Дуглас Кеннеди - Five Days

Bing. Back came the reply.

Concert was boring. Have an essay now to write on Edith Wharton. B-o-r-i-n-g. Dad says you have hangover. Cool.

My daughter the purveyor of a literary style that could best be described as ‘sullen adolescent minimalist’. I dreaded to think the volcanic reaction that would follow my revelation to her about the major upheaval that was going to change the contours of our family life. But first. there was the rest of this wonderful weekend to get through.

Richard’s phone binged a few times when we were dressing. He glanced in a cursory manner at the screen but chose to send no replies.

‘Everything OK?’ I asked.

‘Just some business stuff,’ he said. ‘I’ve got this client — has about five hardware stores in the Lewiston/Auburn area — thinks he can call me day or night when he’s got a claim on the go. The thing is, one of his warehouses burned down three weeks ago. A disgruntled employee lit the match. The guy’s still on the run. My client suffered close to four hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage. Between ourselves, because he’s had a couple of bad years, the insurance inspectors and the cops are wondering whether he might have talked the “disgruntled employee” into playing arsonist.’

‘You are going to write this story, right?’

‘Actually, it does have a nice James M. Cain feel to it. ’

‘Especially if you could add a femme fatale to it.’

‘You amaze me,’ he said.

‘Because I know who James M. Cain is?’

‘Because you’re so insanely smart.’

I kissed him.

‘Almost as smart as you.’

He kissed me.

‘You’re smarter,’ he said.

I kissed him.

‘You’re being kind.’

He kissed me.

‘Just accurate.’

‘I so love you.’

‘I so love you.’

On the way out of the hotel Richard stopped by the front desk to tell the woman there that we’d be staying in the suite another night. She checked its availability and said: ‘No problem.’

The gods were, without question, with us. Especially as we stepped out into another dazzling autumn day. The sun incandescent. The sky devoid of clouds. A light wind cascading the fallen leaves. The city spread out before us, so welcoming, so freighted with the great possibilities. Richard took my hand as we crossed into the Common.

‘Just yesterday. ’ I said.

‘Just yesterday. ’

He didn’t have to complete the thought. Just yesterday the world was different. And today.

‘Let’s go back and look at the outside of the apartment,’ I said.

‘I’m for that.’

We walked hand in hand across the Common, talking, talking, talking. About getting down here the weekend after next to meet with Richard’s contractor friend to discuss the renovations on the apartment. And also finding out who was conducting the Boston Symphony Orchestra that weekend, and trying to get seats. And yes, we would finally get to the Institute of Contemporary Arts that weekend. And we should also find out what’s going on at one of the interesting professional theater companies around town.

‘Leave all that to me,’ I said. ‘I’ll play Cultural Event Organizer.’

‘And I’ll find us the hotel and arrange the appointment with my builder friend from Dorchester, Pat Laffan. Surprise, surprise, Pat is a retired Boston Irish cop turned builder. A rather plain-spoken guy, Pat, but reasonably honest. which is rare to find in a builder.’

‘We could also start looking at furniture then. if that isn’t rushing things.’

‘I like the fact that we’re rushing things. We’re right to be rushing things.’

Ah, romantic discourse! How we both revelled in it — like two strangers who had separately thought: I’ll never master the French language, and then woke up next to each other one morning to discover they were speaking it together with a fluency and a confidence that had seemed impossible before then. How we both wanted this love. How we both knew it was so right. I wanted to gush romantic. Just as I also wanted to tell myself that the shared will to make this wonderful was so immense that we were naturally going to cohabit beautifully and deal with the usual domestic stuff with an ease and a grace that comes out of knowing what a sad marriage is like on a year-in, year-out basis.

Again Richard seemed to be reading my thoughts as he stopped and took my hands and, looking directly at me, said:

‘You know and I know we’re still figuring each other out, still wondering if this can be actually happening, and if we can truly create this life together we so want. But the truth is, absolutely. I have no doubt about it. None at all.’

‘Nor do I.’

And we kissed again.

Half an hour later we were in a restaurant on Newbury Street, having a late brunch, discussing how we would negotiate the next few complex days with our respective spouses.

‘My desire is to simply tell Dan the truth when I get home tomorrow night,’ I said. ‘As I said earlier, I know it will hit him hard. I know he will be stunned by the news, then furious. I want to just get it over with — because I don’t want to have to go through the motions of pretending that all is normal when I am longing all the time for you. But there is one major consideration here — the fact that he starts this new job tomorrow and will be exhausted from his first early-morning shift. Mind you, he will be working a four-day-on, three-day-off week, so—’

‘So why don’t you wait until Thursday evening — when he can absorb the news without having to then face work a few hours later?’

‘It’s the kinder option — not that there’s anything kind at all about this. Still, given that I work until five-thirty Tuesday through Friday of this week, and he’ll be going to bed around eight to get up at four a.m., we will be ships passing through the night for the next few days — which is a blessing. The few days means I can see my friend Lucy and start quietly moving some basic things into the apartment over her garage. So when I give him the news Friday after I come home from work I can sleep that night at Lucy’s. It also means I can tell Sally that afternoon — and not have her reeling and having to go to school the next day. If she wants to come over with me that night to Lucy’s, that’s an option. But knowing her she’ll run to her boyfriend. Which might not be a bad thing. Then I have to do the early shift on Saturday at the hospital, but plan to meet Ben late Saturday afternoon in Portland for dinner — which means I can then tell him directly. I’m pretty certain he’ll take the news a lot better than his sister. and I’m really thinking out loud here, aren’t I?’

Richard smiled and reached for my hand (we were always reaching for each other’s hand, always there to reassure each other).

‘It’s huge what we’re about to do,’ he said. ‘And it is going to hurt people with whom we’ve lived for years. So, of course you have to be considering how best to break the news in a way where it can be absorbed as best as possible. Part of me thinks that Muriel, even if she is privately knocked sideways by the news, will probably come on all cold and vindictive — which is, I’m afraid, her usual style. But that will be no bad thing. Better arctic chill than a wildfire. And if you plan to tell Dan on Friday I’ll do it the same night.’

‘Then maybe we should meet somewhere afterwards. I mean, the idea of not seeing you from tomorrow morning until Thursday. ’

‘Could you sneak away maybe Tuesday evening?’

‘Actually, that would work fine. I could tell Dan I’m having dinner with Lucy, and could meet you.?’

‘Could we meet at Lucy’s apartment?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And then, on Thursday. ’