“No, I think it’s fine. I just had no idea.” I take a deep breath, the words stuck on my tongue. “Henry, I don’t know anything about her.”
He leans back in his chair. “She was very different than you. Very timid, a bit scared of the world. You wonder why I don’t know what to do with you.” He laughs and I relax back in my seat.
“Do you keep that room hers?” I cock my head to the side and study his face. He averts his eyes, squinting at a grapevine wreath on the far wall.
“Not intentionally, Zoe. I don’t come here much anymore. Do you know that we used to spend every weekend here?” He shakes his head and chooses his words carefully. “It’s hard to come back sometimes.”
“You still love her.” I feel stupid even as I say it. It’s so obvious, but I’m not even sure if there’s anything wrong with it. Why wouldn’t he? She never gave him a reason not to, except for the simple fact that she’s gone. His love for me, then, is by default.
I’ve broken the spell anyway, and for the wrong thing.
“It’s complicated,” he sighs. “It’s not like a divorce. I didn’t have any control over the end of my marriage.” He rests his cheek against the L of his thumb and forefinger and studies me. “Is that hard for you?”
“Not usually. But we’ve been married nearly a year and we’ve never had this conversation. That’s hard for me.” This was the kind of talk that we should have had a million times, drinking wine, wrapped in blankets on a cold winter night. The kind of close, furtive confidences of lovers, whispered kisses and shared breath.
“The room is not a shrine to Tara. I guess I’m lazy. I rent this house out, just a few times a year in the summer and again in the fall to hunters.” His eyes flick across my face.
“You’ve never been called lazy in your life,” I joke. Half-joke. The room is fuzzy and I feel coquettish, preening, looking up at Henry from under my eyelashes.
“You call me out, Zoe. I never knew how much I would love that. I’ve certainly never had it before.”
For something to do, I pour another glass of wine. I realize I’ve drunk almost the whole bottle of white alone, and I slosh more than a sip full down the side of the goblet and onto the tablecloth, which I then rub with the pad of my thumb.
“It’s not a shrine,” he repeats. “It’s just easier. I have a new life. I’m remarried. Sometimes, it’s like I’ve lived twice. I wonder if she ever existed at all. That room is physical proof, that’s all. I don’t think about it, I don’t go in there. Do you want me to change it? I will.” He blows out a breath and it tumbles across the table, warm and sweet. “I’m not preserving it. It’s just that I haven’t changed it, that’s all. Do you see the difference?” He seems desperate for me to understand now, his hands splayed out across the tablecloth, and I feel a stab of guilt.
“Why is it so goddamn spotless?” I laugh, my voice slurring on the word spotless so it sounds like spa-aaaas. He pretends not to notice.
“I had it cleaned last weekend. I had the whole house cleaned. Penny does all the rooms before I come out.”
“Penny?” I sit up straight. For some reason, this fact gets under my skin and sits there like a fat, well-fed tick. He had Penny clean the house last weekend? He’d made the trip seem spontaneous, a reaction to the break-in.
“Sure. Who else?” He tops off my glass with the last of the bottle.
“But you made it seem like this was a last-minute trip,” I protest weakly. I can’t find the right words.
“What does that matter? I was thinking about surprising you. Is that a crime? Then the break-in happened and it seemed like an opportunity. Jesus, Zoe, are you always so exacting?”
“I don’t know what that means.” My stomach roils.
“I just mean, you need to know every little thought and if it doesn’t align with the script in your head, I’m the bad guy.”
“You’re not the bad guy.” I push away from the table, roughly, and the table wobbles. “You’re not a bad guy.”
I mumble something about the bathroom. I concentrate very hard, walking in a straight line, with my head up, as though I’m perfectly fine. I find the ladies’ room in the dark, back corner of the restaurant. Inside I lean against the door, the room spinning and whipping around me. I feel along the wall and flip the light switch. Without warning my stomach heaves and I retch into the toilet. The tile floor is cold on my legs and I remember that I’m naked under my dress. I feel my face flame red. God, did I think I was twenty years old? I’m just a second wife living someone’s second life, at thirty.
I wipe my bottom lip with the back of my hand and push myself up to standing. The room has stopped spinning and I smooth the front of my dress down with my hands. I feel better. At least like I could walk across the room. I wash up and rinse my mouth. I slowly make my way back to the table.
“Are you all right?” Henry leans forward and takes my hand.
“I drank too much,” I say, plainly.