Crossing the Bridge (34 page)

“There was actually some important stuff going on in there,” she said as we walked the grounds toward the theater.

“Did you ever think about the possibility that Chase might have killed himself?” I said abruptly.

She stopped and turned toward me, her face folding in on itself. “Tell me you’re not doing this.”

“Somebody came into the store today.”

“Tell me you’re not revising history in an effort to turn me around.”

“Who came into the store today?”

“A reporter for the
Advisor
. He was looking for my father. He was doing a follow-up story on the tenth anniversary of Chase’s suicide.”

“That’s just ridiculous. Why would you take somebody like that seriously for even a second?”

“I didn’t take him seriously at all. Until he mentioned something about the police report. I went down to the station myself and talked to a cop about it. There are things in the report that are inconsistent with an accident.”

“That’s bullshit,” she said as she walked away from me and toward the barn.

“It’s speculation.”

“Which is just another word for bullshit. Some guy comes by and whispers the word ‘suicide’ and you’re willing to completely change everything you know about the most alive person I’ve ever met?”

“I screamed at the guy. I threw him out of the store. I was borderline disrespectful to the cop. But I couldn’t stop thinking back to that last night and wondering if I was just too close to see the signs. They say that kind of thing happens all the time.”

“There were no signs,” Iris said as she threw open one of the barn doors and walked backstage. She found a chair, swung it around, and straddled it. “Is this really how you react when you’re backed into a corner, Hugh?”

“What are you talking about?” I said, finding another chair and facing her.

“You think you’re losing me so you concoct some speculation to blacken my memory.”

“You think I’m making this up?”

“I think you’re using it. Give me a break, Hugh. We would have known.”

“How would we have known? You’re not willing to
allow for one second that we might have been so caught up in what we believed Chase to be that we couldn’t see what he was becoming?”

“I considered it, I rejected it. Instantaneously, because it is beneath serious consideration. Why the hell can’t you do the same?”

Iris’ facial muscles were taut and her body language was obscene. As it turned out, I didn’t want to see every one of her expressions. I considered the very real possibility that this could be our last conversation.

“What do you remember about Chase’s eyes?”

Iris’ shoulders relaxed slightly. For the first time since we started speaking, she didn’t respond immediately.

“His eyes were the most beautiful part of him. The only vulnerable part.”

“Did they seem different toward the end?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You told me yourself that you had a huge argument with him that day. What were his eyes like?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Chase could always get angry. You know that.”

“But did you see something in his eyes that day? Maybe something you’d been seeing more frequently over the preceding months?”

“I don’t think so.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “What kinds of drugs was Chase taking?”

Iris’ gaze flicked up at me. “Other than alcohol, none that I know of.”

“Well even I know he was doing more than that. I
know he smoked some pot, but I’m thinking there might have been something that would have made him edgier. Coke?”

“Why?”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

“Anything is possible. But why?”

“If he tried it, he would have liked it. You have to admit, it would be the kind of drug that Chase could get excited about.”

Iris put her forehead on the back of the chair. “He was snapping more and it was taking him longer to recover from it.” She lifted her head up and, for the first time that afternoon, she didn’t seem furious at me. “I was afraid to tell him about the baby. I didn’t mention this to you earlier, but it actually took me three days to get up the nerve to break the news to him.”

I didn’t say anything right away. When I did, my voice was weak. “What was the last thing he said to you that afternoon?”

Iris put her head back down on the chair for maybe a half a minute before she finally looked up at me again. “Just before he got in the car, he said, ‘this isn’t the way this is gonna go.’ Then he just backed out of the driveway. He shouted something else to me, but I couldn’t make it out.”

Again, I didn’t say anything. I wanted to give Iris time to process this conversation. I needed some time myself.

“Did you know he failed the lacrosse tryouts at Dartmouth?” she said.

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“He found out a few days before he died. I can’t believe he didn’t say anything to you. It was probably the first time in his life he didn’t get what he wanted.”

“It might have been.”

She shook her head sharply. “No one kills himself because he didn’t make the lacrosse team, Hugh.”

“Or because his girlfriend tells him that she’s pregnant and wants to keep the baby. Or because his brother refuses to sympathize with his suddenly paranoid worldview. Or because he started using way more of a recreational drug than he should be using.”

“You don’t really believe that Chase committed suicide, do you?”

I looked into Iris’ eyes. I saw her the way he must have seen her hundreds of times over their year together. And in that moment, the vision of the brother I’d always known reflected back to me.

“It wasn’t Chase,” I said.

Iris reached out for my hand, placed it on the back on the chair, and laid her forehead down on it. We stayed that way for several minutes.

“I have no interest in going back into that meeting,” she said.

“I’ll make you dinner.”

“I’m not sure I have any interest in eating, either.”

“Let’s go to the farmers’ market. We’ll shop for dinner, even if we don’t eat dinner. It’ll give us something to do.”

She leaned her cheek against my hand. “I’m incredibly tired all of a sudden.” She half smiled. “I was actually getting a lot done before you showed up.”

We sleepwalked through the farmers’ market, buying much too much to eat, even if we had the appetite to eat at all. It was the first time in more than a month that Iris and I made our way through this market without her arm at some point looping around mine. It was hard to know what this meant. Both of us had had Chase’s death foisted upon us again today. And in some ways, it was like it was happening for the first time. Regardless of what we believed happened that night, we were forced to rethink it, to see Chase differently if only to try on the possibility that he might have been someone other than who we believed him to be.

