The City of Mirrors (28 page)

Jonas and I were sharing a bedroom, the girls another, located at opposite ends of the house with Liz’s parents in between. When we’d come here during the academic term, we’d had the place, and our choice of sleeping arrangements, to ourselves. But not this time. I’d expected that the situation would lead to a certain amount of creeping around in the wee hours, but Liz forbade it. “Please do not shock the grown-ups,” she said. “We’ll all be shocking them soon enough.”

Which was just as well. By this time, I had begun to tire of Stephanie. She was a wonderful girl, but I did not love her. There was nothing about her that made this so; she was in every way deserving. My heart was simply elsewhere, and it made me feel like a hypocrite. Since the funeral in New York, Liz and I had not spoken of my mother, or her cancer, or the night when we had walked the city streets together but in the end had chosen to step back from the abyss and keep our allegiances intact. Yet it was clear that the night had left its mark on both of us. Our friendship, until that time, had flowed through Jonas. A new circuit had been opened—not through him but around him—and along this pathway pulsed a private current of intimacy. We knew what had happened; we had been there. I had felt it, and I was sure she’d felt it too, and the fact that we’d done nothing only deepened this connection, even more than if we’d fallen into bed together. We would be sitting on the porch, each of us reading one of the mildew-smelling paperbacks left behind by other guests; we would look up at just the same moment, our eyes would meet, an ironic smile would flash at the corners of her mouth, which I’d return in kind.
Look at us,
we were saying to each other,
aren’t we the trusty twosome. If only they knew how loyal we are. We should get a prize
.

I intended to do nothing about this, of course. I owed Jonas that much and more. Nor did I think Liz would have welcomed the attempt. The connection she shared with Jonas, one of long history, ran deeper than ours ever could. The house, with its endless warren of rooms and ocean views and shabbily genteel furnishings, reminded me how true this was. I was a visitor to this world, welcomed and even, as Liz had told me, admired. But a tourist nonetheless. Our night together, though indelible, had been just that: a night. Still, it thrilled me just being around her. The way she held her drink to her lips. Her habit of pushing her glasses to her forehead to read the smallest print. How she smelled, which I will not attempt to name, because it wasn’t like anything else. Pain or pleasure? It was both. I wanted to bathe in her existence. Was she dying? I tried not to think about it. I was happy to be near her at all and accepted the situation as it stood.

Two days before our departure, Liz’s father announced that we would be eating lobsters for dinner. (He did all the cooking; I’d never seen Patty so much as fry an egg.) This was for my benefit; he had learned, to his alarm, that I had never eaten one. He returned from the fish market in the late afternoon bearing a sack of squirming red-black monsters, removed one with a carnivore’s grin, and made me hold it. No doubt I looked horrified; everyone had a good laugh, but I didn’t mind. I loved her father a little for it, in fact. A lazy rain had been falling all day, sapping our energy; now we had a purpose. As if in acknowledgment of this fact, the sun emerged in time for the festivities; Jonas and I carried the dining table out to the back porch. I had noticed something about him. In the last couple of days, he had adopted a manner I could only describe as secretive. Something was afoot. At the cocktail hour, we drank bottles of dark beer (the only proper accompaniment, Oscar explained); then on to the main event. With great solemnity, Oscar presented me with a lobster bib. I had never understood this infantile practice; no one else was wearing one, and I felt a bit resentful until I cracked a claw and sprayed lobster juice all over myself, to an explosion of table-wide hilarity.

Imagine the perfection of the scene. The table with its red-checkered cloth; the ridiculous bounty of the feast; the golden sunset streaming toward us across the sound, then sinking into the sea with a final flash like an elegant gentleman tipping his hat in farewell. The candles came out, polishing our faces with their flickering glow. How had my life led me to such a place, among such people? I wondered what my parents would have said. My mother would have been pleased for me; wherever she was, I hoped its rules included the power to observe the living. As for my father, I didn’t know. I had severed all ties completely. I saw now how unfair I’d been and vowed to get in touch. Perhaps it was not too late for him to make my graduation.

When we’d finished dessert—a strawberry-rhubarb pie—Jonas clinked his glass with his fork.

