All Is Not Forgotten(76)

I nodded. “Of course.”

I did not bring up the wine dinner again. He had been so insistent that I was wrong the last time, and I really wanted to know how I would feel being with him. If I could live with the lie and all the uncertainty or not.

“Charlotte,” I said. “You haven’t started to wonder if Bob was the one, you know, who did those things to Jenny. Have you? Or is this about wondering where he was that night, and whether it was another woman?”

No! I mean, I could never believe that about Bob. She lied well. But I knew he remembered where he was that night. That was the problem. Why wouldn’t he tell me?

“All right. Continue, then.”

So he poured me a drink, which I sometimes accept if it’s not too early. He poured one for himself as well. It was good to have things in our hands, since neither of us seemed eager to touch the other. I asked if everything had been resolved. And he said it had not—that the issue with the wine dinner had gotten out of control. He said he’d had to hire a lawyer, and that they, he and his lawyer, were refusing to answer any more questions. I guess he doesn’t have to, right?

“That’s right. He doesn’t. It sounds as though he’s calling their bluff.”

Yeah. That’s what he said as well. That the only thing they could do next would be to get a warrant, and that would require going public. His lawyer made it clear that he would immediately sue them. The loss to his business, to the election, his reputation, and his family … Well, they’re betting the higher-ups won’t go for it. I mean, really—what do they have? An ancient college record. And a misunderstanding over a dinner that happened over a year ago? They won’t get a warrant, right?

“I don’t know, Charlotte. But it sounds as though he was still worried. Or did he seem confident?”

No—he was not confident at all. He was angry. He said things like, “How can this be happening? To me, of all people? How could anyone think that I would rape a young girl? I’m worth over twenty million dollars! I’m about to become a state representative! I’ve met the f*cking president!” Then he said he felt like his head was going to explode, or something like that, something very dramatic. All of this was just one huge insult to his ego.

“That’s not very attractive, I have to say. Could he not understand their position? That they did have an obligation to follow through?”

I told you—it made me see him in a different way. I couldn’t just put it out of my mind, have sex, go home.… I just couldn’t this time. I said what I was thinking, which was what you said just now. That they had to cover their bases and make sure. I told him he needed to tell them where he was that night and then it would all just go away. I told him I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t do that.

“How did he take that?”

Not well. He got furious with me. He threw his glass across the room, and his face got very hot, you know, red and wide-eyed, frantic. He got very close to me, and he took my arms, and he looked at me, studying me. And he asked me straight out if I thought he had raped my daughter.

Charlotte gasped then, her hand drawing up to her mouth. She shook her head slowly, her eyes on that sticker.

I said I did not. I said I knew he would never do anything like that. But then why, why would he not say where he was? And then there was Jenny and the voice in her head. I don’t know. I think he just didn’t believe me.

She was lost then, in her memories of that meeting. I let her stay there for a moment, long enough for the memories to mix with more of the doubt. You know why, don’t you? So they would return to their files just slightly altered, decorated perhaps with the doubts about Bob.

“Charlotte, how did it end? How did you leave things?”

Ohhh. Well, it wasn’t good. He said “f*ck you,” and then he left.

“‘Fuck you’? That’s all he said?”

Uh-huh. After three years together, after all those professions of love and tender moments making love. After all those times he looked lovingly into my eyes—how is that possible? How is it we can do those things, things that feel permanent, like even if the relationship ended, those feelings would still be there? It makes me not believe in anything, in any feeling, in any profession, in any love at all. It’s all just bullshit. Just hormones and lust and needs and filling people’s gaps, the holes in their souls. We all just use each other, don’t we? Nothing is what it seems.

“Well, that is a lot to discuss, Charlotte. You are right. People do that to each other. But sometimes it becomes more than that. Sometimes the weaker loves, the lust-driven loves, the filling holes, turn into more. And sometimes those momentary connections, the ones that catch us off guard like a cold wind coming around the corner of a building, sometimes those stay put and then become an anchor for a more permanent connection. That is what most people in stable relationships describe. It’s the connection, and the need for that connection. And from there, like anything we need, we take care of it with kindness and caretaking—acts of love. But that is really too much for one day, isn’t it? Tell me how you feel now, after Bob said ‘f*ck you’ and left?”

I feel disoriented. I feel like I’m lost in my own life.

“That’s perfect, Charlotte.”

Perfect? It’s miserable.

“Let me ask you this: If Bob called you and said he was sorry, would you go to him? Would you make love to him again?”