Lies That Bind Us(41)

There was a weariness in his voice, but he still sounded compassionate, like he was indulging a child, and when he smiled it was a real smile that made me want to throw my arms around him and hold him forever . . .

“It just slipped out,” I said. “I was talking to Simon, and somehow the made-up version of my flight sounded better, more real somehow, though I know that sounds stupid. Is stupid. And before I knew it, I’d told him I’d seen the Colosseum from the air. Then I told him I had recently been to Vegas and he asked me about the hotel . . .”

“You’ve never been to—”

“I know. I think he knew I was lying. If I got away with it, it was because he would have asked himself why anyone would lie about anything so ridiculously unnecessary and obviously untrue and, therefore, wouldn’t have reached the logical conclusion: because Jan is a pathological liar.”

“You’re not,” Marcus cut in.

“I am, Marcus. You know it more than anyone.”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“I’m not looking for an apology,” I said. “You were right. Especially about Wilmington. That was unforgiveable.”

“Nothing is unforgiveable. I started the course the following summer.”

“No thanks to me.”

“You were upset.”

“That’s no excuse for anything and you know it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Marcus, don’t let me dodge what I did. I have to face it.”

“Four years later?”

“If that’s what’s needed, yes.”

“I could have made the point more constructively,” he said. “Less publicly.”

I shrugged and breathed out a voiceless laugh.

“Yeah,” I said, “but I had it coming.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment and then I, gazing around the room and out through the great picture window, said, “Jesus, Marcus. How did we get here?”

He shook his head.

“Damned if I know,” he said.

“And you’re the professor,” I said mockingly.

“Don’t you start,” he remarked with a wan smile, like we were old allies against the world. “I wish they would . . . I mean, is it intended to make me feel small and irrelevant, to remind me that I’m just a teacher, not some big-shot academic and certainly not anything interesting like a fucking hedge fund manager or whatever the hell it is that Simon does? Jesus.”

“Maybe it’s a kind of jealousy.”

Marcus laughed, a short and single bark without a lot of amusement in it.

“Seriously,” I said. “They have money, but I don’t really know what they do with their time when they aren’t working. They don’t seem to have interests, hobbies, do they? Work, gym, clubbing, mixing with the fashionable . . .”

“With celebrities . . .”

“Going to parties . . .”

“Buying fancy cars . . .”

“Made of gold . . .”

“With platinum tires.”

“What was my point again?” I said.

He laughed again, for real this time.

“You were saying how shit their lives were and why they’d be jealous of a high school history teacher.”

“Right,” I said. “Got a bit off track.”

He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze.

“For real though,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Me too.” I hesitated, then asked the question that had been on my mind since I arrived. “What do you make of Gretchen?”

“Well,” he replied, seriously, “she’s down with OPP.”

“Oh my God, that was excruciating.”

“That would be the word.”

“She seems quite taken with you,” I ventured. “Did you know her before?”

“Met her the day we got here. You know as much about her as I do.”

I decided to leave it at that, merely nodding thoughtfully.

“Come on,” he said, getting to his feet in a showy way. “Come get something to eat. If Brad is to be believed, they have created the Mona Lisa of burgers.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I said, but I stood up.

“No one does,” he said.

“Marcus,” I said, taking his hand on impulse.

“What?” he said watchfully, even warily.

“I don’t lie to you, you know,” I said. “Not anymore. And I won’t. Ever.”

The wary look deepened, complicated; then he nodded once and smiled.

“Food,” he said.



So we ate. It was good too, and with Marcus giving me encouraging smiles between bites, I managed to put my little meltdown aside and enjoy the evening for what it was. The burgers were half beef and half lamb, and Simon had mixed garlic and oregano into the meat, serving them with tzatziki sauce on the side, while Melissa had whisked up a Greek salad with fresh local cucumbers, tomatoes, and kalamata olives, topped with the best feta cheese I had ever tasted.

“Gotta say,” said Melissa, “Greek cuisine is kind of limited, but what they do, they do well.”