On the other hand, I couldn’t deny that on some deeper, more essential level, none of that mattered. As Anne said, it was right. It was that feeling of yes I had when I first saw them together that afternoon. They had both been so essentially unhappy, plagued by a separateness, a neediness—two unbalanced, unfinished selves who had finally heard an answering cry. Their passion for each other was almost tangible—a kind of music.
As if hearing my thoughts, Anne lifted her head and looked at me.
“You think I can’t do it, don’t you? That I can’t live without all of this?” She looked up into the space that rose above us. Shadows had settled into the corners of the room. “But you’re wrong, Maddie. This is nothing. None of this means anything to me. I can’t wait to leave it behind.”
No, I believed her. I wanted to believe her. Only love can transform us. It is the one true miracle of humankind. I understood its redemptive power. And I knew even then that I could never stand in their way. That I couldn’t even warn them that none of this was going to be easy. Because I knew they wouldn’t hear me. They’d been given a gift; it came with a price. If I’d reached out to stop them, I think they could have walked right through me.
20
It was a little after seven by the time we left the house, and the sun was already sinking behind the distant purple wash of the Catskills. Long ranks of cirrus clouds were underlit with the fiery colors of autumn: deep oranges, reds, and golds. I thought I caught a hint of fall itself in the air: that achingly nostalgic mix of leaf mold and wood smoke. In another month, my children would be back in school. Cricket song filled the night air as we walked down the front path to the turnaround. Anne was driving to my house to pick up Max and Katie, and I was going to follow her back. After Luke walked Anne to her car, he came over as I was buckling my seat belt.
“Give me a ride down?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said. He got in and we followed Anne’s red taillights down the driveway. I think he probably sensed that I was unhappy about agreeing to help him and Anne keep their relationship a secret. Even though I’d insisted that they see each other at Luke’s place and only when Rachel was babysitting. That under no circumstances were the children to be exposed to their affair until Anne had talked to Richard and the separation was official.
“And no cutting corners,” I’d told them. “No phone calls when the children are around. Nothing that would alert them to any of this.”
“We’re not diseased, for heaven’s sakes, Maddie,” Anne had protested with a laugh.
“My daughters have led a very sheltered life,” I told her. “They’re totally innocent, and I intend to keep them that way. I’m especially worried about Rachel. She’s at a really sensitive age and I don’t want your adult decisions confusing her. Do you understand that? If you can’t comply with this, then all bets are off.”
“No, we understand,” Luke had said. “And we agree with you. The children are our biggest concern.”
“I promise you we’ll be careful,” Luke told me now as I turned onto River Road and then made the immediate left into his driveway.
“I hope so,” I said, braking in front of Luke’s darkened house.
“What do you mean?” he said, turning to look at me in the dusk. “Hope so?”
“I’m sorry, Luke,” I said. “But I’ve just found out about all this. It’s a little bit of a shock, you know?”
“Well, okay, let’s talk about that. Turn off the engine for a second.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m tired,” I told him, which was true. “And I’m worried about the girls. I’m not sure when Paul’s coming home. I think I better get going.” But the truth was I really didn’t want to hear his side of things. I knew Anne well enough to realize, now that I understood the situation, she’d been filling me in on the whole affair. She loved to talk, and this was obviously something she was bursting to share with me. I didn’t mind being her confidante; I could handle that. But I knew instinctively that if I heard both sides of the story, I’d have a hard time holding on to my own perspective. I’d be coerced into somehow being the keeper of their flame. This was their decision, their problem, but I already felt implicated in ways that made me feel very uneasy.
“Please,” Luke said. “We need to talk about a few things.” It was the first time in my life that I could remember him ever asking me for anything. Nor had I ever asked him for even the smallest of favors. We’ve always been so wary and distrustful of each other, I think we haven’t wanted to feel beholden or to give the other one the upper hand. But now Luke was changing the rules, or abandoning them altogether. I turned the engine off.
“Thank you,” Luke said. “Do you want to come in?” The house was a dark shadow surrounded by dark shadows, and, for me, enshrouded in memories I’d rather not have to confront.
“No, this is fine,” I told him. “So?”
“So I don’t think you really understand what’s happened,” he said, turning to me. His voice has always been oddly high for a man, and melodious, and when he wants it to be, I realized now, it could also be intimate and compelling. “To me. Us. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. Does that sound crazy to you? Sentimental?”
“Not if you really mean it,” I said. “But, honestly, Luke? You don’t have a particularly good track record when it comes to women.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been a total shit in the past. But I never promised any woman anything before in my life. This is not that, Maddie. This is nothing like that. This is a whole different universe.”
“I don’t want Anne to get hurt,” I told him. “I don’t think she’s really in the best state of mind right now to get involved with anybody new. Especially something like this that seems so—” I was going to say complicated, but he cut me off.
