After the Fall

KATE


Fortunately, I didn’t have to take the blood test. For an hour and a half I sat in dread in the muted surrounds of Melbourne IVF, Cary clutching my hand as if I might run away. The temptation was strong, yet what would be the point? Over the last few days I’d wearily realized that there was no way out. Cary would only reschedule if I canceled; would become suspicious if I refused. As it was, he’d insisted on picking me up from work rather than just meeting me there, as if I couldn’t be trusted to show up otherwise.
During our interview, Cary answered most of the questions while I dully regarded the babies beaming down from the walls around us. Newborns, babes in arms, carefully cradled by parents with proud smiles stretched so wide you feared for their lips. The success stories of the clinic. I suppose they were there as motivation, but I felt nothing. When Cary and I married I had assumed we would have children, but in a distant and detached fashion, the same way you accept that one day you will die. I hadn’t been ready for a baby then, and it occurred to me that I still wasn’t now. Was that because of Luke, or would I have felt this way regardless? Hard to remember what I even wanted before Luke.
A too-calm voice interrupted my ruminations.
“Now, Kate, let’s find out some things about you. Are your periods regular?”
I flushed, but out of guilt rather than embarrassment. Of course they were regular. I was on the bloody pill.
“Seem to be. Regular as clockwork, every twenty-eight days,” Cary volunteered when my silence extended for a beat too long. I wanted to reach across and pinch him, to temper all that enthusiasm with some pain. The nurse conducting the interview was taken in, though, smiling at him as she made her notes.
“That’s very impressive, Mr. Hunter. Most men have no idea at all about their wives’ cycles.”
And how lucky those women were, I thought to myself. Cary had probably set up a spreadsheet on mine once we started trying to conceive.
“So then,” said the nurse, reluctantly turning again to me, “do you experience any symptoms of ovulation that we can work with? Spotting, cramping, maybe some increased discharge?”
Now I did feel embarrassed. I didn’t want to talk about this stuff, and the idea that “we” would be working together was the most unappealing yet. A vision of the woman flashed into my mind, perched on our bedstead with clipboard and stopwatch while Cary made love to me beneath, glancing up every so often to see how he was doing. Mutely I shook my head. She glanced across at Cary, but I dug my nails into his palm in a caution against answering.
“No previous pregnancies? Abortions? No diagnoses of endometriosis or polycystic ovaries, nothing like that?”
I shook my head so often I began to feel dizzy.
“Then there’s just one other thing. We need to check your hormone levels, make sure that you are in fact ovulating normally and that your body could sustain a pregnancy.”
Here it comes, I thought. The request to roll up my sleeve, clench my fist until veins stood out beneath my skin. Should I fake a faint? Run screaming for the door? Sweat oozed suddenly beneath my arms and behind my knees, warm as blood against my skin. My heart raced, but the nurse had her head down, writing out a referral. She handed me a folded piece of paper.
“There you are. Make an appointment to see your GP ten to fourteen days after you first start your next period. He’ll send the results to us and we’ll take it from there.” Having finished with me she gratefully returned her full attention to Cary. “You should have your test around the same time, though hopefully it will be a little more enjoyable.” She handed him a small plastic cup, practically winking in case he hadn’t caught her meaning. Cary took it uncomfortably, trying to fit it into his shirt pocket before handing it to me instead. I was so relieved that I accepted the squat receptacle with grace, tucking it into my bag as Cary scheduled our next appointment. Late June. I had five more weeks, surely long enough to work out what the hell I was doing. Or wanted.
But my relief lasted for all of about thirty minutes. Despite the reprieve, things were getting far too complicated. I spent the days staring at the computer screen when I should have been working, then spent the evenings catching up on work when I should have been with Cary. Throughout it all my mind cycled incessantly. Should I come off the pill for the blood test and risk getting pregnant to Cary, or own up to the fact that I wasn’t yet ready for a family after all? And what about Luke? If I went off the pill we’d have to use something else. Maybe that was irrelevant, though, if he was moving away. Whenever I remembered this possibility I’d panic and have to see him. We’d meet and he’d reassure me, so unrelentingly calm about the whole thing that I’d be appeased, comforted, at least until we parted and the doubts started up again.
Everything began to slide: my work, my weight, my concentration. It was the not knowing that killed me, and at times I yearned to fast-forward my life a year or so simply to see what happened. Would Luke leave, and how would I cope if he did? Or would he stay, and if so could we possibly maintain things the way they were? I didn’t want to have to make a decision, but I couldn’t bear waiting for one to be made either. I felt as if I were treading water, marking time, and I began to resent it. More and more it seemed to be my life that was being decided by the board of the Stevenson Fellowships, not Cressida’s, not Luke’s. What were a few years overseas compared to a whole relocation of the heart? As I waited for their verdict I became increasingly angry. Angry that after all our passion, all our love, a neutral party would decide our fate. Angry at Luke for allowing this to happen, for letting others make a decision for which he should have taken responsibility. I wasn’t prepared for my life to be determined by the whim of a committee. I loved Luke, and deserved more. If he was going to leave me he had to do just that: choose and be damned, not turn some chance event into an alibi. Besides, I was sick of lying to Cary, sick of hurting him and feeling our own marriage crumble around us without having the energy or will to do anything about it. Someone had to decide.



