Nocturne(95)

“Goodbye,” she whispered. She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears, and I knew that I was.

I hung up the phone. I felt unaccountably angry, and I knew it wasn’t fair. It’s not as if it were Karin’s fault. But the anger was there, and it sharpened when I pulled up to the curb and saw her coming out of the door of the terminal, dragging two suitcases.

The thought that ran through my head was this: why does she need two suitcases for a single overnight trip? Which led to wondering if she was planning on staying longer and just hadn’t mentioned it?

Not logical. Not reasonable. But my anger pushed through regardless.

I pulled up to the curb and stepped out of the car, my eyes squinting from the intense summer glare. I’d left my sunglasses somewhere, and I already had a headache coming on. I left the emergency lights blinking, the car running, and walked across the concrete toward Karin.

She looked fatigued. Circles under her sad eyes. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. She wore a canary sleeveless dress with matching heels. The dress was a familiar one ... very familiar. She’d worn it three years ago, the day I proposed marriage. Irrationally, I felt angry. That dress, along with hair suddenly bleached to look like she’d had it years ago, felt like giant traps.

My stomach tightened as I approached her. She would expect a kiss. An embrace. Something. It had been a long time since we’d been very touchy. But now? After I’d had Savannah in my arms. After I’d felt that … warmth, that outpouring of love, or longing, of our souls touching? After that, just the idea of touching Karin drowned me in desolation.

I reached out and took one of her suitcases, and she put her arms around me. I returned the embrace with one arm and kissed her on the cheek. Because anything less would be … cruel.

I was rigid as I walked her to the car and opened the trunk, then lifted her bags in. By the time I closed the trunk she was inside the car, and I walked around, got in and cranked it up.

“How was your flight?” I asked. For the time being, neutral topics would be best.

She shrugged. “I’ve been through worse. You know I hate flying.”

I swallowed. Of course I knew that. I hadn’t considered it at all when I insisted on her coming out here. I creased my brows, wondering what that said about me. After all, on Tuesday we had a two-day break in the tour coming. I could have simply flown back to Boston then and had this conversation there.

Except ... Savannah and I had made plans for those two days. We’d talked about them ... breathlessly, because we were both planning to slip away from the tour, which would be stopped in Tacoma, Washington. We had reservations in Vancouver, where we could be assured of being away from everyone for two full days.

Two beautiful days.

I’d not even considered going home during those two days.

I’d not considered Karin at all.

I’d not even thought of her.

What kind of person did that make me? I didn’t know the answer to that. Selfish? Self-absorbed? I didn’t know how to reconcile the intense love I felt for Savannah with the fact that I was married to this woman. This obviously heartbroken woman who sat beside me in the car.

We barely spoke the rest of the way back to the hotel. Inconsequential things. I asked how her job was going. She spoke for a few minutes about the very substantial grant the conservatory had just received from the Rockefeller family fund, or Ford, or some other huge foundation.

I pulled the car into the valet parking lane at the hotel and popped the trunk. I checked my watch. It was 5:30 p.m. “Why don’t we grab dinner?”

I passed a five-dollar bill to the porter and gave him my room number. “Please take the bags up,” I said. Then I led Karin to the restaurant.

Five minutes later we were seated in the restaurant at the edge of the seven-story atrium. Our table was off to the side, away from most of the other tables, and most importantly, away from the bar, where several members of the orchestra were having a round of drinks. We didn’t have a performance until the next night, so apparently it was time for some hard drinking.

When the waitress approached, I ordered a margarita for Karin and a gin and tonic for me. Despite my occasional inattention to her feelings, I knew what she drank.

“So ...” she said once the drink arrived. “You were insistent I fly out. Are we going to continue to dodge the subject? Or are you going to tell me what this is about?”

I leaned back, wincing a little, then rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. The throbbing in my head was growing louder by the minute.

She shook her head then took a drink from her margarita. “Spit it out, Gregory. It’s not like you to dance around uncomfortable topics.”

I grimaced and said, “Did you stop taking birth control pills?”

She stared at me over her drink and gave a soft, half laugh. “Why do you ask?”

In a very quiet, even tone, I said, “Because we discussed this. We discussed it to the point of nausea. You know I don’t want to have children.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “We didn’t discuss it, Gregory. Every time I bring it up, you make pronouncements. That isn’t a discussion ... it’s not a discussion when you refuse to compromise.”

“Are you f*cking kidding me? What compromise is there? Either we have kids or we don’t. There’s no meeting halfway on this topic. And I’ve been clear since well before we got married that I do not intend to have children!”