Maybe it’s because he’s been so busy. And yet, right now, as I stare at him in silence, I’d give anything for him to look up, to see me, to ask me what is wrong even though I can’t tell him. Just so I know he sees me.
But he doesn’t.
“Good,” I say, finally. “I’ll see you inside.”
The laundry is still sitting in the washing machine. I could call out Carla on it, but I don’t have the energy and I just shove it in the dryer, then proceed to make dinner.
Luis returns, opens a bottle of wine and gets plates out. Normally—a word that right now makes me want to hoot with laughter—we eat together at the table. I always insist on that. But because of the kids’ play, which luckily is only twenty minutes or so, we’re eating at the coffee table in the lounge.
I go through the motions. I laugh when Luis laughs, clap when Luis claps. I’m unable to comprehend what’s happening but I do my darnedest to hide it, and I’m grateful that I have something to look at other than the images in my own mind. When the performance is over, we give feedback, which in my case consists of repeating everything Luis says, but with different words, and telling them how wonderful they both were. Afterwards, they go to their room to finish homework and Luis says he has to go back to the studio to work.
“I have so much to do,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “I understand.” But deep down I wish he would stay. We could sit on the couch and he would put his arm around me, and we could talk of other things, simple things, family things, and I could forget about Alex and maybe even pretend it never happened.
Then it hits me, the enormity of what I’ve done, and for a moment I can’t catch my breath. I mumble something about going to the bathroom and I sit there on the edge of the bathtub, my head in my hands. What have I done? What’s the matter with me? I should never have bolted like this. I should have called an ambulance, explained what happened. I bet his system is full of drugs. I didn’t need to tell them about the letter but I didn’t think. I panicked, and now it’s too late, because there’s no way I can tell anyone now. What would I say? I forgot? I prevaricated? Then changed my mind?
When I get back to the living room, Luis is shrugging his jacket on.
“I’ll be at the studio till late. Don’t wait up,” he says, then takes off on his bicycle. Later, after the kids go to bed, I watch an episode of Martha’s Vineyard Mysteries. I can’t concentrate on the plot—I just watch the scenery, the boats, the sea, the pretty houses—and by the time Luis comes home, I’ve worked myself into such a state of anxiety that I have to pretend to be asleep so he can’t see the fear in my eyes.
Seven
The next day, and I’m doing it all over again. Except that I have not slept, so my brain is frazzled. Sometimes it zaps, literally zaps, with a sharp noise like someone has cracked a whip inside my skull.
I’ve carefully made up my face, and put on my colorful Mona print shirtdress. I even made pancakes for breakfast. Matti shrieked with excitement and Carla gave me her brightest smile. I love seeing them happy. I love it so much I almost cried.
“Knock, knock! Ready for the staff meeting?”
Rohan stands in the doorway. I stare at him for a second too long and he lifts an eyebrow. Still no news about Alex. “Oh, staff meeting. Right.” I’d completely forgotten. I make a show of checking my watch. “Wow, ten o’clock already. Be right there.” I expect him to leave but he doesn’t, so I get to my feet and I do what I always do, which is to reach for my laptop. But then I think, You know what? Forget it. Let someone else take minutes for a change. But I change my mind back because I need to act normal. I grab it and carry it under my arm.
“Sorry about the professorship,” Rohan says. I turn to look at him, unexpected tears nipping at the back of my eyes; partly because I know he means it, partly because I’ve been holding back tears for hours now, and they’re threatening to be