“Everybody, if I could have your attention.”

He rose and moved around the table so that he was standing next to Liz. With a little grunt of effort, he turned her chair so she was facing him.

“Jonas,” she said with a laugh, “what the hell are you doing?”

His hand fumbled in his pocket, and I knew. My stomach plunged, then the rest of me. As he bent to one knee, my friend withdrew the small velvet box. He opened the lid and held it before her. A huge, nervous grin was on his face. I saw the stone. It was enormous, made for a queen.

“Liz, I know we’ve talked about it. But I wanted to make it official. I feel like I’ve loved you all my life.”

“Jonas, I don’t know what to say.” She looked up and laughed uneasily. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. “This is so corny!”

“Say yes. That’s all you have to do. I promise to give you everything you want in life.”

I wanted to be ill.

“C’mon,” Stephanie said. “What are you waiting for?”

Liz looked at her father. “At least tell me he asked you first.”

The man was smiling, a conspirator. “That he did.”

“And what did you tell him, O wise man?”

“Honey, it’s really your decision. It’s a big step. But I’ll say I’m not opposed.”

“Mom?”

Ever so slightly, the woman was crying. She nodded ardently, speechless.

“God,” Stephanie moaned, “I can’t stand the suspense! If you don’t marry him, I will.”

As Liz looked back at Jonas, did her eyes pause at my face? My memory says she did, though perhaps I imagined this.

“Well, I, um—”

Jonas removed the ring from the box. “Put it on. That’s all you have to do. Make me the happiest man alive.”

She stared at it, expressionless. The damn thing was fat as a tooth.

“Please,” said Jonas.

She looked up. “Yes,” she said, and nodded. “My answer is yes.”

“You really mean it?”

“Don’t be dense, Jonas. Of course I mean it.” At last she smiled. “Get over here.”

They embraced, then kissed; Jonas slid the ring onto her finger. I looked out over the water, unable to bear the scene. But even its broad blue expanse seemed to mock me.

“Oh!” Liz’s mother cried. “I’m so happy!”

“Now, no sneaking around tonight, you two,” her father laughed. “You’re in separate rooms for the duration. Save it for the wedding night.”

“Daddy, don’t be gross!”

Jonas turned to her father and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”

They shook. “I know you will, son.”

Out came the champagne, which Liz’s father had kept in the wings. Glasses were filled, then raised.

“To the happy couple,” Oscar said. “Long lives, happiness, a house full of love.”

The champagne was delicious. It must have cost a bundle. I could barely swallow it down.

I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to.

As soon as I was sure Jonas was out cold, I snuck from the house. It was well after midnight; the moon, fat and white, had risen over the sound. I had no plan, only the desire to be alone with my feelings of desolation. I removed my shoes and took the stairs to the beach. Not a breath of wind blew; the world felt stuck. The tiniest of waves lapped upon the shore. I began to walk. The sand beneath my feet was still damp from the day of rain. The houses above me were all dark, some still boarded up, like tombs.

At a distance I saw someone sitting in the sand. It was Liz. I halted, uncertain what to do. She was holding a champagne bottle. She lifted it to her mouth and took a long drink. She noticed me, then looked away, but the damage was done; I couldn’t turn back now.

I sat on the sand beside her. “Hey.”

“Of course it would be you,” she said, slurring her words.

“Why ‘of course’?”

She took another swig. The ring was on her finger. “I noticed you didn’t say anything tonight. It’s considered polite, you know, to congratulate the bride-to-be.”

“Okay, congratulations.”

“You say that with such conviction.” She sighed mournfully. “Jesus, am I drunk. Get this away from me.”

She passed me the bottle. Just the dregs remained; I wished there were more. There were times to be sober, and this wasn’t one of them. I polished it off and tossed it away.

“If you didn’t want to, why did you say yes?”

“With everyone staring at me? You try it.”

“So back out. He’ll understand.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll ask and ask, and I’ll eventually give in and be the luckiest woman on earth, to be married to Jonas Lear.”

We were quiet for a time.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

She laughed sarcastically. Her gaze was cast over the sea. “Why not? Everybody’s doing it.”

“That night in New York. I was asleep, and something happened. I felt something.”

