’t—Did he run hot? Did he sleep shirtless? Was he being deliberately provocative?—and then she pushed the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter.
“I folded it down to my favorite poem,” she said.
“I thought you didn’t have a favorite poem.”
“Oh, well . . .” She trailed off. Isaac’s quick responses stood in sharp contrast to Wade’s silences. Helen was no longer
used to this kind of banter. “In the kitchen I didn’t have a favorite. This book, I do.”
“Fair enough.”
“The biography section is also interesting,” she added. “Yeats was into the occult.”
“My kind of guy.” Isaac grinned, and it was the kind of grin that Helen felt must have won over countless women.
“Me too.”
They both laughed lightly, but Isaac’s was the sound of growing familiarity, Helen’s the sound of growing unease.
Wade was in the bedroom right now, packing them a bag.
She needed to go and talk him out of it, but just as she was about to leave, Isaac opened the book to the folded page and read the title of the poem aloud.
“ ‘When You Are Old.’ ” He studied her for a moment. “Do you feel old?”
“I don’t feel young anymore.”
“I don’t either,” he said. “You know, you’re different than I expected.”
“You had expectations?”
“You could say I had expectations about seeing Wade again. I guess it was almost the opposite with you. I didn’t really think
about how you might factor into the equation until I got here.”
If Isaac had spoken with any trace of teasing in his voice, Helen would have thought he was flirting with her, but it didn’t
feel that way. His words felt serious.
“I imagine it’s pretty strange to meet your sister-in-law almost two years into the marriage.”
“A bit. But you’ve been very inviting.” Isaac looked down at the poem. “Do you have this memorized?”
“You ask odd questions.” He didn’t say anything in response, so finally Helen laughed to cover her nervousness. “Why would
you think I have poetry memorized?”
“Do you?”
She hesitated before she answered. “Yeah, a little bit.”
Isaac read the first line aloud. “When you are old and grey and full of sleep . . .” Then he looked at her like it was her
turn, as if it was inescapable that they were doing this together. She hadn’t expected him to take the poem so seriously,
to link it to her like this.
Helen felt her stomach flutter as she said the next line from memory, eyes fixed on the wall. “And nodding by the fire, take down this book . . .” She didn’t need to look at the page, but she couldn’t look at him either. If her life were more interesting, she wouldn’t have time to memorize poetry.
He read the third line: “And slowly read, and dream of the soft look . . .”
She closed her eyes. “Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep . . .”
“How many loved your moments of glad grace . . .”
“And loved your beauty with love false or true . . .”
Helen opened her eyes because the next line was the one that always broke her a little. She wanted to watch Isaac read it.
First he read the words silently to himself. Then he lifted his head and said them while looking at her. “But one man loved
the pilgrim soul in you . . .”
Those were words she’d read a hundred times to herself and thought of only one man’s blue eyes, and now another man was saying
them aloud. She should make a joke and break the spell. This was too much. Reciting poetry was something that people did a
hundred years ago. Except Helen was in a handsewn dress with a petticoat beneath it, and she washed the dress outside in a
wooden basin as if it were a hundred years ago, so maybe they were just playing their parts well for this impromptu recital. Seeing the quiet smile
on Isaac’s face, she suddenly wanted to prove that she really did know it by heart.
So she closed her eyes again and said:
And loved the sorrows of your changing face
And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
Helen opened her eyes. Isaac was waiting with a soft expression, and it made her feel exposed. She said the last line barely
above a whisper. “And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke or moved, until finally Isaac said, “Wow, Helen. You got every word exactly right.”
“I know.” She flashed an ironic smile. “Enjoy the occult stuff. It’s creepy as fuck.”
She left before he had a chance to respond, but she thought she might have heard him laugh to himself as she closed the door.
She stood in the hallway for a short time, letting the poem fade away, trying to shake the strange feeling that was circling
her again. As she started toward the bedroom, Wade stepped out with a canvas bag in hand. It was stuffed so full he’d been
able to close only one of the two top clasps, and she saw the sleeve of one of her dresses poking out.
“He still in there?” Wade murmured, nodding at the closed guest room door.
“Yeah,” Helen said warily.
He took her arm and began leading her down the hall toward the front of the house.
“Wade, just wait a minute.” She spoke evenly, trying to mollify him. “I saw Isaac’s scars. He was clearly injured, and he’s
clearly healed.”
As they entered the living room, she pulled free of his grasp. “Wade!”
“He’s a ghost, Helen. A ghost!”
“Ghosts aren’t real. They don’t come back to haunt us. Even when we want them to, okay? That is a man in the next room.”
Wade grabbed her arm again.
“Stop it!” Helen hissed, fighting to keep her voice down so Isaac wouldn’t hear them. “We can’t just take off and leave him
in our house.”
Wade managed to pull her into the kitchen, and she managed to shove him away. He bumped into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Knock it off,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”
Wade pointed toward the hall. “He’s scaring me. And that’s why we’re leaving.” He opened the front door. “Get in the truck right now, or I will put you in the truck.”
Helen’s expression changed as she stared at him. “You will physically force me into the truck?”
“Yes.”
Helen took a step back. “No, you won’t.”
Wade dropped his bag and lunged for her.