SARAH


Kate called one evening around six o’clock, the worst time for those with young children.
“I need to talk to you,” she said as soon as I picked up.
“Hello to you too,” I replied, jiggling Patrick on one hip as his dinner heated in the microwave. The abrupt greeting was not out of character—when Kate was focused little else was allowed to intrude.
“Are you free now? Or can you get away once the kids are in bed?”
I looked around the bomb site that was my kitchen. Was I free now? I almost laughed. I hadn’t been free for a long time, not since Alice was born. There was always something that needed doing, someone to be fed or bathed or satisfied.
“Uh, no,” I replied, testing the temperature of Patrick’s dinner as I balanced the phone between my chin and the downy head of my son. He smelled of milk and apples. “Alice needs to be bathed, Patrick and the cat need to be fed, then after that there’ll be stories to read, teeth to brush and Rick to be catered to.” I didn’t intend for the words to come out as waspishly as they did, but honestly, didn’t she have any idea?
Apparently not. “What about I come over then?” Kate asked. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine and some chocolate.”
“I’m not up for wine right now and I don’t know when Rick will be home. Can this wait till the weekend?”
“I guess so,” said Kate, then sniffed. For the first time I detected a note of desperation in her voice. Despite myself, I softened.
“Look, make it around nine then. By that time the kids will be asleep, we’ll have had dinner and I can tuck Rick away in his study. I can’t promise I’ll be scintillating company, though.” Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Is anything wrong?”
“Not really,” she said, sounding strangely subdued and very un-Kate-like. “There’s just something I have to tell you. I guess I want to ask your opinion. Maybe even advice, if you’re lucky.”
That was more like it, and I found myself looking forward to the chance to chat. Besides, I thought, my glance dropping to my stomach, I had something to tell her too.
Of course I was curious as to what Kate wanted to tell me, but after I hung up Patrick pushed his food off the high chair and Alice stepped in it and … well, I didn’t have the time, never mind the energy, to think beyond getting them cleaned up and into bed. That’s not a complaint, just the way life is. My life, anyway.
On top of that, since Kate had told me about her affair with Luke things between us had cooled a little. Not on my side—as far as I was concerned I just wanted her to be happy, and I hoped she believed me when I told her that. No, the distance was from her. Partly as a result of spending all her free time with Luke, and partly, I suspected, out of shame. I never meant to make her feel guilty, but under the circumstances I imagine that simply our differing situations would do that. There I was—married with kids, bogged down in the life of my family, defined by them. What could I possibly understand about obsession or attraction, about desire so strong it kept you awake?
Kate gave me a hug as soon as I opened the door to her ring, then bolted inside and flopped down on the couch. I hadn’t seen her in over a month and the change was marked. She’d lost weight when she’d had no need to do such a thing, and the fine lines around her eyes had deepened and spread. As she opened the bottle of wine I noticed her wedding rings hanging loosely on her left hand, catching against the corkscrew and getting in the way. Neither of us spoke until the stopper was out.
“Just half a glass,” I said, and she complied without inquiring why.
“So how’s Alice?” Kate asked, and I smiled, touched that she’d thought of her goddaughter in the midst of whatever it was that had driven her here.
“She’s fine,” I replied. “Though that’s not what you came to talk about.” We were circling each other, suddenly awkward and abashed, searching for a way into the conversation.
Kate swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly lost her nerve. “No, you first. Tell me about you. I know I’ve been dreadful about keeping in touch.”
“You have, but I guess you’ve had other things on your mind.” She grimaced where I’d expected a smile.
“Well …” I continued when the pause grew too long, “Rick’s really busy at work, though he could be in line for a promotion. Patrick’s cut two more teeth, and Alice is finally out of night diapers. The gutters should be replaced and the cat needs worming. What else? Oh, yeah, I’m pregnant again.”
Kate shrieked in genuine excitement, throwing her arms around me. I laughed at her response—by number three everyone else I’d told had been pretty blasé, including Rick.
“That’s fantastic!” bubbled Kate. “When is it due? Have you been sick yet? Do you know what you’re having?”
“Too soon for that. I’m due in November. And before you ask, it was planned, God help us.”
“Well, naturally—everything you do is planned.” Kate smiled.
“Used to be,” I conceded. “And you’d be surprised how many people assume that a third child must be a mistake, particularly when you have one of each sex.”
“Forget about them. What would they know? It’s your family—you should have ten if that’s what you want.”
I was moved by her loyalty. “No, I think three is it. Just pray it’s not twins.”
“A toast,” said Kate, lifting her glass, then bumping it against my stomach. “You hear that?” she addressed my abdomen. “Keep it down in there.”
I started giggling and all of a sudden it felt as if we were back in school, gossiping in the cafeteria with nothing more pressing than haircuts or weekend plans to worry about. Kate joined in and we fell against the couch, laughing inanely in ridiculous whoops and snorts. Finally I sat back up and dried my eyes.
“You know,” I said, “I always hoped that we’d be pregnant together, that our kids would be forever at each other’s houses, going off to school hand in hand. Do you think it’s going to happen?”
As the words left my lips Kate’s face shifted from mirth, crumpling as if she’d had a stroke. She began to cry.
“I don’t even know if I’m going to have children,” she sobbed. “And what’s worse, I don’t know who I’d want to be the father.”
“So it’s still on with Luke?” I asked softly.
“I guess so, though he might be moving overseas. Cressida’s in the running for some fellowship.”
“Well, that might be an easy way to end it,” I mused. Then, regarding the stricken figure on my sofa, I added, “But I take it that’s not what you want?”
“I don’t know what I want,” she wailed, rocking slightly.
“Do you love him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Does he love you?”
She almost shrugged. “I think so. He says he does. But how could he just walk away if that were the case?”
“Are you sure that’s what he’s doing? Has Luke told you it’s over?”
Kate began to cry again. “He says we shouldn’t worry about it until we know the facts. But that’s letting a bunch of total strangers make the decision. I think he should know by now who he wants to be with. God, it’s like waiting for the results of an AIDS test.”
I wondered briefly if she’d ever been through such a thing. If so, I hadn’t heard about it.
“So I take it then that you’ve made your decision?” I felt almost teary myself. This was far more serious than I’d anticipated.
“No, I haven’t.” Kate sighed, tugging at the fringe of a cushion on her lap. Then she looked up, her eyes blue-green and awash. “But I can’t bear to leave it to the toss of a coin. That’s the whole point. This is about us, Luke and me, not some chance verdict that doesn’t take into account the first thing of what we have.”
“And what’s that?” I probed, as gently as I could.
“I told you, I love him. But I’ve been in love before, and this is nothing like that. Every time I see him it’s like the first time. Every time he touches me it’s like he’s never touched me before. I want him more and more, not less as time goes on. Six months now and it’s better than it was when we started. Do you know how rare that is? Everything is still fresh, still electrifying. That’s never happened before.”
She flushed as she finished, no doubt realizing how very monotonous that must make my own life. I ignored her embarrassment. This wasn’t about me.
“Don’t you think, though, that that might just be because of how things are between you? You can never know when you’re going to see him next, and it’s all subterfuge when you do. Of course it’s going to be exciting, but you can’t carry on like that for the rest of your life.”
“I’ve thought about that, I really have. But I think you’re wrong. We talk on the phone every day, and my heart still races when I hear his voice. It’s not just sex.”
I sighed to myself. How could I tell her that it, whatever it was, wasn’t about tachycardia or sweaty palms or even about sexual compatibility? She’d been married three years. Surely she knew the gratification of coming home to a man you trusted, of laughing together late in bed with the lights off and his body warm next to yours? Luke was her lover, but was he her friend? Desire ebbs and flows, but friendship—or the lack of it—is what defines a marriage.
I found myself voicing my perennial query. “What about Cary?”
“I don’t know,” she said hopelessly, eyes filling again. “He’s done nothing wrong, but it can’t compare.”
“Would you leave him?”
The question hung in the air while Kate plucked at the cushion. Fat tears rolled down her face and fell onto the velvet fabric, spreading like ink stains. Finally she answered, “I can’t bear the thought of hurting him. But if Luke chose me, I think I would.”
“But what about you? What do you want? Before there was Luke did you want to leave Cary?”
“No, of course not,” she said, sounding genuinely shocked. “And I do still love him, despite everything else.”
“But your choice now is Luke?”
“I haven’t made a choice. I can’t. It’s not in my hands anyway, but I’ll be damned if I leave it up to chance. That’s what I came to tell you.” She sat up, pushing the sodden cushion aside, suddenly determined. “I’ve given Luke an ultimatum. Three weeks to decide who he wants and how it’s going to be. Cressida won’t know if she’s been successful until the end of June—that’s about four weeks away. If he chooses me, with any luck she’ll be leaving anyway, and we can make a fresh start. If he chooses her …” Her words trailed off. When she spoke again there was a tremor in her voice. “Then I still hope she gets it, and they can both go. I couldn’t bear to ever see him again.”
I took a deep breath. Comfort or challenge? What did Kate need more from me: my support or a reality check?
When I finally responded I surprised even myself. “It’s not really fair to put it all on Luke.”
“Well, it isn’t fair to leave it to the vote of some academics either. I just wanted you to know in case you have to pick up the pieces.” She smiled at me wryly, a sad, lopsided smile, and my heart broke for her. “I can’t imagine leaving Cary, but I can’t afford just to let this slip either. The last six months have been like another world. I have to give it a shot. If he wants me, I’m his.”
“But he has to choose?”
She nodded. “He has to choose. It can’t be fate or luck or the fall of the cards. He has to want me as much as I want him. No half measures, no waiting to see how things turn out.”
It was a typical Kate decision, and I admired her for it even as I grieved at the turn things had taken. No good could come of this. Even if Luke did choose Kate, how could any union be built on the foundations of so much destruction? I sighed for all of them: my distraught friend Kate; Luke, who I hoped was just as torn; Cressida, whom I’d never met; and Cary, unknowing, blameless Cary. But there was no point arguing with her. Once she made up her mind Kate saw things through.
“Are you still going to see Luke until then?”
“I thought about that,” she replied, “but why not? He’ll still be seeing Cressida, so why should I just step aside? Besides, I can’t imagine giving him up.”
Words so raw and vulnerable and sincere I felt scared. I think we talked more, but not long afterward I made some excuse, then fled to the study, where I buried my head in Rick’s familiar neck.



