by BETH KERY
“I killed him,” I said to him for the first time. “You know that, don’t you?”
His hand moved, cupping my face tenderly. “No. I don’t know that. You were merely there to witness his lifetime of sins catching up to him.”
“I was the embodiment of his sins,” I said. “And I knew that when I went into that tunnel, Evan. He was the foulest thing I could ever imagine. But he was a human being. And I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to pay. I pushed him until his heart gave out on him. And I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t, honey. Don’t make a choice to suffer. Choose not to carry this around for your whole life.” His thumb moved on my cheek. “You were innocent in all this, Anna.”
“I was innocent,” I said, my gaze touring his face. I had never loved him more than I did in that moment, when I knew for certain I’d lost him.
“Until I wasn’t anymore,” I whispered softly.
The next morning, I saw him enter the garage just as I was placing my suitcase in the car. I looked away from his face and slammed the trunk shut. I thought I’d seen hollow grief in his expression many times before, but that had been just a trace of what I saw now.
“I thought we decided you wouldn’t watch me drive away,” I said, avoiding his eyes at all costs.
“I know I agreed I wouldn’t try to stop you, no matter what you decided. I lied, I guess. I can’t stand it, Anna.”
“You have to. I have to. Us staying together, it just doesn’t make sense.”
His fingers slid gently beneath my chin. At his urging, I met his stare reluctantly.
“It doesn’t matter what brought us together. The only thing that matters is now. This moment. We were meant to be together.”
“It does matter, what brought us together. It’s like you said before: Noah Madaster—all of the Madasters that came before me: They taint everyone. Everything. That includes us, Evan.”
“I know what this is about. You can’t forgive me. Can you?”
I shut my eyes. I couldn’t bear this. Grief suffocated me.
“Maybe I could. In time. I don’t know. But it’s not just that.” I opened my eyes, entreating him to understand with my gaze. “I love you. I’ll always love you. But it’s all become so twisted. No matter what we do, no matter how much time passes, Elizabeth came first. She’ll always have come first. We were only us because of Elizabeth. And she’s gone now, Evan.”
He looked like death in my blurry vision.
“You’re still my wife,” he said. “You’ll always be my wife, Anna. You’ll never want for anything. Just tell me what you need, and you’ll have it.”
I stifled a whimper, and turned away. I jerked open the car door and sat behind the wheel. Using every last ounce of my will, I slammed shut the door, separating us with a final bang.
Evan was wrong.
I would be left wanting for the rest of my life.
Epilogue
One Year Later
I waited on the other side of the entryway while a dozen chattering tween art students passed by, each hauling a sketchpad and collapsible stool. My gaze lingered on their faces: this one full of laughter, this one reserved, this one sparkling with excitement, all of them beautiful and fresh. Innocent. I remembered my own art class at age twelve, and the thrill of going to the Art Institute in Chicago to view and copy the masters there.
It seemed like forever ago.
I was in San Francisco for a showing at Tommy Higoshi’s gallery. Six months ago, on a trip to the city to visit Lorraine’s new doctor, I’d reconnected with Tommy. We’d gone out to dinner. Over a bottle of Lafitte Rothschild, he’d confessed how Noah Madaster had gotten to him last year. He explained that Noah had called him and insisted Tommy tell him every detail he knew about me, and about Evan’s courtship of me. Tommy had refused at first.
But then, Noah’s trademark manipulations began.
Tommy had explained to me that Noah had somehow gained knowledge that years ago, Tommy had paid off a Federal Drug Administration official to push his medical technology through the long and difficult testing process… to put Tommy’s product at the front of the line for approval. That knowledge, and the threat of exposure of it, had been Noah’s means of blackmail to get the information he’d wanted about Evan and me.
Tommy had been apologetic and distressed by what he’d done, especially when I told him—while avoiding the dirtier details—that Evan and I had split. I’d taken pains to alleviate Tommy of his guilt. No one knew better than I did Noah’s methods. I was only glad that Tommy and his wife, Ellen, had been harmed only minimally by Noah’s poisonous touch.
Our friendship had resumed. Soon after that, Tommy asked me to do another exhibition at Yume. He’d seen my Tahoe paintings and was eager to show them. I, however, had been dragging my feet about finishing the series.
The collection had been on the verge of completion when the shit had hit the fan at Les Jumeaux. Since then, I’d been hesitant to return to that beautiful, haunted landscape, even in my mind. At some point, I realized why it was so hard for me to finish the series. It made me homesick, thinking of that beautiful place.
Thinking of Evan.
