Page 31 of Kill Your Darlings

“I don’t know if I’m surprised or not, but I’m very pleased.”

“How pleased?” Wendy said.

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else.” He laughed as though he’d said something witty, the water sputtering where it touched his lips.

She moved closer to him and said, “What was it you were saying last time about what happened under the water?”

“What happens under the water doesn’t count above water. That’s my theory. I’ll tell you about it sometime if you’d like. It’s a real theory, not just some kind of joke.”

“A theory about water?”

“Well, no. It’s a theory about realms. We all exist in several realms throughout the course of our life. When a man goes to war, that is another realm. When a woman has a baby, she enters the realm of motherhood. These realms have different rules and yet we treat them, the young people do, anyway, as though the same rules should apply in different realms.”

Wendy had spent enough time talking with Alex at cocktail parties to sense that he was ramping up to a seriously long monologue, so she slid the last two feet to him, took his hands and wrapped them around the small of her back, putting her own arms above his shoulders. He went to kiss her, but she moved her head. “No,” she said, but pulled one of her hands back from his neck and slid one strap of her suit over her shoulder, then awkwardly freed her arm. Her right breast was freed of the suit and all of Alex’s attention went to it. Hewas breathing heavily, and she could feel along one thigh that he wasn’t wearing a bathing suit. She directed his head down and he pressed his face against her breast, her arms locked around his back. And then she simply stopped kicking and let the weight of her body pull him under the water.

Two minutes later she stood back on the rock, gathering her bundle of clothes and reentering the woods. It had been simpler and harder than she could have imagined. At one point he seemed to have a surge of improbable strength, his arms thrashing, and she wondered if she were going to drown with him. But she took a deep breath and leaned all her weight on top of him, and he’d gone under again. One of his hands pulled at her suit and she could feel the water roiling below him as he kicked to come back up to the surface. She simply pulled him closer. There was one last expulsion of air, and then he was still. Just to make sure, she held him for another minute.

She dried herself off by the car, re-dressed, and got inside. The radio blared on, tuned to Emerson College’s radio station, and Wendy turned it down a little, but not off. Halfway home she found herself singing along to Dylan’s lyrics.How does it feel?She didn’t know yet, not exactly. One thing she felt was cold and damp, and she looked forward to showering and getting her clothes into the washer. But what did she feel about Alex? He’d died with her breast in his face, her legs around his waist. Who knew what horrors of old age she’d saved him from? She smiled in the car, the song ending and another song she loved starting up. She didn’t know the name of the song but the opening lyrics were familiar, something that Jason listened to:I want to live where soul meets body.

She pulled into the driveway of her sleeping house. For a moment she wondered if she’d open the front door to find her husband and son, maybe even the local police, gathered in the living room to accuse her of what she’d just done. But the living room was just as she’d left it, quiet, neat, filled with items she loved. She went up the stairsand began a load of laundry, including her bathing suit and the towel she’d used at the quarry. She heard a thunk, Samsa jumping down from the guest-room bed, where he liked to sleep. He padded sleepily up to her and rubbed against her calf. She started up the washer and made her way back downstairs to feed Samsa and start a pot of coffee.

2012

i

Before leaving, Thom said, “There was a distant past when you would have joined me on this expedition.”

“Oh, it’s an expedition?”

“You never know who or what you might find at the Tavern.”

Wendy knew exactly what he would find there. Several scotches, and the same slurry, repetitive conversations with the other semi-regulars. “I’ll pass for now,” Wendy said.

“Your loss,” Thom said, and went out the side door.

“You can go with him if you like,” Jason said, either being sweet or else there was something he wanted to watch on television that he wasn’t supposed to.

“Maybe I’ll go later,” she said to Jason, then finished cleaning the kitchen. There were three bars on Goose Neck, but the Tavern at the Wonson Inn was the only one that was open year-round. It was a dark, wood-paneled cellar bar with portholes that looked out on nothing. The longtime bartender, Howard, was famous for ignoring drink orders, especially from tourists, and simply making martinisor Manhattans, depending on his mood. And it was true that for a time in her marriage to Thom they would often walk down after dinner for a nightcap or two. Maybe she should join him, she thought, or at the very least wander down and peek in at the bar. It was a nice night for late October, a light breeze kicking up the fallen leaves, cold enough that you needed a sweater but not so cold for a jacket. Wendy decided to go.

After stepping down the short stairway to push through the heavy door that led into the cellar bar, she spotted Thom in his usual seat, at the far curve of the bar. He was talking intently to a man whom Wendy didn’t immediately recognize. She approached them, and Thom looked both surprised and genuinely pleased. A rare surge of affection for her husband pierced at her.

“Meet my new friend... I’m sorry, I know you told me your...”

The man reached out a hand and Wendy took it. “I’m Stan. Your husband was giving me the rundown on this area.” His hand was very warm and very dry, and he had a faint accent that was familiar.

“You sound like you’re from Dallas,” she said.

“Aren’t you clever? I thought I got rid of that years ago. Yes, I was from Texas, but I like to think of myself as a nomad now.”

He couldn’t have been older than fifty, Wendy thought, and yet he was putting on an act like he was some kind of old salt. She instantly disliked him and was annoyed at herself for giving in to pressure and leaving the house to meet Thom. She was about to say that she’d only popped in to say hi, but there was a sudden martini in front of her, courtesy of Howard, even though she hadn’t ordered one.

“Thank you, Howard,” she said, then added, “and don’t make me another unless I ask for it.”

“How is it that you so quickly recognize a Dallas accent?” Stan said.

Before Wendy had a chance to answer, Thom said, “Her first marriage. You weren’t in Dallas, but—”

“I lived in Lubbock for about two years.”

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