Perfect Fifths (13 page)

These obfuscating half-sentences aren't lies. (There was a trip to New Orleans. There was an overbooked flight he looked into. His next flight does leave tomorrow.) But they don't reveal the full truth. (He returned from New Orleans. The overbooked flight is the one leaving in two hours, which Jessica has little hope of getting on.

Tomorrow's flight is the same as Jessica's, departing for St. Thomas.) To his relief, his misleading explanation seems to satisfy Jessica, who nods as if she

understands.

Marcus knows the next question is risky. But he can't quell his curiosity. Why is she—and now he—headed to the Virgin Islands? A winter getaway is the logical answer, but he suspects it's not the right one. Jessica doesn't seem to be in a frivolous-vacation frame of mind.

"What about you? What's in St. Thomas?"

"Well, I'm actually headed to St. John, but I have to fly in to St. Thomas and take the ferry—" Jessica stops dead, chokes on her breath, coughs for real. "Wait. How did you know I was flying to St. Thomas?"

Marcus feigns nonchalance. "It's kind of funny, actually."

Jessica turns to stone.

"Not ha-ha funny, but..." He doesn't bother filling in the rest when he sees a thick layer of permafrost forming over her already hardened surfaces. "I heard your name announced. This is a final boarding call for Clear Sky Flight 1884 with nonstop service to St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands. Final boarding call for passenger Jessica Darling.'"

Her face warms, softens. He heard her name. She recalls her first impression of the accident, how it had seemed as if he chose that exact spot on the floor as if

waiting for her. In a way, he had anticipated her arrival. He had heard her name.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Both Marcus and Jessica silently ask themselves the same questions at the same time. How would she have reacted to the sound of his name? Would she have

allowed herself to believe it was him? Would she have looked for him? Or kept on running? The answers come easily. If it had been up to her, they would not be

standing together, face-to-face, right now. They both know it.

"You really heard my name?" she asks, though she knows he's telling the truth. "When?"

Marcus takes off his glasses, then rubs the lenses with his shirttail—a bit of sprezzatura before answering. "About a minute before you ran me over."

Before Jessica can respond, Marcus announces, "There's Starbucks!" with more enthusiasm than the observation requires. For the first time, he speeds up and passes her. "You get their table," he says, gesturing toward a departing couple, "and I'll get some herbal tea for what's ailing you."

Jessica, dazed and disoriented, bumps into several customers as she wends her way toward the just-abandoned bistro table in the corner.

twenty

Marcus is stymied by the quotidian task at hand.

Jessica can't decide if Marcus is affecting her constitution or if she's really coming down with something through hypochondriacal power of suggestion.

Marcus makes his way to the head of the Starbucks queue and orders herbal tea and a muffin for Jessica Darling as if this isn't the most miraculous thing that has ever happened.

Jessica shivers as he approaches the table, her teeth chattering with a fever or something else.

"I got you the healing tea," he says, handing her a venti. "The barista promises that it has restorative properties, especially when consumed with this

vitamin-C-packed cranberry-orange muffin."

"Thanks," Jessica says, remembering to sniffle. Then she clutches her lower stomach and groans. "I hope this combination works for, uh, cramps."

"You're welcome." Marcus tampers down a tiny lip tic. "I sure hope so, too."

He sits. She sits. He sips. She sips. She speaks. "You drink espresso?"

"I guess I do," Marcus replies, regarding the cup as if he'd never set eyes on it.

"Since when?"

"Around the same time I shaved off The Beard."

This will be a treacherous conversation. A simple question about his caffeine intake has already transgressed into dangerous emotional territory. Jessica catches herself nervously sliding the cardboard heat sleeve up and down her paper cup. It's a gesture that all of a sudden strikes Jessica as accidentally and overtly

hand-jobby. She lets go of the cup, reaches for a napkin, and fake-blows her nose. "And when was
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

that?" she asks.

/ can wait, he says to himself. / can wait. "That's a story I don't want to tell right now."

Jessica relaxes into the cold, hard curve of the plastic seat, relieved that Marcus is as skittish as she is.

'You brought up the subject of The Beard." She is

emboldened by his nervousness. "Twice."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward again, still resisting the pull of a full smile. She, too, is taking careful note of the words passing between them. "I suppose I did," he admits without offering an explanation for why he might have done so. "But let's talk about something else instead."

"Okay," Jessica says, hands shaking slightly as she brings the cup to her lips. "Let's."

And for the next two hours, they do.

(together vow)

'You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Why are you headed to St. Thomas?"

"Oh! That question."

"Was there another question?"

"[Cough.] There are always other questions, Marcus. [Cough.] But to answer this specific question, Bridget and Percy are getting married!"

"Married? That's fantastic!"

"It is."

"You must be so happy for them."

"I am! They're so great together. They always have been so great together."

"Please congratulate them for me. Although ..."

"What?"

"I thought they had decided not to get married. Or am I remembering wrong?"

"No, you're remembering it right. They changed their minds. Actually, Bridget changed her mind. Percy was always for marriage, even if he pretended to be against marriage for a while, just to make Bridget happy. But after so many years together, he couldn't deny the truth anymore, that he was a traditional guy who wanted a

traditional wedding with some, if not all, of the traditional trappings. A ceremony on the beach was a
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

middle-ground ... uh ... uh ... ?"

"Compromise? Or is that too negative?"

"Compromise. Yes, that's the word I was searching for, I guess. Compromise. If you think about it and break it down, it's really not all that negative. 'Com1 is Latin for

'co,' meaning 'together.' And 'promise' is, of course, 'promise,1 a vow. Together vow."

"Together vow."

"That doesn't sound so bad, does it? Actually, that's pretty damn good. I should add that to tomorrow's sermon."

"Sermon?"