I knew that Evan had left Les Jumeaux and had been working out of both San Francisco and New York. I hated thinking of the Twins standing empty, of their windows looking out at the massive pines, the mountains, and the blue lake with blind, empty eyes.
Tommy’s enthusiasm about a showing had been contagious, though.
Over the past few months, I’d found that I could travel in my mind’s eye to the overlook. It’d helped me, to transfer those stunning images from inside me to the canvas. It’d been a catharsis of sorts.
Tommy had insisted that the last paintings were even better than the earlier ones. He’d called my exhibition “Tahoe: Light and Time.” The showing had taken place yesterday, and by all accounts, had been a huge success.
Now, I was here at the SFMOMA for a quick visit before returning to Lorraine’s and my new home in Half Moon Bay.
With the art students gone, the small portrait gallery I entered was silent and empty. I saw movement to my right. My feet froze midstride.
The room wasn’t empty, after all.
I approached him slowly. He stood in front of my favorite painting by the Nigerian artist of the young girl. He looked rugged and handsome, wearing jeans and a dark gray shirt that made his light eyes seem to glow by contrast. His stare never wavered off my face as I stopped a few feet away from him.
“I thought they’d never leave,” Evan said, nodding in the direction where the kids had just exited. “Or that you’d never come,” he added after a pause.
“You were waiting for me?”
“I thought maybe you’d come today and see her before you went back to Half Moon Bay. I took a chance,” he said, nodding in the direction of the painting of the girl.
Neither of us spoke for a moment. I had the sudden uncomfortable and yet poignant feeling that Evan knew why I’d come to see the painting before I left. I missed what the girl in the portrait represented.
I missed that innocent part of myself.
“I thought maybe you’d come to my showing,” I said, my voice sounding brittle. Seeing him standing there had been a kick to the gut. I knew that Tommy had been in contact with Evan. I had no doubt that he’d told Evan about my exhibition. I’d been jumpy at the showing the entire time, half-convinced that I’d turn and see Evan’s tall form, his steady, all-seeing stare on me. When it became clear he wasn’t coming, I’d resigned myself to a disappointed calm.
Now he stood just feet away, and my calm had disappeared.
“Tommy let me see the showing the night before,” Evan said. He saw my expression and put up a hand in a halting gesture. “Don’t be mad at him. I talked him into it. I wanted to see it. V
ery much. I wanted to see you, too. More so than the paintings. A lot more,” he added with a small smile. “But I figured a crowded showing wouldn’t be an ideal meeting. I thought you’d be nervous enough.
“Your paintings were incredible,” he said after a pause in which I was acutely aware of his searching gaze on my face. “The last ones, especially. They weren’t just made of paint. I felt you in them, Anna.”
“Thanks,” I said, glancing around the gallery and seeing nothing. His presence pulled at all my senses. I couldn’t resist looking at him, despite my disquietude. He glanced over at the painting of the girl.
“You may have lost something, Anna. But those last two paintings you did of Tahoe tell me you’ve gained something, too.”
“But at what cost?” I countered quickly. I immediately regretted my outburst. “So… how long will you be in San Francisco?”
“It depends. A couple days. A couple weeks.” He shrugged. “How is Half Moon Bay? Are you enjoying the new house?”
He referred to the small, comfortable ranch style home I’d recently purchased for Lorraine and me. Evan’s and my divorce had gone through a few months ago. It would have gone through sooner, but we’d argued over the settlement. Or our lawyers had.
I hadn’t spoken at any great length to Evan since that last morning at Les Jumeaux, when I’d left. I had finally prevailed on the settlement, agreeing only to an amount of money that would allow Lorraine and me to live comfortably, if not luxuriously, and sufficient funds for Lorraine’s health and daily care. Evan had wanted to provide more, of course. A lot more. But I couldn’t stand it, living off his guilt.
In the end, he’d conceded to my wishes. But I suspected part of his acquiescence was his knowledge that Lorraine had become a very wealthy woman following Noah’s death. Lorraine had named me as the executor and beneficiary of her estate. I would never take a penny of it, although I didn’t tell Lorraine that. It was Noah’s money, and therefore tainted in my mind. But because of the circumstances, Evan knew that Lorraine and I weren’t without resources. I thought that’s why he’d finally agreed to my terms for the divorce.
“We like the new house a lot. I think Lorraine misses Les Jumeaux though,” I admitted, self-conscious that he’d see the truth. I missed it, as much as my grandmother. “But she seems happy in the new house. The gardens and yard are large… big enough to give her a little wandering space, anyway.”
“How is she?” Evan asked.
