What's Mine and Yours(44)

He had felt that summer like a man with no past. He was anonymous, and he found his life glamorous. He had slipped out of his skin; he was a new self; he was in Europe. He felt far from where he had started. The only piece of home he had wanted to keep was Noelle. He had wished she could be there with him; he’d imagined taking her to the Jeu de Paume to look at the photographs. He’d fantasized about buying her ice cream and wandering the Tuileries, where Noelle would marvel at the red flowers and insist they take a picture together. She’d have slicked his eyebrows back into place with her spit and her thumb. He would have led her through the Père Lachaise, and they would not speak of their dead, or anything they’d lost; they would press their palms together, stand close. To the passersby, they’d seem blithe, carefree. He had adored her even then; his love for her predated everything he knew about himself.

The first time he cheated on her, they were seniors. Noelle was at a wake for a girl she had known who had died suddenly, disappeared from class. She hadn’t told him where she was going, but he had known. Without her, he went down to the commons, the lounge in the basement of the dorm. He wasn’t friendly with the people on his floor, but he didn’t know what else to do with himself. They were watching football, splitting a milk crate full of beer, passing around enormous bags of chips. There was a girl with big eyes, bangs that covered half her face. She sat hunched over, her skinny legs in fishnets, crossed at the knees. She kept looking at him sideways, passing him beers. When he drank, she drank, as if she were his mirror. He had been good for so long, and he tried not to think of her that way. She must have known he was with Noelle. She didn’t care. When he rose to leave, she followed him. They climbed the stairs, and she brushed his hand with hers, clutched his fingers. He pressed his palm into hers, and it was over. Soon they were in his room, and he was inside her, and she was biting down hard on his pointer finger, a thing Noelle had never done, a thing that thrilled him beyond measure. He came too soon, which was for the best, because he wanted her to leave. He did a load of laundry, wishing he could boil his sheets. He streamed in more and more bleach. When Noelle came to his room that night, she was red-eyed but said nothing about the service. He held her while she slept, and felt sick at what he’d done. But the days passed, and no one found out; the big-eyed girl never came knocking. It was a secret he could keep, another life to stow away, to pull out only when he needed. He could protect her from it, or so he told himself. He had never before let it get out of hand.

He decided to call. He’d hear her voice, and, in it, there would be an answer. She would be his Noelle again, and he would come to his senses, go home. Or he’d hear that she was still sinking, and he’d bring her here. Show her the bakery, the Seine. The phone rang and rang. She didn’t answer, which he deserved. He poured himself more wine. Then his phone was buzzing, her name on the screen, Noelle, his wife, her picture. It was a cell phone snapshot of her with wet hair, cross-legged on the floor of the old apartment while she held up the newspaper, open to a review of her last production. The critic had called it resplendent. She was resplendent. Nelson answered her.

“Babe,” he said. “We’ve been missing each other.” It wasn’t a complete lie to suggest he’d been calling, too. “How you been?”

“Will you look at who was lost and now is found.”

It was his motherin-law, her voice brittle and too high.

“My prodigal son-in-law. Is he coming home now? Does he expect a fatted calf? Should we throw him a party?”

Nelson heard muffled coughing. A steady beeping filled the quiet. He tried not to let on that he was surprised Noelle had gone to see her. It had been years.

“Where’s my wife?”

“She’s running an errand for me with Diane. I wanted Coke and licorice. I’m in the hospital. But I bet Noelle already told you that?”

“She left her phone with you?”

“The hospital line isn’t working, and I’m expecting a call from Margarita. Or Robbie. They’re both missing.”

“Missing?”

“Well, they won’t answer their phones, and we don’t know where they are. I’d say that’s missing. How about you? Are you missing?”

“I’m working.”

“Your mama called me. That was kind of her. Noelle must have mentioned I was sick. I told her I’ll never live to see my grandchildren, and that’s sad. She understands it. I’d have liked to meet them. And I’d have loved them like crazy, if you can believe that. Even after everything. Even if I never wanted Noelle’s life to go this way.”

Nelson winced. Her reasons for disliking him were as plain as they had always been. His racist motherin-law. He wouldn’t miss her if she died, but he’d rather she lived, for Noelle. Losing a parent was like losing a part of yourself, even if it was a part you’d rather forget.

“Enough about me,” said Lacey May. “Can I take a message?”

“Tell Noelle my trip’s been extended. I’ll explain later when she calls.”

“And call she will. You know my girl—she’s the kind that keeps her promises.”

“I hope you don’t die before I see you again.” It was the crudest he’d ever been with his motherin-law, but he couldn’t help himself. The way she talked to him—it was as if she knew what he was up to.