Arkansas by David Leavitt Page B

window. Where on earth is Celia going at this hour—and why is she taking such precautions to make sure no one hears her?
    If it
was
Celia. Or maybe someone was stealing her car. Yet why steal an old Fiat like that?
    It was now close to one in the morning. Tired of being tired, I resorted to half a Valium, which threw me into a deep, if uneasy, sleep from which I arose just after nine. Celia and Nathan had already finished their breakfast by the time I got down to the dining room.
    â€œGood morning,” Celia said.
    â€œGood morning.”
    I looked out the window, only to see the Fiat in its accustomed place.
    â€œDid you sleep well?” Celia asked, pouring coffee.
    â€œNot really. Typical jet lag: first I was tired, and then I was wide awake, and then there was this noise. I wonder if you heard it.”
    â€œCelia always used to sleep with earplugs,” Nathan interrupted. “Do you still sleep with earplugs?”
    â€œYes, actually. I never hear anything at night.”
    â€œYou mean you didn’t—”
    Under the table Nathan kicked me.
    â€œDidn’t what?”
    â€œNothing, I guess. It must have been one of those weird dreams. You know, where you can’t quite tell what’s real. Like Nathan’s story!”
    â€œTry this apricot jam,” Nathan said, thrusting a pot in my direction. “Celia put it up herself.”
    â€œI’ll get some more bread.” Pushing out her chair, which scraped horribly against the tiles, she strode into the kitchen.
    Ssh,
Nathan gestured.
    â€œAll right,” I whispered.
    She came back in with a very clever bread board, slats of olive wood through which the crumbs fell into a tray.
    â€œSo Celia’s just been telling me about her plans for the day,” Nathan announced, and launched into a recitation of food and itineraries that successfully distracted all three of us from the subject of the noise.
    When he’d finished, she got up and started clearing the dishes.
    â€œI’ll help,” I said, almost automatically.
    Nathan stayed put.
    â€œTypical,” Celia muttered.
    She loaded the dishwasher. Then she said, “Well, gotta go.” As it happened, she had a date to go to the market with Mauro, who was hoping to take advantage of our visit to try out some new recipes. “That is, if you two don’t mind being guinea pigs.”
    â€œMind? Why should we mind?” I asked as we followed her into the yard.
    â€œEspecially if Mauro’s the great cook you claim,” Nathan added.
    â€œI don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Well, bye.”
    She drove off.
    Nathan turned to me. “Thank you,” he said.
    â€œNathan, what on earth is going on?”
    â€œI owe you a favor, Lizzie. You covered for me.”
    â€œDid
you
take Celia’s car last night?”
    He nodded.
    â€œBut why all this secrecy?”
    â€œI didn’t ask her permission.”
    â€œOh!” I laughed. “Well, at least
Tm
not hallucinating.” Nathan took the barb without flinching. “I hoped no one would hear me. I was counting on Celia’s earplugs—and your being asleep.”
    â€œI wasn’t.”
    â€œAnd I was careful. I drove very carefully.”
    â€œNathan, you don’t have to justify yourself to
me.
It wasn’t my car.”
    â€œHow would you have felt if it was?"
    I thought about it. “Perplexed. Maybe angry. But that’s beside the point, because I’m not Celia.”
    â€œStill, I want to tell you
why
I took her car, Lizzie! And what happened. In fact, I probably have to tell you, in case...”
    â€œIn case what?”
    He sat down on a little wrought-iron bench. I sat next to him.
    â€œFirst of all,” he said, “you have to promise me to keep this to yourself.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd you also have to promise not to tell me I’m a heel. I know I’m a heel. I don’t need