LUKE


Sometime over that summer Kate had mentioned that Cary wanted to start a family. At the time I didn’t pay much attention.
“Well, he’s older than me, I guess,” I told her. “And you’re past thirty. I suppose he thinks you ought to get going.”
We were in bed, a borrowed beach house somewhere on one of those stolen weekends. Even now if I try all I can remember is that room: an old iron bedstead, bare boards, blue-and-white curtains. We must have gotten up at some stage, maybe even ventured outside, but if we did I have no recollection of it. Just Kate in bed, her body dark against the white sheets.
She pulled a face. “You saw thirty longer ago than I did, and I don’t notice you rushing to procreate.”
I rolled over, burying my face in her hair.
“No need. I can still fire one off in my dotage.”
Children were such a foreign concept that I wondered vaguely if I would even have done so by then. Kate sighed and I pulled her to me. My mouth sought her throat and I felt her words before hearing them.
“But he’s serious, Luke. He wants me knocked up tomorrow, a baby before next year.” When I continued to kiss her she went on sarcastically, “You needn’t panic. I’m still on the pill.”
“Good,” I’d said, or something like that. “Let’s put it to some use then.” I pulled down the sheet that separated us. Her nipples glanced up at me like dark eyes, alert and inquisitive, and I felt my breath catch at the back of my throat. She reached for me as if we hadn’t made love in years, and I responded as though it had been longer.
It was only later, driving home alone, that I reflected on her words. Leaving Kate was always a wrench, and the longer we’d spent together, the worse it felt. After an entire weekend to ourselves I was depressed and negative. Why had she brought that up? Should I have questioned her more? Maybe she was trying to tell me that she wanted children. Even as I thought it I rejected the idea. Kate didn’t play games; it was one of the things that had first attracted me to her. If there was something on her mind she’d have made sure I knew.
Still, though, a baby. The idea was terrifying, but more than that, abhorrent. I had no paternal urges of my own, but the thought of another man’s child growing inside her made me want to retch. I’d loved her for a long time, maybe even from that day at the lake. At first I’d assumed it was just lust—there had been plenty of other women I couldn’t stop thinking about, at least until I’d slept with them. Usually, desire waned with conquest, a little more erased on each occasion. Even with Cress, I had to admit, though that was different because she was my wife. Now, for the first time in my life, the inverse was taking place. The more I saw of Kate, the more I wanted her. And not just wanted: loved, even needed. What else could explain the emptiness I now felt? If anyone was going to impregnate Kate it should be me.
As the miles slid by I had a vision of how things would be. If you’d asked me previously I would have argued that Kate was too vibrant to be tied down by motherhood, yet suddenly I saw us all some years hence. Or rather I saw them: Kate sitting on the top step of a porch, a baby in her lap and a toddler standing beside them, his arms flung around her neck. Instinctively I knew the children were mine: they were blond, and the older was calling out to me to hurry up and take the photo. I basked in the image for the remainder of the journey, so clear I couldn’t believe I hadn’t already lived it. The high-pitched voice calling out, “Daddy!”; Kate smiling and calm as she talked to our son; the flaxen down covering the baby’s head. And me just out of the shot, focusing a fictitious camera on the fictitious scene, proud and happy as I captured a moment that had never occurred.


