10. Jeremiah
JEREMIAH
Dax calls to confirm Friday breakfast and stays on the line to talk about Zelda.
“Candace says there’s a speech for the dinner. Good. At Suri’s she looked ready to tear her in half.”
I move the phone to my other ear. “That’s enough.”
“I saw her hit her friend, apologize, and go on acting as if she hadn’t. That’s not normal”
“You didn’t see the slap.”
The words come out sharply. I’m glad I’ve said them.
“Zelda admitted it,” Dax says.
I know why she did. I have known for two days that Candace made it up. I turn my chair away from the office door.
“You weren’t in the study.”
“Fine. I saw her admit it. That’s what I told my sister when she asked about the video.”
His sister.
Someone who was not at the party. I open my mouth to correct him, then picture the call I will get when he tells her I knew the admission was false. His questions first. Then hers. Then Zelda asking why Dax heard it from me before she did.
“Don’t make my anniversary about this,” I say.
“I don’t intend to. I’m looking forward to an evening where everybody gets along.” He pauses. “You still want the usual table tomorrow?”
We’ve had breakfast there every December since we could first afford to waste a morning. He always complains about the coffee and orders another pot. I know exactly which joke he’ll make about my being late.
“The usual table,” I say.
I feel easier when he goes back to talking about breakfast. I let him stay on the phone another five minutes.
That evening Zelda comes into the kitchen with Dax’s green holiday invitation.
“Has he told you when they’re coming?”
“Seven.”
She runs her thumb along the old fold. “Suri says he’s still talking about the party.”
I set down the glass I’m holding.
“I asked him not to bring it up at dinner.”
“Did you tell him I didn’t hit her?”
“I told him he didn’t see it.”
She watches me. I want her to accept the correction I made. I want the credit for that much.
“He knows that,” she says. “What do you believe?”
The kitchen clock ticks behind her. I’ve heard it every morning we’ve lived here. Today I can’t hear anything else.
“I don’t want Dax judging our marriage.”
Her lips tighten for a moment. “He already is.”
I reach for her hand.
She looks down at mine, then back at my face. She doesn’t move away. She is waiting for me to say it while I touch her.
I can. I know the words. I can feel the beginning of them behind my teeth.
“We’ll have our own evening,” I say.
Her fingers loosen.
She leaves the invitation on the table. I stand there holding nothing after she goes upstairs.
At breakfast the next morning Dax tells me Candace will arrive early to help. “She says Zelda’s coming round to the apology.”
I know Zelda has refused. I heard her say she would not read it. I watch Dax pour coffee into my cup.
“Let them get on with the arrangements,” I say. “How’s your sister?”
He talks. I eat. When the waiter brings the bill, Dax makes the joke I expected, and I laugh with him.
On Saturday Zelda sits at our table writing names in blue ink. Four days until the dinner. The repaired blue house is beside her notes.
“Do you still want this?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me.
“Of course. It’s our anniversary.”
“I mean with me. All of it.”
The pen is still in her hand. I remember her holding it at the market while I leaned over the baby names.
“Yes.”
She looks at me for a moment, then bends over the next card. She has left a place at the table for everybody we invited. I kiss the top of her head before I go upstairs. She stays bent over the cards.