“Overwhelming, I know. And I agree with what you’re saying about Anne. I’m worried about her, too. She’s struggling with a lot of problems—I know that. She’s told me some things about her past, and a lot about her present situation. I’m well aware that she’s been used to a certain kind of lifestyle. And so have the children. We’ve talked a lot about this. These sorts of practical details. She’s actually a lot less worried about it than I am. But she’s seen the way I live; she knows my attitude about things. That she’s just been filling up her life with useless stuff, because she’s been so unhappy. Well, you heard her: she can’t wait to get out of it. To be free.”
“Free?” I asked, turning to face him. “So you’re bringing freedom to poor, enslaved Anne and her kids? Do you have any idea how ridiculously idealistic that sounds? I have a feeling that Richard isn’t going to be particularly delighted about any of this—even if, as Anne says, they were going to leave each other anyway. I have a feeling he’s not going to like having her pull the plug first. And he’ll be furious when he learns who she’s leaving him for, Luke. I’m sure of this. The man has an enormous ego—and he’s a bully. He’s going to be a formidable opponent. He’ll begrudge her every penny, I bet, not to mention make things extremely difficult in terms of custody. I have a lot of problems with Richard Zeller, believe me, but I do think he dotes on those kids.”
“Are you trying to scare me off?” Luke asked, laughing. “Do you really imagine we don’t already know all this? Haven’t talked about it endlessly? But it’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern; I do. I can’t tell you how happy I am to know Anne has a friend like you, someone who really cares about her, who understands how much support she’s going to need, emotionally and otherwise. She’s so lovely and giving, but I know how fragile she is underneath it all. I know how hard this is going to be for her, even though she says otherwise. But don’t you see? That’s what I can offer her that Richard can’t. I understand what she’s going through, and I can give her the love and attention that he doesn’t. Do you know what his solution is to every single one of her problems? The anxiety? Sleeplessness? Agoraphobia? Drugs, drugs, and more drugs. I’ve already talked her into giving up tha
t damned Ambien. What she needs is someone who’s willing to listen, to give her unconditional love every minute of the day. Not just on the fucking weekends. This is exactly where—”
“Luke.” I finally had to interrupt his diatribe. I’d never heard him talk with such passion and conviction, and at the same time sound so erratic and rambling. “Listen. I’m sure that what you’re feeling now is sincere. I don’t doubt that. But how long have you known Anne? Three weeks? And here you talk like you’ve known her forever, and know what’s best for her.”
“Actually, that’s exactly how I feel,” he told me. “Anne and I had an instant and absolute connection with each other. You know, you don’t have to believe everything I’m telling you right now. I realize that this has come as a surprise to you, that you need to let it all sink in. Time’s on my side here, Maddie. You’ll be able to watch me over the months and years to come with Anne. I’ll be able to prove to you then—by doing—everything that I’m telling you now. I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life. We’re going to get married as soon as we legally can. It finally occurred to me the other day what ‘husband’ really means. In the best sense of the word, it’s not a noun, it’s a verb: to take care of, to nurture and protect. That’s what I want to do for Anne. I’ve wondered for a long time why the hell I was put on this earth. Now I know: I’m here for Anne, in every way that she needs me.”
“Luke, that’s—”
“There’s something else I want you to know. I understand now why you made Paul turn state’s evidence back then. I knew you were behind that, of course. He would never admit it to me, but I knew. Detective Riccio probably convinced you that they’d go easy on Paul, if he gave them what they needed.”
“Yes, but Paul never actually—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t need to know what happened; that isn’t the point. What I want to tell you is this: I understand now why you did it. And why Paul agreed. It’s so simple, but for years I didn’t get it. I thought it was really about revenge. Your way of getting back at me for leading Paul down the garden path. But it wasn’t that at all, was it? It was about the two of you wanting to be together. Needing to be.”
“Yes,” I said, because that was what I knew he wanted to hear and what I’d always hoped Paul would believe.
“I don’t think Anne knows about my prison time,” Luke said then, “unless you told her.”
I smelled the sweat on him suddenly, a ripe scent that was no doubt intensified by his afternoon with Anne in bed. And it finally occurred to me what he meant when he said “we need to talk about a few things.” It was this. Not my feelings or concerns.
“No, I haven’t,” I replied. It was not something I would ever willingly share with Anne, or with anyone who didn’t already know the story. Even talking about it now, I felt the old rush of panic and shame. After all these years, it remains an open wound for me, painful, untreatable, something I just don’t want to touch. It’s also a subject that Paul and I very rarely raise, and when we’re forced to do so it’s usually in an elliptical way. Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn’t talk to Rachel—about everything. In many ways, our marriage has been built around the mutual need to separate ourselves from those events. To be something other, different and better. And that’s exactly what we have become. We are respected members of the Red River community. We’re well liked, well known, hardworking. We’re civic-minded, willing volunteers. There’s not a town committee or organization that either Paul or I haven’t served on over the years.
