Page 42 of Kill Your Darlings

“That’s good. We’d rather have ankle trauma than head trauma.”

“Ankle amputation?” Jason said.

“I don’t think they amputate ankles, do they? It would be hard to do without also amputating the foot.”

“What about head amputations?”

“They do do those, but generally not for medical reasons.”

Thom stood again, and Wendy thought he was going to bring Jason back up to bed. “One more of these,” he said. He was now holding a lowball glass. Whiskey, she guessed. “Wendy, wine? Can I get you something, Jason?”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

“One glass of warm milk coming up.”

After he left, Jason said, “How long do you think it takes to starve to death in the woods?”

ii

The following morning, Thom stared at his computer, attempting to work on his John Cheever article, but he was unable to concentrate.Instead, he opened up an empty Word document, wrote “STORY” at the top, then put down one line: “Edgar Dixon, dodging imaginary arrows showering down from the castle ramparts, lost his footing and wound up pinned between a pair of boulders that had existed since before the invention of man.” He read it several times before exiting out of the document, opting not to save. After going to stand at his office window and staring out at the cove, filled with one-man sailboats—a class was in session—Thom returned to his computer and looked at his emails. There was a new one from Wendy, letting him know that she would be leaving soon with Jason to go to the quarry with Julia and her mom. Thom wrote back: “I’m right upstairs, you know.” Then he stared at his screen waiting for a reply. When it finally came, she had written: “Sorry. Samsa in my lap. We are going in twenty. In or out?”

Thom wandered downstairs, said hello to Jason, who was reading on the living room couch, then popped into Wendy’s office. Samsa really was in her lap, but jumped off as Wendy swiveled toward Thom. “I think I’ll pass on the quarry,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have work. You think Jason will be okay to swim?”

“No, but he can lay on a towel and read. He’ll be fine.”

“He will,” Thom said. Samsa rubbed up against his bare shin. Wendy had turned back to face her computer.

After Wendy and Jason left, Thom got the vodka bottle he kept in the freezer and poured himself two shots. He knew that if he was going to break it off with Catalina he needed to do it that afternoon and he needed to do it face-to-face. He called her landline, Cat picking up after two rings. “Hello,” she said, her accent always more pronounced before she knew whom she was speaking with.

“Hi, Cat, it’s Thom.”

“Hi,” she said, and Thom heard a question mark in her tone. They’d been secretly meeting for over a year now, the second andfourth Thursdays of the month at a dive bar in Peabody near her apartment. Sometimes they just had a few drinks. Sometimes they wound up back at her place, a tiny two-bedroom she shared with a sister who worked at a daycare in the mornings and waitressed at night. Catalina Soto was a nurse at a local hospital, a divorcée who was younger than he was, but with two grown children. Thom had met her at a reading that his department had put on, four authors each reading a short story. After the event there had been wine and cheese and Catalina had introduced herself to Thom, who had moderated. She told him that she was a writer as well, and without hesitating Thom said that he’d love to read something she wrote. The next day she emailed him a story that chronicled one night in the life of an emergency room nurse. He was relieved that he liked it, and sent her back a couple of notes, eventually suggesting they meet up for coffee.

“You’re a married man?” she had said, five minutes into their first meeting at the Peabody Coffeehouse.

“I am,” he said. She nodded, slowly, and Thom added, “What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if you liked my story or if you like me. There’s no wrong answer, I’m just curious.”

“I did like your story. And I do like you. But yes, I’m married, and I haven’t been a perfect husband, but I have no intention of ever leaving my wife.”

“Oh, we’re already there,” she said, laughing. “Please don’t leave your wife on my account.”

“I’m just saying I’m happy with her, is all.”

“Is she happy with you?”

“That’s another story.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sorry to be so up-front about it, but people are so secretive about everything, don’t you think?”

“I do. Oh, and I have something for you.” Thom reached into his bike-messenger bag and pulled out his copy ofJesus’ Sonby DenisJohnson. “No pressure, but I thought you might like these stories. He was a nurse too.”

“Thank you,” she said, and took the book.

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