"Did I forget to mention that I'm performing the ceremony tomorrow? Or I'm supposed to, if I ever get down there."

"You? Of all people?"

"Yes, me. Go ahead and mock, but I'm a woman of the cloth now, ordained over the Internet by the Universal Ministry of Secular Humanity."

"You?!"

"It's a fake church for atheists, Marcus."

"That makes perfect sense."

"Then why are you looking at me all smirky like that?"

"You don't see any irony in this situation?"

"Irony? What's so ironic?"

"It's not your lack of faith in a higher power that makes you an unlikely minister for a marriage ceremony.

It's your lack of faith in m—"

"My public speaking skills?"

"Er, right. That's exactly the irony I was referring to."

"You know what's really ironic? After Bridget and Percy booked this out-of-the-way and out-of-pocket destination wedding, I told them that the RSVPs would serve as a barometer of who matters and who doesn't. They would know for sure who their most devoted friends and family members were, you know, the ones willing to take off from work and go into debt to fly their asses down there, the ones who cared enough to show up."

'That is ironic. But I'm sure they know you're there for them, Jessica, in spirit if not in body."

"Yeah, I know. I've heard it already. But I'm still pissed off at myself for missing the flight. And if I can't get on this flight that leaves in a few hours, then I won't get out of here until late tomorrow morning, which means I'll miss the wedding altogether, which sucks for me because I obviously really want to see two of my best friends get married."

"And to make matters worse, you're not feeling well."

"Right. [Cough. Cough. Sniffle.] These cramps are, uh, hell. Ow."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"It looks that way."

"Anyway, it's not like their wedding is a huge affair, just family members and a few select friends. Two dozen guests, tops. So my absence won't go unnoticed."

"I'm sure your absence would be felt even if they had invited five hundred guests."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"What I meant is that you're not easily missed."

"Uh, thanks? I'm so annoying that no one misses me when I'm not around?"

"No! That's not what I meant at all! I meant 'miss1 as in 'overlook.' Not 'miss' as in 'regret... the ...

absence ... of.1"

"Uh, okay."

[Pause.]

"I'm fairly certain that my year of silence permanently affected my ability to talk like a normal person. I approach language almost like a nonnative speaker."

"A Lacanian theorist would have a field day with you."

"A what?"

"Forget it. Continue."

"Well, I feel like I'm speaking ESL all the time. Or English as a third or fourth language: 2007 LOLcat translated from phonetic Chinese via Babel Fish."

"So you sound like ... a bad tattoo?"

"Ow. Now I'm the one who's hurting."

"Oh my God. Why did I say that?"

"Really, it's okay. I'm not in too much agony over here."

"I'm so sorry!"

"I'm kidding, Jessica. You don't have to apologize."

"I really have no idea what possessed me to say that."

"Can I do something?"

"I guess that depends on what it is you want to do."

"I want to get it out there: This is not an easy conversation."

"Really? I thought I was the only one having a tough time."

"What? Are you kidding me? We've only been talking for a few minutes, and I'm already sweating my balls off."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Perhaps you should take off that gorgeous sweater of yours."

[Pause.]

"Feel better now?"

"My shirt is still sticking to me, but yes."

"Look, I appreciate your honesty, Marcus. I'm nervous, too."

"You don't look nervous. You're not biting your lip."

"I'm not what?"

"You're not giggling or nibbling the corner of your lip. That's a dead giveaway that you're nervous."

"That was a dead giveaway. I've outgrown the habit. I don't do that anymore."

"Oh."

"So I may not be gnawing on my lip, but it doesn't mean I'm unfazed by how surreal this is. I mean, how is it possible that I'm sitting across the table from you at Starbucks right now? How does a conversation with you even start? There's so much to say. And so much more we could say but maybe shouldn't. And discerning the difference is difficult indeed."

[Pause.]

"Uh, that last sentence was unintentionally singsongy."

"I noticed."

"Thanks for not calling attention to it, Marcus."

"I was tempted to, but I refrained. I didn't want to make you more self-conscious."

"Thanks again. I appreciate your altruistic avoidance of acknowledging my annoying alliteration."

"Ha."

"So."

"So let's just accept that for the duration of our conversation ..."

'The next hour and forty-odd minutes ..."

"No matter how careful we try to be, we will both say things we'll want to take back immediately. I will most definitely say more regrettable things than you will. But let's agree not to beat ourselves up about it when it happens, okay? Let's not get tangled up in regrets this afternoon. Let's just... talk."

Talk."

"Just talk."

"I'm sorry, but—"

"No apologies."

"Right. I'm sor—"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"You're apologizing again!"

"Oh my God. I was, wasn't I? [Cough.] It's just that, well, I had a lot on my mind today even before I ran into you. My brain is overloaded. I'm having a hard time processing everything that's happening."

"I can relate to that."

"It's like I'm coming down with prosopagnosia, or something."

"Proso-what—?"

"Prosopagnosia. A brain disorder that makes it impossible to recognize objects or people. Oliver Sacks.

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat"

"Interesting. Are you taking meds for the cramps? And your cold?"

[Cough.] "Sure." '

"Does it help with the pro-so-pag-no-si-a?"

"No. [Cough.] The meds are definitely not helping at all."

two

(stranger things)

So what's in New Orleans?"

"Oh. Just some work that I'm doing."

"What kind of work?"

"I spend my breaks as a volunteer for various long-term restoration projects."

"Wow. I'm impressed."

"Don't be. Save it for the locals who have been working all day, every day, since the levees broke."

"Is it really that bad down there, even after all this time?"

"It hasn't been that long, Jessica. Only four years, which in the grand scheme of things is only a blip. It's the b in blip, and a lowercase one at that. But we're so

shortsighted here in this country. We're all about quick fixes, and New Orleans will be anything but."