Via Dolorosa(62)

“Emma,” he said.

“I had been shattered and he, a friend, had been there, in that moment of weakness. He was just someone there and nothing more. How I cried and cried over that letter! Have you ever smelled a letter wet with tears? It has its own smell.” A vague smile threatened her lips, the corner of her lips, but she did not give in. Her eyes were daggers on him now. “I loved him and he was dead. He would not be coming home. I would never see him again.”

“You died, Nicholas?” Isabella said. “That is so sad. Poor sad dead noble Nicholas.”

“I died that night, too, Nick,” Emma said.

“You’re both goddamn drunk.”

“Be drunk, too,” said Isabella, and slid the remaining shot in front of him.

“Nick has a secret, too,” Emma said. “Don’t you, Nick? You didn’t know it, but I can tell, even if you don’t say it. Just like me, he’s had a secret since he’s returned from the war. I guess the war is good for making secrets. But he hasn’t told his secret yet. Maybe he is nobler than me. You see? Maybe I had to tell my secret because I am weak and I couldn’t keep it in. But Nick has kept his. Good boy, that Nick. He is of high moral fiber and he has kept his secret.” Her eyes stayed on him the whole time. “You’ve kept your secret, Nick. You’re incredibly noble. You are not a weak coward like me.”

“I want to stop talking about this right now,” he said.

“You aren’t talking about any of it,” she said back. “I’m doing all the talking, all the talking, all the talking.”

“Then I want you to stop.”

“I’m drunk. You can’t make me and I’m drunk.”

“That’s for damn sure…”

Isabella leaned over the table. “What is your secret, Nicholas?”

“I have no secrets.”

“So noble,” Emma whispered. Her tone suggested she spoke to herself now and no one else. “How can I live with such a noble man? How can I live with such a noble man after I screwed someone else when I thought he was dead?”

“Stop it!” he demanded. The table jumped as he threw a fist upon it.

Emma pushed her head back on her neck, laughed. “You don’t like my language?” she taunted. “You don’t like it?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Yes, right—because you are so noble,” she lamented. “You are the noblest man in the world, Nicholas D’Nofrio, and I am the slut who is your wife.”

“Enough,” he said, and stood from his chair.

“Noble. And I’ll say whatever the hell I want. ‘Fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘piss’ and ‘goddamn’ and ‘hell’ and ‘bastard’ and ‘balls-balls-balls.’ You like that, Nicky? Does it make you sorry you married such a foul-mouthed whore?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes. I am sorry.”

“It was a mistake. I felt so lost and needed someone else there. I thought you were dead. And I died with you that night. When I did, Nick, I died with you.”

There was nothing he could say; he could not look at her.

“Would it have been better for me to have loved him in my heart instead of just in my bed? Would it have been better for you that way?”

He said, “You can’t control how you feel. You only control what you do.”

“It must be such hard work,” Emma said.

“What’s that?”

“Being so goddamn righteous.”

“Go to hell.”

Still laughing, suddenly pointing at him, Emma stood and pivoted away from the table. “Remember this,” she threatened him. “Remember all of this, and everything that has happened here.” She moved with the grace of a drunken prizefighter. Nick could not stomach the situation, and he could not stomach watching her leave. He did not want her here but he did not want her to leave, either. Weakened by the sight of her, he felt himself drop back in his seat.

“Secret-secret-secret,” Isabella chanted.

Nick pinched the rocks glass between two fingers and pounded it down. It was smooth and just vaguely chilled.

“My Nicholas. Poor, poor Nicholas.”

“Another,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Another.”

She poured the drink. He downed it.

“You own it now. One more?” she said. “I will do it and own it with you.”

“One more.”

Bottle lifted, shots poured. Uncertain if it was her hand or his vision that shook, he watched the rocks glasses fill up.

“To the top this time?” she asked.

“Top,” he said.

“You are brave.”

“Please,” he begged.

“You hate her because she shared herself with another man when she thought you were dead?”

“Yes…”

“And…?”

“And I hate her more for telling me.”

“Silly girl,” Isabella said. “She is a silly girl.” She said, “It is the silly girl who tells her secrets.” She said, “Chica tonta.”

“Yes,” Nick said. “Chica very tonta.”