Aerogrammes and Other Stories - By Tania James Page 0,65

you’ve been every day? Peeping from some kid’s tree house?”

Hank lowered his gaze. Maybe it was the dimming light, but his eyes had never looked more swollen. “Here or the library.”

“Did you find her there?”

“Oh no. She probably retired a long time ago.”

“Well, she also remarried, if you want to know the truth.”

Hank bowed his head. Gina almost wished she could take back the news, but she continued, quickly, hoping to minimize the pain. “I looked her up on the Web.”

“What web?”

“I think she lives in Illinois, but who knows, she could’ve moved again. She could have grandkids. She could be dead. You have no idea!”

Hank blinked, quietly processing the news. He returned his gaze to the window, calm as the day Gina first met him. “Sometimes I think I see her in the kitchen, like before. I know it’s probably not her, but it’s a possibility. It’s better than nothing at all.” Hank looked at Gina. “I think you know the feeling.”

Gina leaned back against the wall, averting her gaze so he wouldn’t see her tearing up. She concentrated on the potpourri of dried leaf in her palm. Yes, that was a feeling she knew very well.

While Hank waited in the passenger seat of the car, Gina apologized to Mr. Adler, promising that Hank wouldn’t frequent the tree house anymore. As she drove Hank home, he stared straight ahead with the unseeing eyes of a statue, the brim of his fedora pulled down.

Gina gripped the wheel with both hands as she tunneled through the fog. The car bobbed up and down hills, swung around sickled trees, not a single taillight or streetlamp to guide the way. Here she was, crawling along with Hank beside her, and never more frightened, more alone.

At last Gina pulled into the half-circle driveway, but she didn’t turn off the car. They sat without speaking. She looked out the window at her pale, glowing house.

She remembered moving into Jeremy’s house and how it shocked her, all the noises he made. Horking into the sink, or retorting at talk radio, or belting out the chorus of a song. It drove her crazy. Once, she heard a violently loud slapping sound coming from the bathroom. She knocked. He stood there, bare-chested, baffled, lotion on his hands. “What?” he said. “I’m just lotioning.” That was the story she had wanted to tell at his funeral, but she didn’t know if anyone would find comfort in it, or how to explain why she did.

And now dread filled her chest at the thought of this silent house looming before her, and all the silent afternoons to come.

Gina told Hank of her promise to Mr. Adler, that he wouldn’t return to the tree house anymore.

“I can’t promise that,” Hank said finally.

Gina nodded. For a moment, they said nothing.

Hank placed his hand on the door handle. “Coming?”

“You go ahead,” she said.

“Scrabble?”

“Not tonight. I need some rest.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

Gina shook her head.

Hank lightly knocked his knuckles against the door. “I think I’ll put on a record.”

Their eyes met, and Gina’s stomach clenched. “I’m sorry, Hank.”

He gave a small shrug, and then: “We tried.”

She watched him enter the house.

After he closed the door, Gina continued around the driveway and idled at the curb. She looked up at the tower’s round, lit window like a second yellow moon. For an instant, she felt herself again on the front step of the Tolliver House, giddy and hopeful, about to meet Hank for the very first time. It wasn’t simply the house that had wooed her, or the cars, or the money, or even his cinematic smile. In marrying Hank, she thought she could marry herself to a realm where Jeremy still existed, even if only as the faintest echo between her ears.

Gina turned onto the street, in the direction of her sister’s house. She took a narrow, empty road. Halfway there, she was stopped at a red light when she began to weep. Move on! Ami whispered in one ear. Wait, come back, Jeremy said in the other. And though no one was around, Gina pressed both hands to her car horn for three whole seconds. She then sat, breath held, in the silence.

Acknowledgments

• • •

My heartfelt thanks to Nicole Aragi and Jordan Pavlin for their friendship and guidance. Thank you also to Christie Hauser, Leslie Levine, and the wonderful Knopf team. My friends and teachers from Columbia University put their effort and wisdom into these stories, with excellent last-minute assists by Jenny Assef, Alena Graedon, Nellie