trying to keep the life inside, but the movement of its moist nostrils died out, and with it any final hope that he might make it back home.
He grabbed the pack and abandoned the car with the door hanging open as the rest of the scattered herd lowed at him, agitated and alive. He grew smaller in the shimmering distance and soon disappeared around the bend.
She called and called again. He let the phone ring into voice mail. He let the battery die. His right eye closed up from conjunctivitis and the pharmacist recommended that he see an ophthalmologist, but he settled for nonprescription drops that took effect slowly. Passing a downtown bank with an electronic clock, he noticed the date. He counted backward. Sixteen days earlier, it had been his birthday.
He recharged the battery using the men’s-room outlet in a visitor center. He discovered fourteen messages waiting for him. One was from Becka wishing him a happy birthday. The others were from Jane. He had meant to be self-preserving, not cruel, in not calling her back, but he understood now that he could not have it both ways.
Still, he waited. The sun infused the green skin of the tent. He was staring up at it, preparing himself to rise and pack, when the phone rang. He answered in a voice he hadn’t heard in days, maybe weeks. She spoke faster than he was accustomed to.
“Do you think I wanted this to happen? I wanted you. How many times have I called you since I came back from France? Twenty? I’m not trying to be heartless. This thing with Michael, it just happened. These things happen. Do you know how long you’ve been gone? Do you know it gets lonely? It gets so lonely. I didn’t intend this. I kept telling you to come home. You told me to remarry. Go on with your life, you said. Well, that’s what I did, I went on with my life. I went to France with a man I like. Can you blame me for that? You can’t because you told me to. I’m not in the wrong here. All you had to do was come home, Tim. I kept telling you that. Come home. I’m telling you now. None of this matters. France, it doesn’t matter. It was nice being taken care of for a while, that’s all. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t nice. But it’s not what I want. I want you. Say you’ll come home, and I’m yours. I’ll come get you. I’ve always been willing to come get you. Are you there?”
He didn’t reply.
“Say something. You won’t call me back and when you finally pick up the phone you won’t even talk. Say something, please. Say what you’re thinking.”
“I’m happy for you, banana.”
She began to cry into the phone. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“I never imagined one of us taking a vacation without the other.”
Her sob came from deep down in her chest. He told her she had nothing to be sorry for. She was exactly right. He had told her to do it.
“Can’t you come home?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“I honestly can’t,” he said.
The call ended. He had told her to go on with her life only because her love and constancy had been so true for so long, he never dreamed they would actually be taken away.
She called a few months later to see if he would agree to make their separation official. Michael had asked her to marry him.
He was quiet. Finally he said that a few days prior, he had passed a Mail Boxes Etc., where he thought he could open up a mailbox. She could have the paperwork sent there.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind,” he said.
“Maybe the lawyer can just fax it.”
“Either way,” he said.
He spent a few days walking back to the Mail Boxes Etc. during his downtime and then called her with the fax number.
“I’m not asking for anything,” she told him.
He didn’t understand. Then it dawned on him that she meant money.
“You should take what you need,” he said. “I’ll sign whatever you send me.”
“I don’t need anything,” she said.
He walked, and after he woke he returned to the Mail Boxes Etc. and found the fax waiting for him. The woman at the counter was also a notary public and together they signed the paperwork. Then he paid to have it faxed back to the lawyer.