Halfway to the door I turn back to face him. “Do not say a word to Geoff, you understand? As far as he’s concerned, I know nothing. If I find out you’ve told him that I know, or that we even spoke, I swear to God I will turn you over to the police. Am I clear?” My mouth is so tight I can barely speak.
Then a voice rings out from behind the door: “Everything all right in there?”
I lean close and point a finger so close to his face I could almost stab him in the eye. “I can’t imagine you’d want your mother to know you’re involved in some sordid blackmail scam, either. So don’t test me, Ryan.”
I sit in my car and I cry, because I’m so stupid and I’m humiliated and I think of my mother, because I always think of my mother when I get this overwhelming certitude that deep down, I’m a bad person and I deserved this. I think of that day when Geoff undid the top button of my shirt and I was flattered. I thought it was sexy. So what did I expect? I give myself a pass and look what happens: bad things, that’s what. Just like Geoff said. Bad things happen to women like you.
Thirty-Four
I get home, and Luis is instantly at me, itching for a fight.
“Where were you? What happened with Matti this afternoon? I got all these calls from the soccer club, from you… what the hell? Where were you? Did you forget? Did you have your phone off?”
He waves his phone at me then drops it on the table.
“I’m sorry!” I repeat, for the umpteenth time. I reach for a bottle of red and check it against the light. I grab a tumbler from the shelf and set it on the table.
“You’re drinking too much.”
“Oh, be quiet.”
“Honestly, Anna. You look exhausted.”
“I am.” I rub my hands over my eyes. They feel tender and swollen. He pulls out a chair and sits down heavily.
“Where are the kids?” I ask.
“In their rooms.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “The police wanted to see me this afternoon.”
I set the glass down with a bang. “What?”
“They wanted to ask me about you.”
“About me?”
After a pause he says, “I need to tell you something.”
He takes my hand, holds it, and I watch his face slowly become distorted with sadness. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
I am on feet so fast I almost knock my chair over. “Don’t say it,” I urge. Don’t say it, Luis, if you do it will be real, please, Luis. Don’t say things we can’t come back from. It’s me, only me, remember? Remember how you would do anything to keep me forever? Remember? You love me so much, and I’m still here, baby. It’s you and me, against the world.
But I’m too slow. He says it.
“I’ve been having an affair.”
And there it is. The confession, in all its pathetic, self-serving glory. I reach for another bottle of wine, having finished the first one. When I sit back down I’m shaking and I spill some on the table. Luis pretends not to notice. I think he’s grateful for the distraction as he tells me that it started, months ago, around April. I don’t tell him, yes, I know all about it, you can stop now. Spare me the sorry details. I already have them anyway. I’ve been chewing on them relentlessly for some time now. And what did she do to deserve such a pretty necklace? Was it a gift in celebration of the happy news, perhaps? A baby! Everybody loves a baby!
No. I don’t tell him any of that. I just listen to his story, from which all the sharp edges have been smoothed down and rounded. So it’s not so bad, really.
He was working on the show with Isabelle, he says, planning the pieces; they worked late one night, had a drink, one thing led to another.
“Well, that’s original,” I quip.
“I don’t want to make excuses,” he says, before proceeding to make excuses. “She was so… she loved my work, Anna… She looked up to me. I know it’s stupid but it felt good! To be wanted like that.”
I try not to smash my glass into his face as I say all the predictable things. I love your work, too. I look up to you. I want you like that.