In the end, we ate little and talked less. We drank a bottle of wine and opened a second all the while keeping the conversation to such a cursory level that an observer might consider us casual companions or a couple that had been together too long and had already said everything they were going to say. This was the second time in a row that Iris and I had been like this together and my first thought was that the reasons for it were vastly different on the two occasions. But then I realized that of course they weren’t at all, that perhaps the only thing that could put silence between us had done so in a definitive way. Though the wine had relaxed me, for the first time all day, the sense of relaxation in itself made me feel uncomfortable. At the point at which the only reasonable thing to do was to move in some direction, the simple act of staying still was upsetting.

We’d moved to the couch. Iris had her feet tucked up under her legs and she leaned against the arm
opposite from me. We drank more wine and talked idly. Finally, I decided that I needed to break away from this.

“I should get going,” I said, standing.

“You’re not staying?” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

I was surprised that she asked. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You’ve had a lot to drink. It’s late for you to be driving back to Amber. Stay.”

“Are you sure? I can handle the drive back.”

“It’s okay.” She held me with her eyes. She was the only person I’d ever known who could do that. Not even Chase could do that. “I want you to.”

I nodded. “I think I’m going to go to bed, then. It’s been a full day.”

She pulled her feet out from under her and stretched out on the couch. “I’m going to stay up a little longer and finish this glass. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” I said and turned toward the room I’d come to think of as mine but never would again.

“Anything’s possible, Hugh,” she said as I walked away. I turned back to her. “Anything’s possible,” she said again.

“Is it?”

“I think it might be.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wasn’t sure there was anything I could say. Something told me that she wasn’t expecting a response. I turned and went to bed.

I didn’t think I’d fall asleep as easily as I did. And I have no idea how long I’d been asleep when Iris slid
into bed beside me. I turned to her and she kissed my forehead.

“Just hold me, okay?” she said.

I moved my arms around her and she nuzzled her head under my chin.

“Is this all right for you?” she asked.

“Of course it is.” She moved her head a little further down my chest and stayed that way until I fell asleep.

When I awoke, the morning light had just begun to filter into the room. Iris was facing away from me, but my arms were still around her. Her profile in sleep was as soft and undisturbed as any I’d ever seen and I wished for the power to will it that way for all time. No matter what Iris had gone to sleep thinking, she had found something during the night to give her spirit some rest.

I didn’t want to awaken her, though I knew, regardless of the hour, that I wouldn’t be getting back to sleep myself. I placed a delicate kiss on her T-shirted shoulder and moved my arm out from under her. As I did, she stirred and reached her arm out to touch my leg. I put my hand over hers and she brought it back to her lips to kiss it and then wrap it back around herself. I thought she wanted me to go back to sleep with her and I settled my body next to hers. But when I did, she turned to me, our faces no more than an inch apart. Her eyes were wide open, but dreamy, and I wasn’t entirely sure she was actually awake until she pulled my head toward her and kissed me deeply. She pulled back ever so slightly and kissed me again.

Nothing else mattered at this point – not anything or anyone between us. I knew right at that moment that it was impossible for me not to respond to her. That there would never be a time in my life when I wouldn’t want her instantly if she showed any sign of wanting me.

My head was swimming. Desire on so many different levels filled me to the point where I felt I could drown the entire room with my longing. And when Iris propped herself up on one arm, caressed my face, and looked at me as though she was seeing me for the very first time, I lost all sense of control.

I had never before abandoned myself so completely. My senses expanded into a previously unmarked range as every touch, every sound, every sight impressed itself upon me with a bracing newness. And with every moment that passed – every moment in which this didn’t end – I found myself surrendering more and more completely to the wonder of it. I’d imagined making love to Iris on numerous occasions, but I didn’t have the sensual vocabulary to envision it this way. In every fantasy I’d ever had of us, she had gifted me with herself. I’d never conceived of what it could be like if she was actually giving herself to me, until now.

For a long time afterward – it might have been hours – we lay in bed kissing, stroking each other’s hair. I certainly wasn’t anxious to let her go, to let this moment go, though for the very first time when I was with her in any way, I didn’t worry that this was a temporary thing. In the moments before we started making love, I saw that I wasn’t going to have to think that way again.

“Can you stay?” she asked.

“I can definitely stay.”

“What about the store?”

“There’s an excellent chance it’ll be there when I get back. What about the Ensemble?”

“They rely on me too much. They’ll have to take care of themselves for the day.”

She smiled and kissed me on the nose, then pulled me closer and kissed me softly on the neck.

“It doesn’t matter how this started. Right, Hugh?”

“I think it might. But the thing that really matters is that it started at all.”

She lay her face down on my chest. “I’m never going to forget him, you know.”

“I wouldn’t let you. I couldn’t let you.”

She pulled back to look at my face, studying it, imprinting it. “It’s us now,” she said.

“It’s us.”

The next day I drove directly from Lenox to the store, not wanting to leave Iris a second earlier than I had to. She made me a thermos of coffee even though she knew I was going to go to see my “girlfriend” at the diner in Enfield along the way. As I drove, I listened to the new Marc Cohn album, a classic James Taylor record, and then a playlist I’d made of some of my favorite acoustic artists. It was a singer/songwriter kind of morning.

Jenna had already arrived for her shift when I got to the store.

“You made it,” she said when she saw me.

“Was there some question about that?”

“You sounded like you weren’t sure you were going to be in today when I spoke to you yesterday.”

“I did? I think I said I would unquestionably be in today.”