The vision returned to me as I considered Kate’s ultimatum.
A week or so before she’d called me at work, something she never did.
“I have to speak to you. Today.”
Her voice was taut and brittle, like freshly set ice.
“Now?” I asked. I’d seen her only the evening before, when I’d offered her a lift home from the museum. We managed such a thing once or twice a week, always careful to take backstreets and for Kate to get out at least two blocks shy of her house. She’d said something about wanting to talk then, but we’d ended up making love instead under cover of the early dusk, our bodies craning toward each other before she’d even unfastened her seat belt.
“No. The others will be back from lunch any moment. Plus I need to see your face.”
Her words worried me as I waited for a tram to the museum two hours later. What could be so urgent that it demanded such precipitate attention? Scenarios flashed through my mind, each more frightening than the last. She’d gotten cold feet, was tired of the whole thing. Cary had found out and was threatening to kill us both. Or—and this in a rush of horror as I boarded the overdue tram—she was pregnant. By me or him, it didn’t really matter. Melbourne slouched by unnoticed outside my window as the tram crept along Nicholson Street, past the Carlton Gardens and toward the museum. F*ck. She was on the pill, wasn’t she? But if she was pregnant what the hell were we going to do? If it was mine things would be complicated enough, though not without some compensations. But if it was Cary’s … I shuddered. Would she even want to keep it? Surely not, though I didn’t know the first thing about arranging an abortion.
I’d suggested we meet at a pub near Kate’s office, the same one she had taken me to the first time I’d approached her after the trivia night. I’d hoped the nostalgia might work in my favor, but when I arrived alone the place felt alien, part of somebody else’s life. Three o’clock: an unusual hour for us to be convening. I had to be back at four for a meeting.
Kate showed up a few minutes later. From my seat in the corner, I watched her scanning the half-empty room until she found what she was looking for. Cressida’s gaze would have moved methodically from one table to the next; Kate’s roamed randomly until alighting on me in delight. Despite my fears I couldn’t help but smile. There would never be a time when I wasn’t pleased to see her.
“So,” she said, sitting down without kissing me. That was usual in public, but when I reached for her hand she drew away. That wasn’t.
“Do you want a drink?” I asked.
“I have to go back to work, and so do you. Besides, I’m so nervous that I’d probably spill it.”
“Nervous?” I inquired encouragingly, as if I weren’t scared half out of my wits myself.
She stared down at her hands spread out on the table, dusting powder trapped under the nails.
“Luke,” she said finally, looking up. “You have to choose. Me or her. You’ve got three weeks.”


Is it a terrible thing to admit that my initial reaction was elation—that she wasn’t pregnant, that Cary hadn’t found out? No outside variables intruded; the situation as far as I saw it hadn’t really altered. It was only later, despairing of the trams and walking back to work, that I began to realize that she was serious. I hadn’t responded at the time. Kate had started crying and I was too worried that someone might see us to take in the full impact of her words.
“Three weeks,” she’d repeated between sobs. “I can’t do this anymore. I want to be with you … or even him … but not both. I’m sick of creeping around to see you and I’m sick of deceiving Cary.”
Three weeks. As I trudged back through the darkening afternoon the two words repeated themselves over and over, like a jingle I couldn’t get out of my mind. Things were perfect the way they were—why did she want to change them? Three weeks. It dawned on me that we wouldn’t yet know the outcome of Cressida’s application by then, something Kate had no doubt taken into account.
The next days were dreadful. At home, I’d find myself studying Cress, evaluating her faults and weaknesses, trying to assess which way to jump. Once or twice I found myself in front of our wedding photos, ranged across the mantelpiece like trophies, hung above our bed as a talisman. I looked content and confident, as if I’d passed some complicated examination. Cress was damp-eyed and pale, made somber by her joy. My pride still swelled at what an attractive couple we made. And if I’m honest, part of my reluctance to make a decision had to do with not wanting to appear to have failed; a marriage breakup, no matter the reason, is always a failure. I didn’t want to be the guilty party either—I’d never been the bad guy before. But then, turning away, I’d catch that glimpse of Kate cradling our children on an imaginary veranda. I had to give up one picture, and I couldn’t decide which.
I didn’t make up my mind straightaway. Three weeks I had, and it took me almost all of them. Give me credit for that, at least.



