Nocturne(109)

“Do you love her?” Karin repeated as I tumbled through my thoughts. Her voice was angry, but tight with tears.

I nodded once, closing my eyes briefly. “Yes.”

I put the car in park on the ground level near the exit as we came to a stop behind a dozen or more other cars.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

I swallowed. Then I said, “I know.”

“You never loved me. It was always her. Always.”

I couldn’t answer that. Because it was true. Even if it wasn’t the cause of our marriage falling apart, Karin wouldn’t be able to separate it all out in this tiny Lexus as we sat in traffic. What exactly was I supposed to say? My instinct was to temporize, to tell her it wasn’t true, to comfort her. But that would be wrong. It would simply drag this out and make it so much worse. And it was going to be bad enough as is.

She stared out the window at the parking lot. Someone behind us honked, because honking their horn was going to make us all go faster. Idiots.

“Is what Nathan said true? Have you been sleeping with her this summer? On the tour?”

I squeezed the wheel and said, “I don’t think it’s necessary to get into that.”

She slapped her hand on the dashboard with a loud crack. “It is! Tell me truth, Gregory! You’re still my husband.”

I sighed, and said, “Yes. It’s true.” I couldn't help it. As I spoke the words, I knew I sounded ... defeated. Ashamed.

Most of the cars ahead of us had cleared out. But the one ahead of us was just sitting there, the couple inside seemingly texting or something as they sat thirty feet from the gate. Not moving. No cars in front of them. Brake lights on. I felt my irritation rising rapidly, and I finally muttered, “Could they possibly drive any slower?” I laid on the horn, the sound echoing through the parking lot.

“Gregory,” Karin said.

I hit the horn again. The brake lights on the car ahead of me turned off, the driver apparently waking up. But then they turned on again.

For Christ’s sake. Now I hit the horn continuously.

“Gregory! Stop it!”

Finally, the car moved up to the gate and whoever was driving pulled out. I drove forward, and felt in my tuxedo for the parking ticket. Of course I didn’t have it. Karin had driven.

“Do you have the parking ticket?”

“No, I gave it to you.”

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” I shouted.

She recoiled, her face suddenly reflecting … intense sadness. Fear. And I deflated, the anger rushing out of me.

“Shit,” I muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“If you don’t have your ticket it’s thirty-two dollars,” the attendant said.

“Fine.” I passed over two twenties and drove on.

We were silent as I pulled into the slow, lifeless traffic around Symphony Hall. We weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

It was 1.9 miles home. I could walk it in twenty minutes, up Huntington to Saint James, across the Common to Beacon Hill and I was home. It looked like the drive was likely to take an hour tonight, and this was one night when I didn’t need that. But there was nothing I could do.

We made it a block, ten precious quiet minutes, before she spoke again.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” she asked.

I frowned. “It doesn’t matter.”

She shuddered. “Yes. It does. Did … did you sleep with me? After?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I hate you. You took my life.” It showed in the empty inflection of her voice.

I sighed. “If you must. If it makes it easier for you.”

“What the f*ck is that supposed to mean?”

“Karin,” I replied. “I ... I’m sorry. I wish I’d done it differently. I wish ...”

“What do you wish?” she asked, her voice laden with disgust. “That we’d never married?”

I shrugged. “It would have been wiser.”

“Because now I’m a big f*cking inconvenience for you, aren’t I?”

Traffic stopped again. Huntington ran under a bridge near the front entrance to Symphony Hall. I leaned my head against the steering wheel, frustrated and angry and wishing I could be anywhere else on earth.

“It’s not a matter of convenience,” I said to the steering wheel. “We haven’t been happy. We don’t want the same things.”

“Married couples compromise, Gregory. That’s what it’s all about.”

I straightened up. “Compromise, yes. But you don’t give up who you are. You don’t give up everything about you.”

She shook her head and turned away. “And you think she’ll be any different? That she won’t expect you to be a husband? Instead of a robot who plays the cello and sleeps and looks at me like I’m not even here?”

I winced. Because the first thought that ran through my head was, Savannah would be worth that change. I didn’t have any problem envisioning changing my schedule, giving up eighteen-hour practice days. In fact, when I thought of Savannah, I thought of us … improvising ... live in front of an audience. I saw us laughing. I saw her hair, splayed out on my pillow. I saw … love.

I glanced away from Karin, twisting my grip on the wheel again, and looking at the traffic ahead, which wasn’t moving at all. And my eyes trended upward, up to the overpass.