“Did you now.”

“Yes, I did.” I waited. Liz said nothing. “Did you … kiss me?”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?”

She was looking right at me. “Liz—”

“Shhh.” A frozen moment followed. Our faces were just a foot apart. Then she did something puzzling. She took off her glasses and put them in my hand.

“You know, without these, I can’t see anything. What’s funny is that it’s like nobody can see me, either. Isn’t that strange? I kind of feel invisible.”

I absolutely could have done it.
Should
have done it, long before. Why hadn’t I? Why hadn’t I taken her in my arms and pressed my mouth to hers and told her how I felt, consequences be damned? Who’s to say I couldn’t give her just as good a life?
Marry me,
I thought.
Marry me instead. Or don’t marry anyone at all. Stay just as you are, and I will love you forever, as I do now, because you are the other half of me.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Then she did; she turned her face away and retched onto the sand. I held her hair back as all the lobster and champagne came up and out of her.

“I’m sorry, Tim.” She was crying a little. “I’m so sorry.”

I lifted her to her feet. She was mumbling more apologies as I draped her arm over my shoulders. She was close to dead weight now. Somehow I managed to haul her up the stairs and prop her in a chair on the divan on the porch. I was at a total loss; how would this look? I couldn’t take her up to her room, not with Stephanie there. I doubted I could have gotten her up the stairs anyway without waking the entire house. I drew her upright again and carried her to the living room. The sofa would have to do; she could always say she’d had trouble sleeping and come downstairs to read. A crocheted blanket lay across the back of the sofa; I pulled it over her. She was fast asleep now. I got a glass of water from the kitchen and put it on the coffee table where she could find it, then took a chair to watch her. Her breathing became deep and even, her face slack. I allowed some more time to pass to be certain she would not be sick again, and got to my feet. There was something I needed to do. I bent over her and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good night,” I whispered. “Good night, goodbye.”

I crept up the stairs. Dawn wasn’t far off; though the open windows, I could hear the birds beginning to sing. I made my way down the hall to the room I shared with Jonas. I gently turned the handle and stepped inside, but not before I heard, behind me, the snap of a closing door.

The cab rolled up the drive at six
A.M
. I was waiting on the porch with my bag.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“The bus station.”

He glanced up through the windshield. “You really live in this place?”

“No chance of that.”

I was putting my bag in the trunk when the door of the house opened. Stephanie came striding down the walk, wearing one of the long T-shirts she slept in. It was actually one of mine.

“Sneaking off, are you? I saw the whole thing, you know.”

“It wasn’t what you thought.”

“Sure it wasn’t. You’re a total asshole, you know that?”

“I’m aware of that, yes.”

She rocked her face upward, hands on her hips. “God. How could I be so blind? It was totally obvious.”

“Do me a favor, will you?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Jonas can’t ever know.”

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, believe me, the last thing I want is to get mixed up with this mess. It’s your problem.”

“Feel free to think of it that way.”

“What do you want me to tell them? As long as I’m being such a fucking liar.”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t care. A sick relative. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Just tell me: did you ever think about
me
in any of this? Did I even once cross your mind?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Fuck you,” she said, and strode away.

I lowered myself into the cab. The driver was filling out a slip of paper on a clipboard. He glanced at me through the rearview. “Kinda rough, pal,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I’m not really in the mood to talk, thanks.”

He tossed his clipboard onto the dash. “I was only trying to be nice.”

“Well, don’t,” I said, and with that we drove away.

19

I left them all behind.

I did not attend graduation. Back in Cambridge, I packed my belongings—three years later, there still wasn’t much—and telephoned the biochemistry department at Rice. Of all the programs I had been accepted to, it possessed the virtue of being the farthest away, in a city I knew nothing about. It was a Saturday, so I had to leave a message, but yes, I told them, I’d be coming. I thought about abandoning my tuxedo; perhaps the next occupant would get some use out of it. But this seemed peevish and overly symbolic, and I could always throw it out later. Waiting outside, double-parked, was a rental car. As I closed my suitcase, the phone began to ring, and I ignored it. I carried my things downstairs, dropped off my key at the Winthrop House office, and drove away.