I knew that he’d grown closer to Lorraine after I’d left the North Twin. Lorraine had stayed there with him, and her caregiver, for a month or so until I’d found a place to live and sent for her.
“You wouldn’t recognize her,” I said honestly. “It’s amazing what regular attention and care can do. Her doctor actually said she was blooming. Given her mental state, and how she was neglected at Les Jumeaux, it was hard to believe she was barely into her sixties. She looks her age now. Younger. She’s got a lot of good years ahead of her.”
I reached into my purse and extricated my phone. I showed him a photo of Lorraine and me standing on the sunny terrace of our new house. She’d put on a good ten pounds, and I’d started taking her regularly to a hairdresser. But it was her smile that told the story.
“Amazing,” Evan murmured, staring at the photo. His gaze flickered over me. “But I’m not surprised. I know what it’s like.” I raised my eyebrows, confused by his statement. “To be loved by you. It brought me back to life, too. Once.”
He handed me back the phone. I accepted it as a dull roar started up in my ears.
“I’ve missed you, Anna.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Have you?”
I looked up at him. “Of course I have.”
“You never wanted to talk. During the divorce.”
“It was hard enough to get through it as it was; seeing you and hearing you would have only made it harder.”
“I suppose I should be glad that it was hard. At least that means you still care. But I’m not glad. I hate that I’ve contributed to your unhappiness. It stays with me, you know. What I’ve done to you. Every minute of every day.”
“Please don’t say you’re sorry again,” I said in a rush. I didn’t want his apologies anymore. I didn’t want to feel the burden of his guilt. “I don’t want you to be unhappy, Evan. I’m responsible for my own happiness now. I always was, really. I guess we all are, in the end.”
I saw him glance over to one of the entrances into the gallery. A woman had wandered into the room.
“Can we sit down here for a few minutes? There’s something I need to ask you,” Evan said quietly, nodding in the direction of a circular bench at the center of the room.
I suppose he saw my hesitation.
“I won’t take up much of your time, Anna. I promise.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t my time I was concerned about. It was my heart. But something made me nod in agreement. We sat side by side on the bench and stared at the Romare Bearden portrait in front of us. The young woman finally left the gallery, and we were alone again.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think in the past year,” Evan began. “To wonder what would have happened if I’d done things differently. To ruminate, I suppose.”
I wanted to tell him that I wished he wouldn’t, that he would let it all go. Move on. But I would have been a hypocrite to do that. I’d done my share of ruminating, too.
“I know it’s selfish of me, but I can’t help but wonder if time… if being apart… has changed your mind, even a little. About us,” he said.
“Evan, I don’t want to rehash all this.”
“I keep thinking of what you said when you said goodbye at Les Jumeaux. You said that in time, you might be able to forgive me. It was Elizabeth that seemed to be the main stopping point. You said that Elizabeth would always be first, no matter what. It’s true, in a way. Because ultimately, it was her that brought us together. But she wasn’t the first for me, Anna. I want you to know that. I did love her, in a very complex and indelible way. But I didn’t realize until I married you that I wasn’t in love with her. You were my first. You will always be my first.”
“She was your wife, Evan. And she’s my mother.”
He took my hand in his. His touch felt so good, it hurt.
“No. She was a very sad, tortured woman who will always be a part of our lives. Our pasts. But Amanda Solas is your mother, Anna.”
I felt his lips brush lightly against my temple, and choked back a surge of emotion.
“I know you’re not ready to forgive me. Maybe it’ll take years. Maybe it’ll take a lifetime. But I wanted to see you today, to tell you that I’m here. I’ll wait, for as long as it takes—”
“Evan, I can’t talk about a future with you. It’s too much. It’s too… big,” I blurted out. Something wilted inside of me when I saw the shadow cross his face.
“Of course. I understand,” he said stiffly.
I touched his arm when he started to stand. He glanced back at me.
“You didn’t let me finish. I can’t envision a future with you right now.” He started to speak—undoubtedly to repeat his words of sad acceptance. I held up my hand to stop him.
“But I didn’t tell you what I can do,” I said.
He sat back down heavily next to me, his gaze glued to my face. “What can you do?”
I laughed and shook my head. A tear fell across my cheek. “I don’t know. We never did have much of a courtship, did we? So… dinner, maybe? Yeah. I think dinner would be nice.”
I saw something flicker in his eyes. Cautious hope, but hope nonetheless. His hand covered mine. I didn’t know if his hope was warranted or not, but I squeezed his hand back, nevertheless. It was okay, my uncertainty.
Maybe this was a second start. And who of us ever really knows how things will end up wh
en we’re still at the beginning?