KATE


I didn’t think it could happen. Stupidly, I thought he’d choose me. I was sure he’d choose me, or else I don’t imagine I would have given him the ultimatum. I suppose I always knew that there was a chance it might backfire, but the odds seemed so remote, the payoff so great. Every time we slept together Luke would hold me and whisper that he never wanted to leave; once we talked about marriage and he vowed that he’d propose in a heartbeat if the situation ever arose. If. What did he think was going to happen? That Cressida would be struck down by typhoid? That Cary would gallantly step aside, conveniently leaving us free to wed? Situations don’t arise; you create them. Luke must have told me he loved me a thousand times in our six months together, must have risked his marriage at least half as many times to meet me or call or make contact somehow. Why then choose that marriage? Everything he’d said and done—the risks, the vows, the meetings—implied that I was the one. Evidently not.
The news came by e-mail. An innocuous-looking one at that, materializing in my in-box with a chime, the subject line blank so as not to arouse suspicion. I opened it almost absentmindedly, concentrating instead on the spreadsheet in front of me. For almost three empty weeks I had thought of little but Luke and the ultimatum I’d given him: sleepless at night, anxious by day. Once or twice I had even allowed myself to daydream about how he’d break the good news: arriving with champagne at work, maybe presenting me with a ring at one of our trysts. I didn’t think of Cary. I’d deal with that later. Then this, when I was least expecting it, turning later into now.
Dearest Kate,
I’m sorry but I just can’t do this. Too many people are going to get hurt, ourselves included. Cress doesn’t deserve it and neither does Cary. Can we make ourselves a life by destroying theirs?
I still want to see you. I don’t want anything to change. At least let me talk to you.
I love you more than ever.
Luke
Someone at a nearby desk must have seen my face.
“Are you okay, Kate?” I heard them ask. “You’ve gone all pale.”
“I think I’ll go home,” I replied, my voice automatic, the rest of me numb. “I’m feeling a bit sick.” I’d barely stood up from my desk when the nausea hit, vomit splashing to the carpet where we’d once made love.



CRESSIDA


I didn’t think it could happen. I never even suspected. Sure, we’d been distant, but I blamed myself for that, always at work or in front of the computer doing research. Still, I thought Luke understood. Whenever things felt particularly strained I’d reassure myself that it was only temporary—once the fellowship came through I could relax, and we could begin planning a whole new life together. Admittedly, Luke didn’t seem as excited about the idea of moving overseas as he’d been when I first brought it up, but I figured he was trying to prevent me from getting my hopes up. Too late for that. For the last month or two all I’d thought about was Michigan. I hadn’t told Luke, but I’d been in regular contact with the hospital where I hoped to do my research. They seemed as excited about it as I was, and had even started sending me practical information: how to apply for a U.S. driver’s license, a guide to the neighborhoods around the hospital. Late at night, when Luke was asleep or out with friends, I’d begun to haunt the local real estate Web sites. The houses intrigued me. Shaker style, nestled close to the lake, all clean, straight lines and minimal trimmings. Our own home in Melbourne seemed suddenly fussy, full of overstuffed furniture and outdated accoutrements. I yearned to start afresh with my life pared down to its basics: just Luke, my work, and a square white house as fresh and simple as a child’s drawing.
So when the news came, a few days earlier than expected, I wasn’t so much excited as relieved. Oh, I was pleased and happy enough, but mostly I just felt vindicated. I’d planned to be successful, and hadn’t allowed myself to consider the alternatives. Now I didn’t have to. This was a dream that was going to come true. Impulsively, I decided to tell Luke in person, start our new life off on the right foot. No more late nights or early starts. No more pager or weekend shifts, plus the excitement of all the travel we’d be able to do! He was bound to be thrilled.
I’d hoped to duck out in my hypothetical lunch hour, but as usual a ward round ran late and then a parent needed to speak to me urgently. By the time I could carve out a quick half hour it was late afternoon. I thought of calling Luke before I left for his office, but then decided to make it a surprise. Given the time of day, he was sure to be in—and if he was in a meeting, well, he could always pop out for five minutes, couldn’t he? I wanted to see him anyway to make sure he was all right. The evening before he had had a migraine and had resorted to tablets to sleep. All through dinner I had watched it coming on, like a thundercloud rolling across the horizon. He’d barely talked, couldn’t eat, was almost teary with the pain. At times he’d buried his head in his hands and groaned until I could stand it no more and had put him to bed, then returned to my Internet meanderings. As I tucked him in I had vaguely wondered what had triggered this attack. Maybe he was as nervous as I was about the fellowship results. The thought made me tender and I kissed him lightly on the forehead before leaving the room. Hours later when I joined him in bed he was lying in the same position, deeply asleep and as lost to me as if he were dead.
Surprisingly, Luke wasn’t in. His secretary had no more idea of his whereabouts than I did, but knew who I was and invited me to wait in his office. I seated myself opposite the desk, then, feeling self-conscious, rose again and wandered aimlessly around the room. It was a largely impersonal area. Two awards he had won for some forgotten campaign hung on one wall; a small copy of my graduation photograph lurked discreetly in a corner of the bookcase. On the desk was the pen I’d given him for his thirtieth birthday, still shiny four years on, the cap tight with disuse. A yellowing peace lily perched on the windowsill, slowly dying of dehydration. I moved toward the flaccid plant, intending to take it out for some water, when a flash in the street two floors below caught my eye. Luke, of course, his hair radiant as a halo, four or five doors down from the entrance to the building. I raised my hand to knock on the glass, then realized he wasn’t alone. Kate was walking beside him, their steps reluctant as they came into view. No sooner had I spotted them than they stopped, disturbing the flow of pedestrians. Luke steered Kate to the side of the walkway, then reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind one ear. I saw him take her hands. Saw him glance furtively around, then lean in and kiss her. But not the kiss of friends or even the sort I’d witnessed at that wedding—this was the embrace of people who have been intimate many times and who know what they are doing. A kiss with history. I shrank back against the desk, afraid to see any more. Later I realized that Kate had been crying, but by then it didn’t matter.




LUKE


I went over it all again as I waited for the elevator. Kate hadn’t been convinced, and though I wasn’t really surprised, the decision hurt. Ached in fact, resonated throughout my chest as if I had just been hit. Surely she’d change her mind. For a moment I experienced a surge of hope; then I remembered her walking away. Shoulders set as the distance between us lengthened, the taste of her mouth fading on mine, dark head disappearing into the crowd. As I relived the scene I felt my eyes become damp and to my horror thought I might weep. The elevator finally arrived but it was bound to be full of my colleagues. As the doors opened I turned in panic and fled into a nearby bathroom.
Two flights of stairs later I was out of breath but back in control. As I passed her desk Anna was busy on the phone, so I didn’t stop for messages. She motioned for me to wait, covering the mouthpiece with one hand, but I headed straight to my office instead. I’d speak to her later, when I had recovered my composure.
“Where the hell have you been?”
The voice broke behind me as I turned to close the door, familiar but angrier than I’d ever heard it before. It was Cressida, so pale she was almost as transparent as the window she was silhouetted against, eyes like huge pools of ink, their color smudged all over her face. In one hand dangled a defeated-looking plant. For a second I thought she was going to throw it at me, but as I watched it slipped from her grasp and fell silently to the floor. Potting mix stained the beige carpet.
“Cress,” I stammered in surprise. “Were we meant to be meeting? You said you were on until ten tonight.”
“I am, but I thought I’d surprise you,” she shot back, her words clipped and furious. “Turns out I was the one who was surprised.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked as calmly as I could, still attempting to read the situation.
“Long enough to watch you kissing Kate in the street below. Quite the performance. Is infidelity so trivial a matter to you that you don’t even care who witnesses it?”
“Infidelity? What are you talking about?” I retorted, thinking quickly. When in doubt, deny.
“You looked as if you wanted to f*ck her then and there, you bastard. I’m surprised you didn’t. What stopped you—not enough room to lie down?”
I had a sudden flashback to the night on the hospital roof, and in my guilt and grief felt a simultaneous urge to hurt Cress as much as possible. There was never any need to lie down, I wanted to tell her, not now, not then. Instead I took a deep breath and cautiously approached her as one would a hissing cat.
“Look, I’ll admit I kissed her, but the rest is in your head. It didn’t mean anything—if I really was having an affair, do you think I’d be stupid enough to conduct it in public like that?”
Cress wavered, wanting to be convinced. “But you promised you wouldn’t see her at all!” she wailed.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ve hardly seen her at all—she just called once or twice, then asked that we meet today. What could I do? She’s going through a rough patch and needed someone to talk to. It looks as if she can’t have kids and her marriage to Cary is on the rocks.” I was ad-libbing furiously, casting around for something to grab on to as desperately as a man sinking in quicksand.
“Why you?” Cress asked, her skepticism evident. “Kate has lots of friends. And why did you have to kiss her?”
“I felt sorry for her, that’s all. Plus I was telling her that it wouldn’t be right for us to meet again, because of you. And I guess she confided in me because she wanted somebody neutral. No point setting all her friends against Cary; then they end up staying together after all.”
I thought I was doing well, but Cress suddenly burst into tears.
“You lying bastard,” she screamed, loud enough that I feared Anna would hear. “You don’t comfort someone by sticking your tongue in their mouth, then leaving it there for five minutes. You’ve been f*cking her, haven’t you?”
“You’re obviously in no state to talk about this rationally,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Come on; I’m taking you home.” She protested but let me maneuver her out of the office, veiling her face behind a drape of pale hair.
We drove home in silence, Cress staring out of the window and occasionally sobbing. She spoke once, but only to request I call the hospital to tell them she was sick and had had to leave work.
As I set my key in the door the house felt suddenly alien, as if I had been away for a long time. Cress followed me in, sniffling and surly, while I wandered from room to room as though I were in a museum. I hadn’t realized there were so many photos of the two of us, grinning out from frames of wood and gold and glass, the eyes trailing me accusingly as soon as I moved away. I had the urge to turn them all facedown, as if we were dead. Instead I tried to talk, but got no further than I had at the office. Cress flung accusations; I retorted that I hadn’t done anything but comfort a friend. She claimed she despised me; I reiterated that I loved her. It had worked after I’d kissed Kate at that wedding. Anyway, it was true—wasn’t that why I had made the damn decision in the first place? Somehow, though, the words had less effect on this occasion. Cry, deny, cry, deny—we scrapped back and forth until after midnight, neither having budged an inch. When we finally went to bed I tried to make love to her but Cress rolled into a tight ball at the farthest reaches of the mattress. When I woke up she wasn’t in the house.




KATE


I saw him once more. The day after I received his e-mail Luke called me at work, claiming that he couldn’t bear to end it that way, that we had to meet and talk things over. It was lucky I was even there to take his call. I hadn’t slept the night before and couldn’t stomach the idea of facing colleagues, of cataloging relics and dusting bones as if my world hadn’t just imploded. Studying my ashen face as I dragged myself out of bed, Cary wondered aloud if I wasn’t coming down with something, then volunteered to stay home and look after me. That was all the push I needed. Somehow his concern was even more unbearable than having to hold myself together through a workday, and I feared that if he were any kinder I would break down and tell him the whole sorry tale.
Really, though, I reflected as I walked from the tram stop to work, a confession wouldn’t achieve a thing. Actually it might, but only to the negative: I’d be left with no mate instead of two. Did I want to stay with Cary? I supposed so, though it was almost impossible to think of anything but Luke. Still, I’d been happy with Cary before Luke showed up and presumably could be again—if things with Luke really were finished, that is. I’ll admit I was hoping they weren’t. So when his call came through a few hours later, how could I say no? I was sure that once he saw me again he’d change his mind.
As it turned out he was after the same: that I’d see him and reconsider, come around to his point of view. We met at a café in the city. Luke sat me down at a table scarred with cigarette burns, kissed each eyelid, red with tears, then launched into his proposal with a fervor I imagine he usually reserved for winning campaigns. “Let’s leave things as they are,” he’d entreated. We’d work something out—what we had was too good to throw away. Mutely I shook my head. Luke persevered. It was just that the timing was wrong—couldn’t I see that? Cress had worked so hard for the fellowship, but she’d never accept were he to leave her now. She deserved to be able to realize her dream. Just one year away, two maximum; then we could talk about marriage when he returned to Australia. There would be no children, no complications; he could guarantee that. And if Cress’s application wasn’t successful, how could he add to her grief by asking for a divorce? “A year,” he repeated. “I owe her that. She’s done nothing wrong.”
At first I listened; I really did. I tried to understand his point of view, but there wasn’t one, just a desire not to rock the boat. A year away—then we could talk? I couldn’t give in. I loved him too much to have only half of him, and not even the best half. Besides, he’d as good as admitted that if he stayed with Cress he’d be moving overseas. “E-mail,” he’d said, shrugging, “the phone. It’s only for a year—we can pick up where we left off when I get back.” I didn’t like the sound of that: that I could be put on layaway, kept for a rainy day. How could I trust him not to do the same with some American girl? How could I wait for a year when right now two days without him seemed an eternity? And how long could we keep it up? Sneaking around at thirty-two may have had some shabby sort of cachet; sneaking around at fifty was decidedly pathetic.
And by now I was angry with him. He hadn’t chosen me, hadn’t wanted me as much as I’d wanted him. My pride stung almost as much as my eyes. Without thinking about what I was doing I picked up my bag and got to my feet. Luke was beside me in an instant.
“Where are you going?” he asked, cut off in midsentence.
“This isn’t achieving anything,” I replied. “I have to get back to work.” I felt strong, resolved and clinically dead. The whole scene unfolded as if it were being played out somewhere far away, as if I were at the movies or watching from a distance, disconnected from my body, my heart. The only way I could bear to leave.
“Wait!” Luke was calling. Despite myself my steps faltered in hope. He pulled on his jacket and caught up to me. “I’ll walk you back to the museum.”
So there wasn’t going to be a happy ending after all. For a moment pain flared; then it all shut down. Amputees must experience the same sensation.
Really, we should have just gone our separate ways, left the grubby little café and never seen each other again. But my route took me past his building anyway, and a tiny part was reluctant to finish it there, amid dirty coffee cups and the paper napkins I’d shredded while he was talking. So we struggled the block to his office, like sleepwalkers or shipwreck victims coming ashore. A discreet doorway or two away Luke pulled me to him and we kissed good-bye. It was a kiss as sweet as every other time, comforting and poisonous. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and turned my back, walking away without saying good-bye.



CRESSIDA


Where else would I go? I went to work. I wasn’t due until later that day but there didn’t seem any other option. I couldn’t stay at home, not with Luke sleeping so soundly in our marital bed when I’d done little but doze and fret and cry all night. I couldn’t go to my parents’ home, and didn’t want to tell any of my friends. Most of them would have been working anyway—given my schedule, the only friendships I’d really maintained were with others in the same profession. They understood the long hours, lack of social life and six-month pauses between phone calls, but were always on duty when I was off. As for my parents … my hunch was that they wouldn’t be home anyway, my father hard at work at some hospital, my mother heading a committee or attending a benefit. And if they were there, what would I tell them? That I’d left Luke? That he’d had an affair? Maybe a room would be grudgingly found for me, but I knew what they’d be thinking. That I should be at home, with my husband, that it was bound to be a misunderstanding.
Besides, had I left Luke? I didn’t believe his denials, though part of me ached to. If he were attracted to Kate, and history told me he was, he wouldn’t have been content just to be her friend. The idea of him holding her hand through her marital difficulties without trying to take something for himself was laughable. And if it was all so innocuous, why hadn’t he told me? I knew our own marriage wasn’t perfect—that Luke was a flirt and I was away too often—but deep down I believed in it. He’d proposed to me, after all.
So what now? The more I thought about it, the more panicked I became. I couldn’t live with him if he’d had an affair; would never be able to trust him again. But I didn’t want to end my marriage, particularly if there was a chance I could be wrong. A slim one, but a chance … I held on to that. And what about the fellowship? I had a week to accept, to make my own requests. Airfares, but for how many? A house, or simply an apartment? Could I even go without him, set off alone to the other side of the world, to a place where no one knew my name? I needed the truth before I could think about anything else.
Did Tim know? I called him on my way to work, fingers clumsy on the tiny buttons of my cell phone. He would still be asleep—it was barely six, after all—but I didn’t even consider waiting until a more respectable hour. Anyway, he could go back to sleep easily enough. Who knew if I’d ever have that luxury again? His voice on the line was disoriented, cautious.
“Hello?”
“It’s Cressida. Do you know anything about Luke and Kate?” No point beating around the bush.
“Luke and Kate? Do you mean the wedding?” he replied sleepily. “That was ages ago—I thought you guys had sorted things out.”
“Not the wedding. Since then. Are they having an affair?”
In the background I heard a mumbled query and realized he wasn’t alone. It annoyed me somehow. I still couldn’t get used to the idea of his having a partner.
“Hang on. I’m going to take this in the kitchen.”
Good old Tim, ever the gentleman. I waited impatiently for the line to click back to life. When it did he sounded wide-awake.
“An affair? What are you talking about?”
“Luke hasn’t told you about this?”
“I’ve barely even seen Luke the last few months. Just figured you two were busy.”
“He didn’t tell you he was seeing Kate, supposedly helping her through some marriage crisis?”
“No. To be honest, I thought you’d banned him from seeing her after that wedding. And fair enough too,” he added hastily.
“So did I,” I replied. In the silence that followed I heard the faint buzz of another conversation on the line. What on earth could people be talking about at this hour?
“Look, Cressida,” Tim said finally, sounding upset, “Luke’s never been a saint, but he’s no hypocrite. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m sure he hasn’t been messing around with Kate. It’s you he loves.”
The tears started up again then, slipping silently down my face. I swallowed hard, staring at the receiver until it came back into focus.
“I got the fellowship, by the way.”
It had suddenly occurred to me that I had yet to share the news with anyone, even Luke. But there was no joy in speaking the words, just the absence of anything else to say.
“Good for you!” said Tim, genuinely pleased. “Work all this out with Luke; then we’ll celebrate in fine style. Really, Cress, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
I hung up unconvinced. He might be sure but I wasn’t. Whom else could I ask?




CARY


Cressida phoned me at work. I recognized her voice on the line immediately, though it had been months since we’d last spoken. Even so, the memory of our shared humiliation made me anxious. This couldn’t be a social call.
It wasn’t.
“Kate and Luke have been seeing each other,” she informed me in a voice gone dull with pain. “I had to find out if you knew. I think they’re having an affair.”
I didn’t know, of course, and strenuously denied the possibility. Yet even as I spoke I realized that what she was saying might be true. It would explain so much: Kate’s distraction, her weight loss, our unconceived children.
The voice on the line continued, escalating in panic.
“He denies it, but I don’t believe him. What do you think?”
My mind was racing. I couldn’t answer, just shook my head instead. Cressida went on, in tears now, and I could almost hear the receiver shaking in her grip.
“Can you find out for me, Cary? I have to know. So do you. What are they doing? Is it over? Please.”
I don’t remember answering her; don’t remember hanging up. Instead I went back to my microscope and my slides, forcing myself to finish the job I’d started, squinting down the barrel until my eyes ached and my head pounded. Somewhere, somebody else was also waiting for news, for a verdict that could change his or her life. I concentrated on determining that fate before I allowed myself to think about my own.



KATE


The day after I’d said good-bye to Luke, Cary came home from work early. I’d done the same, unable to concentrate on the shards of a clay pot I was trying to date, worried that my trembling hands would drop the artifact or give me away. How was I ever going to work again? I couldn’t concentrate, could barely draw breath without thinking of Luke, going over it all just one more time. Even being at the museum made me ache. There was the phone that didn’t ring, the rug where we’d once lain together, even the blue whale skeleton we’d kissed under on our way out of the building that long-ago night. Relics of our own short history, unclassified, uncataloged. How long till time buried these too?
Cary’s car was in the drive, its hood still warm. I felt a stab of annoyance. I’d wanted to have a bath and a good long cry, maybe call Sarah and tell her what had happened. Now I’d have to continue to act as if nothing were wrong, maintain the facade that was giving me a migraine. For a second I thought about running, but where would I go? The decision had been made, and this was still my home.
I braced myself, then pushed open the door, calling Cary’s name. Maybe he’d want to have a drink—God knew I could use one. I expected him to be at his desk or maybe already busy in the kitchen, but when I finally found him he was sitting in our living room in darkness.
“Are you okay?” I asked, suddenly wary. Something was wrong. The house was cold. Cary hadn’t even turned the heat on.
“I had a call from Cressida today. You remember her. You kissed her husband once at a wedding.”
I stopped breathing, my hand frozen as it reached for the light switch.
“She told me everything. She saw the two of you kissing again yesterday, outside Luke’s office. When she confronted him he confessed it all.”
“All?” The word was little more than a whisper, ash blown on a faint puff of air.
“All of it—that the two of you have been having an affair, sneaking around, deceiving us both.”
Apart from in the earliest days, I had never seriously considered that Cary might find out what I was up to. The possibility had concerned Sarah, but never me. Maybe that’s a common delusion of the adulterer, or perhaps it was because he was just so trusting—always willing to accept every excuse or deception I might offer. I’d grown careless with his faith in me. Now all of a sudden I realized I’d squandered it like change.
“Well?” he prompted as I continued to stand there. The body is an amazing thing, perpetually optimistic in its functioning: though I felt as if my heart had stopped, my eyes were adjusting to the late-afternoon gloom. Cary looked grim and defeated. I cleared my throat but no sound came out. A perilous silence stretched between us. Only words could be more dangerous.
“Talk to me, Kate!” Cary shouted, halfway between a demand and a plea. I thought furiously, trying to come up with a plausible story, a defense of sorts. But it was no use, and suddenly I was too tired for any more deceit.
“I wish I’d told you first,” I said, meaning it. “I was going to, once I got it together in my own head.”
“Told me what? That you slept with him?”
I nodded, ashamed for the first time. The color drained from his face, almost as if someone had pulled out a plug.
“So it’s true?” he cried.
“It’s over now,” I hedged.
“When did you last see him?”
It was dawning on me that perhaps Cary hadn’t really been sure, that he’d called my bluff. Yet he must know something to have made the accusation. Either way I lacked the energy to lie.
“Yesterday,” I whispered, and he buried his head in his hands.
For a long time we stayed like that—me immobile in the doorway by the light switch, Cary slumped in the chair with his face covered. He was so still that I almost feared he was becoming catatonic, but after about half an hour he suddenly rose and walked past me without once looking my way. I heard him leave the house, shutting the door quietly behind him, then start the car and reverse carefully out of the drive. His control scared me more than any show of anger. I began to shake, at first with cold and shock, then with rage. Before I knew it I was dialing Luke’s number. I needed to find out how much had been said and what I could salvage. But more than that, I was furious he had revealed anything at all—that he wouldn’t have me, but wouldn’t let me have my marriage either. I didn’t stop to consider that it wasn’t in his interest to have told Cressida anything himself. She answered the phone anyway, and I hung up without speaking, suddenly terrified.



CRESSIDA


I’d moved out within the hour after Cary called back. Had me paged, actually, at the hospital, where I was still going through the motions. Fortunately my shift was almost finished. I cut it short, abandoned the charts I had yet to write up and broke every speed limit to get home. Luke wasn’t there. Still at work, I presumed, though after what Cary had told me anything was possible. Despite everything I was disappointed not to see him. I felt jagged and edgy, off center somehow. I needed to fight and scream, to rid myself of some of the adrenaline. Instead I packed. Clothes for work, pajamas, my cosmetics. Underwear, ten pairs. Who knew when I’d be back?
The phone rang once as I moved about the bedroom. I swooped on it, hoping it was Luke, still feeling strangely high. But the line went dead and no one called back. Not his style. Maybe Cary? I doubted it. He’d been so devastated when we spoke the second time that he couldn’t end the call fast enough. No details, just the facts. That they had slept together, probably more than once. That Kate had said it was over. That he didn’t know what to do. Those were his last words. Just a statement, articulated as precisely as any theorem. He wasn’t looking for advice, and I couldn’t have given him any. But I knew what I had to do. Get out, leave Luke. Put as much distance between us as I could.
The house was quiet as I locked the door behind me. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but probably the hospital. The residents’ quarters, or one of the rooms they kept for parents. Of course the house was quiet. It was always quiet. We were rarely home, either together or apart. I was out of control, less myself than I’d ever been. Like Eve must have felt after the fall, I reflected as I drove away. Leaving Eden for a land unknown.