Have most people forgotten? Paul thinks so. I don’t know, really. But those whose lives were most affected by it—my parents, Harry, Dandridge Alden—are all gone now. I think the outline of the story itself still lingers, like the ruins of some old stone foundation by the roadside. Remember that marijuana farm up in the hills somewhere around here? A month ago in Northridge, the police arrested a man selling crack cocaine and methamphetamines to a group of ninth graders. I suppose that, in some respects, what Luke and Paul did seems almost harmless now in comparison. Except to us. The stigma is always there. Though times have changed, I’m still sure that most people today who don’t already know about Paul’s past—his clients, coworkers, suppliers—would be truly shocked to learn that he had served time. It doesn’t matter for what, or even for how long. It doesn’t matter that it all happened almost two decades ago. The fact alone is enough to make people reevaluate what they think about you.
“It’s something you really have to tell her,” I said. It was terrible of me, but my immediate concern was what Anne was going to feel about Paul and me. My daughters. How the news would change the dynamic of our friendship, the careful balance of equality we’ve managed to maintain despite our differences. I realized that just as Luke and I had once competed for Paul’s love, we were both now vying to hold on to Anne’s affection and approval. Telling her the truth about our shared history would threaten this, but I also saw that it had to be done—and soon—before Anne somehow found out on her own.
“I know,” Luke said. “I will. I keep planning to, but then it never seems to be the right time. It’s not going to be easy. I don’t want to … I don’t want to scare her in any way.”
“I understand,” I told him. “But Anne really needs to know.”
“Right,” he said. “You’re right.” I thought that the conversation was over. We sat together in the car, looking out into the soft darkness, not saying anything. I knew I should be heading home. I wanted to get there before Paul did. I didn’t want him to find out about Anne’s negligence from anyone but me. I was already thinking about how I would tell him about the larger story, the one that explained why things happened the way they did that afternoon. I’d certainly need to wait until the girls were in bed, outside in their sleeping bags. Perhaps it would be best if we made love first. Afterward, I could turn to him and say: I have something really kind of weird and wonderful to tell you. I realized then that I was thinking about all of it in terms of “breaking the news” to Paul, as though it was actually a bad thing.
“I really should get—” I began, just when Luke said:
“I really sort of thought my life was over. I felt like I was slowly going numb, losing all feeling. After things fell apart with you guys, I began to think: what the hell is the point? Who would really care if I didn’t wake up some morning? I’m not telling you this to lay anything on you, Maddie. It was all me, my doing. I know that. I was cutting the world off. You know, my mother did the same thing, making her circle of contacts smaller and smaller every year. Until, finally, in the end she was totally alone. Except for me. I did what I could to help her. But I finally realized that she was just too damaged on the inside. Who knows why? I think in many ways she was born that way, with this sort of slow-release time bomb ticking away inside. I was beginning to think that I’d end up the same way. Dying from the inside out.”
“Oh, Luke, I wish you’d—”
“No, please,” he said. “The only reason I’m telling you any of this is because I feel so differently now. I realize how I was totally wrong about many things. Me. You. And I wasn’t doomed at all. Just unlucky. I had to wait way too long to find the answer. To find Anne. And now I’ll do anything to keep her. And anything to keep her happy.”
“Then you need to start by telling her about this,” I told him again. “And if she feels the same way about you, then what happened will be something she’ll come to understand.”
“If she feels the same way? Do you doubt it?”
Luke had opened his heart to me. With a candor and directness I found almost breathtaking, he’d told me things I doubt he’d ever told anybody else before. Except for Anne, perhaps. He’d always been such a mystery to me: this maddening Chinese puzzle of a person. For years I’d worked and worked away at him, frustrated and failing at every turn. I’d given up. Now, in a single evening, he’d abandoned his defenses. He’d invited me in. Perhaps it was the speed of it that made me feel so unce
rtain. Or what seemed like a complete and utter surrender on his part. But it was all too sudden, too much. I was concerned for him in a way that I’d never allowed myself to be before. He was as vulnerable as Anne, I realized.
“No,” I said. All I meant to do was ease his mind. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Then you need to do me a favor, Maddie. If Anne asks you about me—if she starts wanting to know what things were like when we were all growing up together, please don’t get into it with her: what Paul and I went through. Let me be the one to tell her. In my own time. When it feels right. I need you to promise me. Let me be the one.”
“Okay,” I said, leaning forward to find my key in the ignition. “But I wouldn’t wait too long.”
21
When I turned into our driveway, Anne was pulling out. She honked her horn. In my headlights, I could see that she was waving to me. Katie and Max, strapped into their car seats in the back, waved, too. They all seemed to be chattering away to each other, unconcerned, carefree. I felt myself relax a little. I clicked the remote and opened up the garage door. Paul’s pickup truck was already parked there. So he was home. He would have spoken with Anne. He already knew.
“… I’m just trying to get the full picture here … ,” I heard Paul’s voice in the kitchen as I closed the door to the garage behind me.
“There’s nothing else to explain,” Rachel was saying. “Like I said, I couldn’t get through on the cell phone and—”
Local Knowledge Page 22
