“I’ll be right back,” I manage to blurt before stumbling into the bathroom and vomiting into the toilet bowl. When it’s over I lean on the sink with both hands and stare at my reflection. Did Luis really say he was at the studio all evening?
I can hear him moving about out there and when I come out he’s in a T-shirt, his jacket thrown over the chair. He’s rinsing my glass. The memory of the two elegant wineglasses on the drying rack in his studio flash into my mind.
“You look pale, babe. You okay?”
I move him out of the way to fill a glass of water from the tap and nod. “I think so,” I say, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. But my heart is thumping and I feel tears sting at the back of my eyes again. I think I am more upset about where Luis has been than anything else. “Did you come from the studio just now?”
“Yes, I’m sorry it’s so late. I have so much to do. I got completely lost in my own head.”
“Did you go out to eat?” I ask, thinking that maybe he went to a diner somewhere and came from there. That we have our wires crossed, our timelines disjointed.
He has his back to me, but he shakes his head. “I got takeout delivered from the deli. Around seven, I think.”
No, you didn’t, I want to say. And it’s not just because I was there around seven, it’s the fact that he’s included the time. Around seven, I think. Inconsequential, so why mention it? But I keep my mouth shut and the question pops into my head, fully formed. Are you cheating on me? Because that’s sure what it sounds like. I realize the thought has been lurking inside my brain ever since I found the pretty dishes in his studio.
“Come to bed,” he says, and starts up the stairs, then stops to wait for me, even putting his hand out to me.
I am so angry my ears are hot. I take his hand because I see myself in my mind’s eye yanking it back hard enough to make him fall backwards. I wouldn’t try and catch him—that would defeat the purpose. I’d stand there, my vision blurry with alcohol and watch him crack his head on the wooden steps. But then I remember my children and I disengage my hand from his and grab the banister instead.
Nine
I wake up with a dry mouth and a feeling of doom. Luis’s side of the bed is empty and I roll into it, my fingers pressing into my eyes, turning the lie over in my head. But my head doesn’t work anymore, so I give up. The smell of coffee tugs at me, and I slowly swing my legs to the floor.
“How you feeling, babe? I thought I’d let you sleep.”
“Good, thanks. Better.” I take the steaming coffee mug Luis hands me and search his face, waiting for some kind of correction. A slap on the forehead followed by something like: Wait! Did I say I was at the studio last night? What an idiot! I was playing squash with Toby. He can confirm. Toby is our next-door neighbor and they do play squash sometimes, although not at night, I don’t think.
But all I get is, “You okay? You don’t look good. Is it because of Alex?” and my stomach flips.
There’s a kind of a hush around the department when I arrive. I go straight to my office without meeting anyone’s eyes, then June checks in on me, her face a picture of concern. She brings with her a chocolate chip cookie on a small white plate and a coffee, which she puts down in front of me.
“John is taking your class this morning. How you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I say, hoping she’ll go away so I can curl up beneath the desk. I stare at the cookie. June has never brought me a coffee before, let alone a cookie. I pick up the chocolate chip cookie and look at it closely. “Are you my mother?” I ask. She chuckles. Then I worry she might think I implied she was old enough to be my mother, which is ridiculous, obviously, so I add, “Because believe it or not, she bakes them just like that.” Which is a complete lie. Maybe I’m just saying things to fill the void. Or to stop myself from saying things like, By the way, I was there when Alex died and I can’t stop wondering if he would have jumped had I not been there. Oh, and my husband is probably cheating on me.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “You look tired.”
“Thank you. That’s what my mother says.”
“Which goes to show you should listen to your mother. You should take a couple of days off if you need them, Anna. I’ll talk to Geoff if you like, make sure your classes are covered.”
“I’m good, really, but thanks.” I take a sip of the coffee, playing for time. Finally, when she makes a move to leave, I take the plunge.
“Can I ask you?”
She turns around. “Yes?”
“I’m trying to understand why Alex told you, what you said yesterday, about how he felt, and his moods…”
“I asked him. I could see something wasn’t right. He’d been quieter, I thought—he’d lost that boisterous energy.”
“He was exhausted,” I say, nodding.
“He was depressed, Anna.” She hesitates. “Could you not see it?”
I nod quickly. “Of course I did.” But I hadn’t. Not really. What I saw was the obsession and the highs and the lows, but I didn’t see that he needed proper help. Not like that.
“It’s not your fault,” she says. And I’m thinking that if she keeps saying it, she must believe it is.
“I know. Thank you,” I reply. Even though it’s a lie, obviously. It is my fault. I may not have killed him, I don’t think so anyway, but he is dead because of me. Because I was there, and he lost the plot.
God. I so don’t want to think about that right now. But I can’t help wondering just how much he’s confided in June, especially considering I had no inkling they were even speaking to each other.
“Did he ever talk to you about me?” I ask.
She smiles. “He said that you were the best and that was why he wanted to do the best possible work he could. Because of you. You deserved it.”
I think about that, wait another beat, but she’s lost in her own thoughts now. So she doesn’t know, clearly, that Alex had changed his mind about me. That he didn’t think I deserved much at all in the end.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she says. “Also, his father called. He said to thank you, on behalf of him and his wife. He said they really appreciated how much you did for their son.”
It’s like someone has their thumb on my throat. I can’t speak.
“I know.” She sighs. Then as she leaves, she adds, “The police will be here in an hour. I know they’ll want to speak to you.”
I breathe in at last. “Me? Why?”
She frowns. “Because, out of everyone here, you were closest to him.”
“Of course. Sorry. Yes, I’ll be here.”
Ten
Talking to the police turns out to be the easy part. Almost perfunctory, I think. There are two of them, a man and a woman whose names don’t register through the white noise of my anxiety. They want to know about Alex’s state of mind. I tell them how very bad it was, how we were terribly worried about him. I echo June’s words. He’d lost so much weight lately. He’d changed so much. He would get over-excited, too much so, like he was on drugs. It dawns on me that I never liked Alex very much. That maybe I knew that deep down, but I never put it into words before. I liked what he brought out in me, I liked myself as his savior, the only person who could comfort him, put him back together when he fell apart, help him find his true genius. But now that he is dead, I have no feelings for him other than the lingering resentment of what he was about to do to me.