“Here and there. We run into each other.” Pup-Pup abruptly turned and left the room, and Clara heard his tags jiggling up the stairs, as if he’d already heard enough. Somehow, in spite of the fact that Clara was the one home all day, he seemed to have designated Benny as the alpha. They’d go for long walks in the dark before bed and Pup-Pup would come home panting with glee.
She took a breath. “I have to say, Iz, I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”
“It’s just neighborly stuff,” Izzy said. “I can’t see how that would be a bad idea.”
“I didn’t say bad. I said not the best.” Clara’s lips had gone dry, and she licked them nervously. “How much time together are we talking about, just out of curiosity?”
A small smile played on Izzy’s lips, then disappeared.
“Not enough to warrant an intervention,” Izzy said, trying to laugh it off. “Let’s not blow it out of proportion.”
“Am I?” Clara bit her lip. “Forget what I think, or what I’m worried about. Think about how it might look. It’s not as if no one’s paying attention to what Paul’s up to these days.”
A light in Izzy’s eyes was going dim, clouded out in a way that reminded her of a movie line Thomas liked to quote. It had to do with being between sad and mad. Sad mad. “You think I don’t worry about how I look to other people? The also-ran who left town after her sister got the guy, who resigned herself to spinsterhood with a mortgage. The stick-in-the-mud behind a happy radio show. The loner on an early-bird schedule. I’m tired of it. I thought you were different. I thought we were friends.”
Clara blinked at her. “We are friends,” she said firmly. “I’ve never thought any of those things about you. And if anyone does, screw them.”
“Who are they to judge, right?” Izzy said pointedly.
“Iz, you’re taking this the wrong way. It’s just that … for starters, Kristin’s sister came to see me. She had some choice commentary on Dr. Paul.”
“Of course she did. Her sister was divorcing him.”
“But they were estranged. It’s not as if Kristin colored her perceptions.”
“I’m not one to be throwing stones where sisters are concerned. Or putting too much stock in one’s opinion on the other, frankly.”
“But Izzy. You saw Hallie’s newspaper. I mean, I wasn’t at all on board with distributing it, but what she wrote was true…”
“Hallie, the kid? What newspaper?”
“The Color-Blind Gazette.”
Izzy shrugged and shook her head.
How was it possible she’d really never seen it, never even heard about it? Hallie had suspected as much, and Clara had dismissed the idea. She felt almost relieved. All she had to do was explain—
“Wait a second. She did interview me for something…”
Clara brightened. “Yes! That’s it.”
“I thought that was a school project. It was distributed?”
“To put it mildly.”
Izzy was frowning now. “But she said it was about good news. You’re saying there was something in there about Kristin and Paul?”
She took a deep breath. “Good news is her new angle. Let’s just say the original got her into some trouble. I can show—”
“Did you invite me over just to warn me off of Paul?” Izzy’s voice was sharp.
“Of course not.”
Izzy shook her head. “Your life is very full, Clara,” she said softly. “You might have noticed that mine is not. I’m not exactly in a position to turn down offers to help me repair something, or to have someone keep me company for an hour or two. In fact, I think it’s better I’m not left with my own thoughts more than necessary right now.”
“But Benny and I are here. If you ever—”
Izzy put up a hand. “I’m not talking about intruding on other people’s lives. I know Benny would be glad to lend a hand, but I also know he has plenty of better things to do. And Paul, you might have noticed, does not.”
Clara cleared her throat. “But maybe there’s a reason for that…”
“Sure there’s a reason! His ex ran off with the kids he’d been raising for years. Honestly, if anyone’s behavior here should be chastised, maybe it’s the rest of the neighborhood, turning their backs on him, pretending he’s not still here.”
He’s not still here, Clara thought. He’s back. “You don’t understand,” she said instead. This was going all wrong. She’d expected Izzy to brush off her concerns, even to deny having more than passing contact with Paul. But why was she being so defensive? Unless …
“Did something happen between you two?” Clara blurted out. Izzy didn’t answer, and the fear Clara had been trying to swallow came flooding back.
“Please, Izzy.” She stopped short and glanced over her shoulder, toward the foyer, straining to hear any signs of Benny. The house was quiet. “When I pictured this conversation in my head, we were not standing in a dark kitchen. Let’s sit down. Really talk.”
Izzy looked at her strangely. “Why are you working through conversations with me in your head?”
Clara swiped the wine bottle off the counter with one hand, took her glass in the other, and crossed to the couch, where she deposited them on the end table. She switched on a table lamp, pressed the remote to lower the music volume, and curled at the end of the sectional, hoping Izzy would think it rude not to join her. Izzy’s sigh was perceptible as she made her way to the opposite end, but she didn’t sit, only stood there awkwardly, letting her question hang between them.
“Something happened,” Clara said finally. “To change the way I talk through things with friends.”
“How did you used to do it?”
“I didn’t, actually.”
“But now you do.”
She sighed. “Not very well, evidently. But I try. If you think it’s none of my business, Benny would agree. He subscribes to the keep-your-eyes-on-your-own-paper theory.”
That they had walked away from the same tragedy having opposing reactions was one of the curious things about their marriage. But then again, maybe it was just a curious thing about tragedy. About how individual it can be, to everyone it touches.
“And what theory do you subscribe to?”
“More like better safe than sorry. Or ask forgiveness, not permission.” The caveat, of course, was that it had not escaped her attention that these particular theories could rationalize good deeds and bad indiscriminately.
“Hmm. Sure you don’t want to go put the kids down? I’ll hang out with Benny.”
Clara laughed, grasping at the chance to maintain any trace of levity. “Izzy,” she said, her eyes pleading, “I care about you. Just sit down and let me tell you this one story, okay?”
Izzy sighed. “I know she’s your friend, but I think I’ve heard enough about Kristin.”
“It’s not about Kristin,” Clara said, fighting to keep the desperation from her voice. “It’s about me.”
29
P.S. Has anyone ever told you that you’d make an amazing wife? I’m serious.
—Last line of an email from Benny thanking Clara for a wonderful third date, in which she’d attempted to cook for him, burnt the pork chops so badly they seared themselves to the pan, and called out for Chinese delivery