The Leftovers (19 page)

She patted him on the thigh, then rolled onto her side to turn off the lamp, because they both liked lying in the dark. Sometimes it felt like they were an old married couple, the way her parents used to be. She remembered going into their room to say good night, the two of them looking so cozy and contented in their pajamas, reading with their glasses on. These days, her father seemed a little lost up there, the bed off balance, like it was about to tip over. She figured that was why he slept on the couch so much.

“You have Mr. Coleman for Biology?” Max asked.

“No, I had Ms. Gupta.”

“Coleman was really good. I don’t think they should’ve fired him.”

“He said some pretty mean things.”

“I know. I’m not defending what he said.”

A few weeks earlier, Mr. Coleman had told one of his classes that the Sudden Departure was a natural phenomenon, a kind of global autoimmune reaction, a way for the earth to fight off the raging infection of humanity.
It’s us,
he’d said.
We’re the problem. We’re making the planet sick.
A couple of kids had been upset by this—one of them had lost his mother on October 14th—and some parents lodged an official complaint. Just last week the school board announced that Mr. Coleman had agreed to take an early retirement.

“I don’t know,” Max said. “I really don’t think what he said was so crazy.”

“It was harsh,” Jill reminded him. “He said the people who got taken were Rejects. The families didn’t like it.”

“A lot of people say it the other way,” Max pointed out. “They say the rest of us are the Rejects.”

“That sucks, too.”

They were quiet for a while. Jill felt pleasantly drowsy—not sleepy, just relaxed. It felt good to be lying there in the dark, under the covers, a warm body beside her.

“Jill?” Max whispered.

“Mmm?”

“You mind if I jerk off?”

“No,” she told him. “Go right ahead.”

*   *   *

KYLIE WAS
all the way down by the main office by the time Nora caught up with her. The hallway was empty, the fluorescent lights oppressively bright; Kylie’s face was wet with tears. Embarrassed, Nora diverted her gaze to the bewildering stain on her arm, a multicolored explosion of vines, leaves, bubbles, and flowers that must have hurt like hell going on.

“Don’t you have a coat?”

Kylie sniffled and wiped her eyes. “It’s in the car.”

“Can I ask you something?” Nora’s voice was oddly calm, despite her inner agitation. “Was he gonna leave me?”

Kylie shook her head. “At the beginning I thought he might, but it was just wishful thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. After the first few times, we stopped talking about it. It just kinda dropped off the agenda.”

“You were okay with that?”

“Not really.” Kylie tried to smile, but she didn’t look any happier. “I just wasn’t thinking straight. I mean, I know better than to get involved with a married guy. But I did it anyway. What’s that about?”

Nora assumed the question was rhetorical. In any case, Kylie would have to work it out on her own.

“I’m curious,” she said. “How did it start?”

“It just kinda happened.” Kylie shrugged, as if the affair remained a mystery to her. “I mean, we flirted a little in the mornings, you know, when he dropped Erin off. I’d compliment his tie, and he’d tease me about looking tired, ask me what I’d been up to the night before. But lots of the dads—”

“When did it turn…?”

Kylie hesitated. “You sure you want to hear this?”

Nora could hear music wafting out of the cafeteria—“Burning Down the House,” a song she’d always liked—but it sounded watery and remote, like it was emanating from the past, rather than from a room down the hall. She nodded for Kylie to go ahead.

“Okay.” Kylie looked unhappy, like she knew she was making a mistake. “It was the holiday party. You took the kids home, but Doug stuck around to help with the cleanup. We ended up going out for a drink afterward. We just kinda hit it off.”

Nora could remember the party—Erin hadn’t napped that day and spent most of the evening in tears—but she couldn’t remember Doug even being there, let alone what time he’d come home, or how he’d acted when he did. All that was gone, irretrievable.

“You kept it up for a long time. Almost a year.”

Kylie frowned, as if something was wrong with Nora’s math. “It didn’t feel like that. We hardly ever saw each other. He’d drop by once a week for an hour or two, if I was lucky, and then he’d leave. And I couldn’t complain, right? That was what I’d signed up for.”

“But you must’ve talked about the future. What was gonna happen. I mean, you couldn’t just go on indefinitely.”

“I tried, believe me. But he had no patience for relationship talk. He was always like,
Not tonight, Kylie. I can’t deal with this right now.
”

Nora couldn’t help laughing. “Sounds like Doug.”

“He was such a
guy
.” Kylie shook her head, smiling fondly at the memory. But then her expression clouded over. “I think I just made him feel like he was cool again, you know? Mr. Dull Corporate Family Man, with a girlfriend like me. Like he was a secret agent.”

Nora grunted, struck by the plausibility of this theory. Doug had been a bit of a hipster when she’d met him in college—he wrote music reviews for the school paper, cultivated scruffy facial hair, and played ultimate Frisbee—but he’d discarded that version of himself the day he started business school. It happened so suddenly and irrevocably that Nora had spent the whole first semester trying to figure out where the guy she’d been sleeping with had gone.
Hey,
he told her,
if you’re gonna sell out, at least have the guts to admit it.
But maybe he missed his old self more than he’d let on.

“He loved my crappy apartment,” Kylie went on. “I have this studio over on Rankin, behind the hospital? Kind of a dump, but I just got tired of psycho roommates, you know? Anyway, it’s basically one big room, with a foldout futon and a little table with two chairs that I found in the garbage. Totally cluttered. Doug thought it was hilarious. He thought my car was funny, too. It’s like twelve years old.”

“He could be a little snobby about stuff like that.”

“He wasn’t mean about it. More just amazed that I could live that way. Like I had a choice, right? I mean, your house is so beautiful, he must have thought that everybody…” Her voice trailed off as she belatedly recognized her mistake.

“You were in my house?”

“Just once,” Kylie assured her. “During the spring vacation? You took your kids to your parents’ and Doug stayed home to work?”

“Oh, God.” That trip had been a minor disaster. She and the kids had gotten stuck in a brutal traffic jam on the Garden State Parkway, and she’d had to pull over so Jeremy could take an emergency dump on the shoulder of the highway. She’d just stood there holding his hand, staring up at the sky while he did his business, that sluggish river of cars crawling past, moving more slowly than a person could walk. When Doug caught up with them on the weekend, he’d seemed strangely cheerful, much nicer to her parents than usual. “Did you sleep there? In our bed?”

Kylie looked mortified. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s all right.” Nora gave a little shrug, as if nothing could hurt her anymore. Some days she actually felt like that. “I don’t even know why I’m asking you all these questions. It’s not like it matters anymore.”

“Of course it matters.”

“Not really. I mean, he left me anyway. He left both of us.”

“Not on purpose,” Kylie said. She seemed pleased to be included.

They both turned at the same time, startled by the rapid clop of footsteps in the otherwise quiet hallway. Nora knew it was Karen even before she burst into view, rounding the corner like she was late for class.

“I’m fine,” Nora said, holding up her hand like a traffic cop.

Karen stopped. Her gaze shifted warily from Nora to Kylie and back to Nora.

“You sure?”

“We’re just talking.”

“Forget about her,” Karen said. “Come back to the dance.”

“Just give me a minute, okay?”

Karen raised both hands in a gesture of saintly surrender. Then she gave a little suit-yourself shrug and headed back toward the cafeteria, her heels tapping out a reproachful rhythm. Kylie waited for the sound to die out.

“Is there anything else you want to know? It’s kind of a relief to tell you about it.”

Nora knew what she meant. As distressing as it was to learn the details of Doug’s affair, it also felt therapeutic, as if a missing chunk of the past were being returned to her.

“Just one more thing. Did he ever talk about me?”

Kylie rolled her eyes. “Only all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He always said he loved you.”

“You’re kidding.” Nora couldn’t hide her skepticism. “He hardly ever said that to me. Not even when I said it first.”

“It was like a ritual. Right after we had sex, he’d get all serious and say,
This isn’t about me not loving Nora.
” She uttered these words in a deep, manly voice, not at all like Doug’s. “Sometimes I said it along with him.
This isn’t about me not loving Nora.
”

“Wow. You must’ve hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Kylie said. “I was just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Nora tried to laugh, but the sound died in her throat. It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself as someone other people could be jealous of. “Why?”

