off the ignition, she saw David through the diner window. He was paying his bill at the cash register. She sat there, heat cranked up, watching her husband complete his transaction. Neither the carâs nor the dinerâs window qualified as amorous, that was for certain. You canât help where your mind goes, however; Maggie felt the pitch and seethe, the opposing forces of love and hate, though there was a unifying element: she still felt David to be the love of her life. (At the same time, she thought,
He has not come to Halifax to say that very thing about me, has he?
) This surprised and saddened her, and then she experienced a surge of disappointment in herself for feeling it. That is, her emotions ran the gamut.
David stepped from the diner, his breath ghosting outâ
Put on your gloves,
she thought. He noticed her car and stopped abruptly, watching Maggie appear and disappear behind the streaking sleet as the wipers arced back and forth. The parking lot had patches of black ice. He walked, slipping once, catching his balance, to her car. