“Anna.”
She hadn’t heard Bruno come into the kitchen. She hadn’t even heard him come into the house. His voice startled her; she dropped the mug. It broke into two large pieces and several smaller ones. “Jesus Christ, Bruno.” Her heart throbbed a dozen times at once. “You scared me.” Anna never had any great tolerance for surprises, and now, every ambush was mantled with an overlay of terror. She bent to pick the larger pieces up. The bending took the last of Anna’s energy. “The kids?”
“Grosi’s.”
“Oh.” Victor had spent more nights at Ursula’s in the last month than he had the entire year before. Of course he had. Half of his own room belonged to a ghost. They hadn’t taken out Charles’s bed. They hadn’t given away his clothes. They couldn’t bring themselves to. Victor wasn’t ready either. Mornings, when Bruno went to wake him, he would find Victor asleep atop Charles’s mattress, his head upon Charles’s pillow and his body underneath Charles’s blankets and sheets. This was how Victor consoled himself. Bruno’s plan was to swap the boys’ bedroom with Polly Jean’s, but he hadn’t done it yet. It was a good idea, Anna agreed. Victor had nightmares in that room. He slept better at Ursula’s. And he needed the sleep so deeply. And the nights he spent away from home relieved Anna from the trauma of watching him grieve. It was a selfish relief that Anna knew better than to share.
Anna turned to the trash bin with the pieces of mug in her hand but stopped to wonder whether ceramic was recyclable. Then she wondered why she didn’t know. Then she decided she didn’t care and simply threw the pieces in the garbage can. “Mary leave?” Anna filled the air with words, dodging silence. Bruno came all the way into the kitchen and stood between Anna and the stove with his arms folded across his chest and gave a strangely civil nod. Anna was exasperated. “You’re in my way.”
Bruno didn’t move. “How long?” The inquiry was blunt.
“For the tea? How long does it usually take? Two minutes?”
Bruno ticked his head once to the right, once to the left, then centered it again. “How long?” Bruno’s speech was metered. Anna responded by not responding. “Who is it, Anna?”
“Who is what?”
The kitchen grew nervous. “I want to know his name.”
Anna wasn’t ready for this. “No, Bruno. Just … no.” Anna had a headache. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her hands and tried to figure out whose name Bruno wanted to know. There were several to choose from.
It’s an otherworldly moment when the curtains behind which a lie has been hiding are pulled apart. When the slats on the blinds are forced open and a flash of truth explodes into the room. You can feel the crazing of the air. Light shatters every lie’s glass. You have no choice but to confess.
“Yes. Now. Was it Archie?”
Anna did what she could to maintain herself. “This is getting old.” Anna’s voice sharpened. “I haven’t—”
Bruno cut her off. His drill-bit stare bored through her. “You’re lying to me. Who? Tell me a name. Now.” Anna couldn’t summon a reaction. For two years she’d been afraid of getting caught. And now he’d caught her. Sort of. How much does he know? She wasn’t sure. How does he know it? She wasn’t going to ask. What happens now? This, she would have to wait to find out. Anna separated herself from her situation by throwing down questions like sandbags and hiding behind them. What’s he going to say next? What should I say back to him? Are we breaking up? What will he do?
What Bruno did next was repeat himself, but in a louder voice. He wasn’t yelling, but he didn’t need to. Even calm, Bruno’s voice sustained an underlying boom. When angry, it shook with a tense, hateful rattle. He stopped to breathe after each word: You. Are. Lying. Anna. A corset of fear cinched her body into smallness. She didn’t know what had tipped her hand.
Everyone has a tell.
“Stop it. You’re scaring me.” Anna took a step back. One step farther and she would have nowhere else to move. “Let’s just please talk about this tomorrow. I feel sick.” It was a plea Anna knew he wouldn’t hear. Bruno stepped into the space where Anna had just been standing. And then he took another step, forcing Anna to the wall. He spoke directly into her face. “When did it start? How far back does it go? Is Victor a little bastard too?” Anna replied with silence. The sum of her efforts went into trying not to tremble.
Bruno grabbed for her hand but she pulled it away. They repeated that process until he caught it. He isolated the finger on which she wore her mother’s ring and tried to wrench it off. Anna yelped. “What about Charles? Who’s his fucking father?”