“You had everything, you know? The husband, the house, those beautiful kids. All your friends and your nice clothes, the yoga and the vacations. And I couldn’t even make him forget you when he was in my bed.”

Nora closed her eyes. Doug had been foggy in her mind for a long time, but all at once he was clear again. She could see him lying beside Kylie, naked and smug after fucking her, earnestly reminding her of his family commitments, his enduring love for his wife, letting her know that she could only have so much, and nothing more.

“He didn’t care about me,” Nora explained. “He just couldn’t stand to see you happy.”

*   *   *

JUDGING FROM
the careless way she was slumped against the locker, Kevin thought at first that Nora Durst might be asleep, or possibly drunk. As he got closer, though, he saw that her eyes were open and reasonably alert. She even managed a wan smile when he asked if she was okay.

“Fine,” she told him. “I’m just taking a little break.”

“Me, too,” he said, because that seemed more diplomatic than the truth, which was that he’d come to check on her after a couple of different people had reported seeing her alone in the hall, looking pretty distraught. “It’s kinda loud in there. You can barely hear yourself think.”

She nodded the way you do when you’re not actually listening to the other person and are just waiting for them to go away. Kevin didn’t want to impose on her, but he also had a feeling that she could use a little company.

“It’s great that you came,” he said. “It looked like you were having a good time. You know, earlier.”

“I was.” Nora had to tilt her head at what looked like an uncomfortable angle to meet his eyes. “Earlier.”

It was awkward looming over her like that, especially since it afforded him what felt like an unfair glimpse of her cleavage. Without asking, he lowered himself onto the floor beside her and stuck out his hand.

“I’m Kevin.”

“The Mayor,” she said.

“That’s right. We met at the parade.”

He was about to withdraw his hand when she reached up and shook it, sparing him the embarrassment. She had bony fingers and a surprisingly firm grip.

“I remember.”

“You gave a nice speech.”

Nora turned her head to get a better look at him, as if to judge his sincerity. She was wearing makeup, so the bruised-looking skin below her eyes was less noticeable than usual.

“Don’t remind me,” she said. “I’m trying to forget about that.”

Kevin nodded. He wanted to say something sympathetic about the article in Matt Jamison’s newsletter—it was an incredibly low blow, even for the bottom-feeder Matt had become—but he figured she was trying to forget about that, too.

“I wish I’d kept my mouth shut,” she muttered. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Nothing’s my fault. But I still feel like shit.”

Kevin wasn’t sure what to say to that. Without thinking, he stretched out his legs so they were parallel to hers on the floor, his dark jeans next to her bare skin. The symmetry reminded him of an article he’d read about body language, how we unconsciously mirror the postures of people we’re attracted to.

“So, how do you like the DJ?” he asked.

“Good.” She sounded like she meant it. “A little old-school, but pretty good.”

“He’s new. The last guy talked too much. He had a microphone and he used to yell at people to get on the dance floor, and not in a nice way. He’d be like,
What’s the matter, Mapleton? It’s a party, not a funeral!
Sometimes it got kinda personal.
Yo, Tweed Jacket? Are you even breathing?
We got a lot of complaints.”

“Let me guess,” she said. “You were Tweed Jacket?”

“No, no.” Kevin smiled. “That was just an example.”

“You sure?” she said. “’Cause I didn’t see you out on the dance floor.”

“I wanted to. I just got sidetracked.”

“By what?”

“It’s like a council meeting in there. Every time I turn around, somebody’s yelling at me about potholes or the planning commission or nobody collected their yard waste. I can’t really loosen up, not the way I used to.”

She leaned forward and gathered her knees to her chest. There was something girlish in the posture, a touching counterpoint to her face, which seemed older than the rest of her. It startled him when she smiled, like someone had turned on a light beneath her skin.

“Yo, Tweed Jacket,” she said.

“Just for the record, I don’t even own a tweed jacket.”

“You should get one,” she told him. “With patches on the sleeves. I bet it’d look good on you.”