18. Jeremiah
JEREMIAH
Candace has to ring the bell. She has never had a key.
I have been telling myself that for days, as if Zelda ever accused her of stealing one.
It is December twenty-eighth. Zelda’s coat hook is still empty. Upstairs the bedroom smells of the perfume she threw, even with the window open. I cleaned up the glass. I haven’t washed the wall.
Candace stands outside with the seating chart from the dinner.
“I need to know what to tell Suri about New Year’s Eve,” she says.
I step back automatically. Someone is at the door. My brain fills in the rest. Come in, let me take your coat.
Then I stop. She stops too, one foot on the threshold.
“What about it?”
“Whether we’re going together.”
I see what she is offering beyond the party. Someone to eat with tonight. A person who will answer when I speak. I haven’t had a conversation in this house since Zelda took her bag down the stairs.
“Why would you be the one to tell her that?”
Candace looks at the space I nearly made for her.
“You know why.”
I do. I make her say it anyway.
“You kept me in your office for an hour. You talked to me after I told you how I felt. Every time Zelda was angry, you called me back.”
“I told you I was married.”
“And I heard you.” She shifts the paper to her other hand. “She left. You didn’t go after her.”
I look past Candace at the gate. I can still see Hedy’s car pulling away from it.
“She shouldn’t have left like that,” I say.
Candace’s face softens at once.
“Of course she shouldn’t.”
The relief is there before I can stop it. I want to tell her about Christmas Day, Zelda’s voice upstairs, the perfume bursting against the wall. Candace will understand the part that hurt me. I won’t have to get to the sentence I said just before it.
She reaches for my arm.
I step back, but I don’t open the door wider.
“I asked her to lie first.”
“You wanted to get through the evening.”
“I knew she hadn’t touched you.”
“So did I. It wasn’t about that anymore.”
I put my hand on the door. The wood is cold where the draught has been coming in.
She waits for me to agree. I have agreed with so much that I can understand why she waits.
“I’m not taking you to Suri’s.”
“Jeremiah—”
“There is nothing between us and there won’t be.”
Her face changes. This time I keep looking at it.
“You said there was nothing to wait for in your office. Then you kept calling.”
“Yes.”
“What was I supposed to believe?”
I want to repeat the words I said then. They were clear. I could prove I said them. She has just repeated them herself.
“I told you no and let you stay,” I say. “I wanted you to go on telling me I was right about Zelda.”
“You were unhappy.”
“I liked talking to you about it. I hid that from her.”
Candace looks past me toward the sitting room. The lamp is on beside an empty chair.
“I was there for you.”
“You lied about my wife.”
“And I told you the truth.”
“Eight days before I made her say it again.” My grip tightens on the door. “I did that. You don’t have to explain it for me.”
“So now it’s all my fault?”
“No.”
She waits. I don’t give her the rest of the argument.
For several seconds we hear a car trying to start farther down the street.
“What am I supposed to do with all this?” She lifts the seating chart. “I still have your sample cards. Candle sleeves. Things I bought for both of you.”
“Leave them with Suri, if she’ll take them. I’ll arrange to collect them from her.”
“I can bring them.”
“No. We aren’t meeting privately again.”
Her mouth tightens. “You can’t keep everything waiting for Zelda forever.”
I look at the empty hook beside mine.
“That’s for Zelda and me to decide.”
Candace folds the seating chart and sets it on the hall table. I have to move aside to let her reach it. We are close enough that I smell the cold in her scarf.
“You know I cared about you.”
I nod. I don’t tell her that made any of this easier for my wife.
She goes through the gate without looking back. I close the door and stand beside it until her car starts.
There is no one to tell.
I go to the kitchen. The kettle still has water in it. I fill a mug, forget the tea bag, and pour the water away when I notice.
Upstairs, the bedroom door is open. The perfume reaches the landing. I go into the spare room instead and sit on the edge of the bed.
Zelda doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about the hour after Candace said she wanted me. I could tell her now that I’ve sent Candace away and wait for an answer before I offer the rest.
I take out my phone.
There are things I haven’t told you. I’d like to give you the whole account, whenever you’re willing to hear it. You can choose where.
I read it once, then send it.
The house stays quiet. I leave the phone beside me and wait without anyone telling me what she ought to do.