Chapter 33
Tom finds me slumped at the kitchen table, staring into space.
I managed to sit myself down in a chair, but that was all.
Then I watched the clock hands advancing and knew he was coming, that he would find me like this, that it would scare him, endanger his health, even, but I never moved—because I’m a selfish fucking bitch. A fucking waste.
As I went on sitting there, another Judith—the better one, the unmarked one—split off from me.
She stood and put the phone back on its hook.
She went to the kitchen sink and washed her face in cold water, dried it with the freshly laundered kitchen towel, tied the apron around her waist, and busied herself with chopping onions, carrots, and celery for the stew.
She hummed a little tune. The call dropped from her mind or it had never happened and when Tom came home, she smiled and offered him her cheek.
How was work, she asked, as always. And the evening unrolled like a smooth satin ribbon.
But the other Judith, the only one I know and am, looks into Tom’s panicked eyes, hearing his frantic questions as if through water. I let the tears fall and say, “Oh, Tom.” And I tell him almost everything.