My Last Innocent Year(37)

“Isabel, please. Don’t leave.” He held out his hand. “God, I’m sorry. I really botched this. I just wanted—I don’t know what I wanted.” He took a deep breath. “Please. Don’t leave.” I waited a moment, then sat back down and unbuttoned my coat.

“Thank you,” he said. He picked up another paper clip, unwound it into a shape resembling a poker and used it to scratch at his desk. “Let’s try this again. Some party, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Some party.”

“Are they always like that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to one before.”

“Right.”

He tossed the paper clip in the trash and picked up another one. He seemed nervous. I still didn’t know why he’d invited me here or why he hadn’t let me leave. I wondered what he was waiting for.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Shoot.”

“Do you know why Tom did it? Jumped in the pond, I mean?”

If Connelly was surprised or offended by my question, he didn’t show it. “It was unfortunate, what happened. I imagine everyone’s talking about it?” I nodded. “No surprise there. It was rather dramatic. I don’t know exactly why he did it. I know he’s having a hard time with the divorce. And now Joanna’s fighting him for custody. Men usually get the short end of the stick in these sorts of things.” He was quiet, perhaps deciding what more he should say. “The guy’s seeing everything he ever worked for get taken away. That’s hard. Don’t believe men’s posturing, Isabel. We need women. Somewhere along the way the balance shifts and all these boys you pine for now become men who are very afraid of being alone.”

Outside, the bell tower started playing the alma mater, which it did every day at noon, a clunky, out-of-tune rendition. Connelly was still twisting the paper clip, and I realized I could leave now and what happened between us would stay a small indiscretion that never came to anything. Or I could push him to acknowledge what he’d done, what he’d wanted to do, and not because he was drunk. I felt a strange power coursing through my veins as I realized I was the one who would decide whether we were done with each other.

I looked down at my boots, their tips dusty like a chalkboard. “I think with everything that went on that night, no one noticed us.”

“Really?” he said. “That’s a relief.”

“And I didn’t tell anyone. Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“So then, I guess we’re good.”

I stood up and walked toward the door. I could feel his eyes following me. I placed my hand on the doorknob, then turned back to face him. “Can I just say something?”

“Go ahead.”

“You didn’t seem that drunk.”

“What?” he laughed.

“I said, you didn’t seem that drunk. When you kissed me. I mean, it’s fine if you want to forget about it, but I don’t think you did it because you were drunk.”

The heater clanked again. The bell tower was still playing, verse after verse, noisy and insistent. “Maybe you’re right. But can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you kiss me back?”

I took my hand off the doorknob, let it hang at my side. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest, like the slap of a dog’s tail against a hardwood floor. “Because I wanted to.”

A flash of color rose to his cheeks. “So what do you think we should do?”

“I think you should kiss me again. Then we can decide.”

“Lock the door,” he said, and I did.

Connelly walked over to the sofa. I met him there. It felt like we were performing a carefully choreographed ritual, each of us nailing our part. We sat together, shoulder to shoulder, the same way we had in Joanna and Tom’s bedroom.

“We should probably talk about discretion,” he said. “This can’t become part of the,” he twirled a finger in the air, “rumor mill.”

“What about your wife?”

“That’s the thing,” he said, reaching for my hand. “This could get messy, if we’re not careful.”

It wasn’t really an answer, but I let it go. We seemed to be inching toward an agreement of some kind, but I was having a hard time focusing. I just wanted him to kiss me. I placed my index finger on the space above his lip. The skin there was damp and softer than I’d imagined.

“This is going to change everything,” he said.

“Promise?” And then, before he could say anything else, I kissed him. I kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids, the soft skin behind his ears, the tip of his chin. I heard his breath catch as I kissed the base of his throat. He tasted like menthol and something else, something earthy, salty. Desire moved through me, pushing everything else to the side. We kissed until the clock tower was quiet, then he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away.

“We should stop,” he said. “Before we can’t.”

I sat back. Everything looked different, clearer, like I’d never worn glasses and someone had handed me a pair. Connelly looked different, too. I realized I hadn’t understood his purpose—why I’d met him, why he was here—but now it all fell into place. Of course I’d met him. Of course he’d kissed me. Of course, of course, of course.