The Middle of Somewhere(47)

Liz made taco salads for dinner, and they each had a beer. The air was stale inside the house, so they went out to the tiny patio at the rear and sat side by side in plastic chairs facing a stucco wall. They could see the tips of the Sandias beyond their neighbor’s roof.

She hadn’t planned to say anything that night in particular. Her bare legs were glued to the seat, and she stared at nothing in the colorless sky. The weight of the hot air reminded her of the lead apron at the dentist’s office.

Gabriel asked if she wanted to go to Santa Fe for the weekend. The interval between visits to their families had increased with the distance between them.

A cricket rubbed a leg against its back, scraping out a dry chirp.

“I had an affair.” She hadn’t realized the affair had ended until she heard herself use the past tense. She turned to him, her movements dragging, laden with dread.

He’d been about to take a swig from his beer. His hand paused for a beat in midair, then he tipped his head back and drank. He swept his thumb across his lips, his gaze straight ahead. “That’s not funny, Liz.”

“I wasn’t joking. I’m sorry.”

He twisted toward her. “You had an affair.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it.” His tone was neutral but his face, in sharp relief from the patio light, betrayed uncertainty.

She waited, unsure of what he would do and whether to say more, wishing she’d thought it through. Wishing she hadn’t said anything.

His eyes locked on hers. She wanted to look away, but could not. Her throat cinched shut.

He said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

She couldn’t speak. His face became blurry. She managed a nod and wiped the tears from her eyes.

He leaned toward her, his eyes dark. “Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s true. It’s over.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? That’s it?”

She picked at the label on her beer, dredging inside herself for the words for feelings she did not understand.

“Why, Liz? Why the hell did you do it?”

“I’m really sorry, Gabriel.”

He bent over his legs with his head in his hands. A few moments passed. He was breathing loudly through his nose, his shoulders rising and dropping with each breath. “You promised,” he said to the ground, his voice thick.

Her mind flashed to their wedding day. She remembered how happy and relieved she had felt when Russ handed her to Gabriel, but the feeling was trapped inside a glass box, like a keepsake or a relic. As she stared at the nape of her husband’s neck, she thought of coming out of the bedroom late at night and finding him hunched over his computer. She thought of how she’d come to resent Sundays and The New York Times. She thought of all the times he had promised to come to bed, to talk to her, to spend time with her. “So did you.”

He sat up and glared at her. His jaw muscles scooted back and forth under his skin like trapped fish. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I trusted you.”

“You trusted me? What did I do? Huh, Liz? What f*cking crime did I commit?” He jumped out of his seat, strode to the wall, fists clenched at his sides. He spun around. “I can’t believe you’re making this my fault. What’s wrong with you?”

Gabriel’s anger and hurt came off him in sheets, smothering her. She shrank in her chair, her flash of righteousness gone. She was suddenly unsure she had tried hard enough to bring her husband back to her. Had she done anything? Had her marriage been terrible enough to justify this? A sinkhole opened in her chest. She gripped the edge of the chair in desperation. She was falling.

Gabriel stormed past her.

She stood. “Gabriel—”

He stopped at the back door and turned to her, his eyes red, his jaw set. “Save it, Liz.” He yanked the door open, slamming it against the side of the house. She heard him pick up his car keys from the hall table and leave. She never saw him again.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





Liz and Dante left Muir Ranch the following morning, facing the rising sun across Shooting Star Meadow. The grasses were burdened with dew. Liz, tired from a poor night’s sleep, walked in silence. Dante trailed several steps behind her and offered small talk when they stopped to drink or have a snack. Their packs were at their heaviest, both bear cans filled to the brim with food for nine days. It was cruel, she mused, this fact should coincide with the climb ahead of them today, one of the toughest of the entire trip—a total of three thousand feet of elevation gain over twelve miles. The summation sounded gradual but the topo map indicated otherwise. The climb occurred predominantly in two sections, where the contour lines were compressed as if pinched shut. A long, hard day.