Space. It only meant one thing. He was meeting her to be polite and tell her it was over. The handwriting was on the wall so loud and clear it looked like graffiti. All she could do now was wait.
She didn't even bother to put on makeup the next morning. There was no point. He didn't care anyway. If he loved her, and wanted her, he would have called her from the boat in the past two weeks, or seen her the night before. He hadn't. He might love her, but he didn't want her. All she had to do now was get through the agony of hearing him tell her. She was a wreck by the time he showed up at the center.
“Hi,” he said, standing awkwardly in her office doorway. “How've you been? You look great.” But he was the one who looked great, in a gray business suit with a deep tan. After worrying all night, and lying awake, thinking about him, she looked and felt like shit.
“Where do you want to go for lunch?” She wanted to get it over with, and was sorry now she hadn't called him to cancel. He obviously thought he had to do it in person. He didn't. He could have called her on the phone to dump her. “Do you really want to eat?” she asked, looking discouraged. “Do you want to just talk here?” But he knew as well as she did that there were constant interruptions. Kids walked in, counselors, volunteers. The whole world walked into her office. It was the hub of the wheel.
“Let's go out.” He was being painfully polite and looked strained. She grabbed her coat and followed him out of the building. “Mo's or Sally's?” he asked her. She didn't care. She couldn't eat anyway.
“Whatever you like.” He picked Mo's, it was closer, and they walked down the block in silence. Mo waved at her when they walked in, and Carole tried to smile. Her face felt wooden, her feet felt like cement, and there was a brick in her stomach. She could hardly wait to get it over with, and go back to her office so she could cry in peace.
They sat down at a corner table and they both ordered salads. He didn't look hungry either. “How was the rest of your trip?” she asked politely, and then they spent the next half hour picking around at their salads, and eating little. She felt like she was going to the guillotine.
“I'm sorry if I upset you before you left the boat. I thought about us a lot after you left,” he said. She nodded, waiting for it to happen. She wanted to tell him to hurry up, but just sat staring into space, pretending to listen. She didn't want to hear what he was going to say. She just had to sit there and take it. “There are a lot of reasons why this could work. And a lot of reasons why it couldn't.” She nodded, and wanted to scream. “We come from the same background. We have many of the same interests. We both have a strong philanthropic bent. You also hate my way of life. You want a much simpler lifestyle”—he smiled at her—“although your house is no simpler than mine. I think you like my boat, and you're a good sailor. We're not after each other's money. We both went to Princeton.” He droned on until she thought she was going to die, and finally she looked at him, wanting to put them both out of their agony. It had gone on for long enough.
“Just say it, Charlie. I can take it. I'm a big girl. I've been divorced. Just get it over with, for chrissake.” He looked shocked.
“What do you think I'm saying?”
“That it's over. I get it. You don't have to dress it all up and gift-wrap it for me. You didn't even have to take me to lunch. In fact, I wish you hadn't. You could have called me or sent me an e-mail. 'Get lost.” 'Fuck you.' Something. I can pick up the clues if you give me a hint. You've been hinting for three weeks. So if you're going to dump me, just do it.” It was a relief to spit it out. He was staring at her strangely, as though he didn't know what to say now. She had said it all for him.
“Is it over for you?” He looked deeply unhappy as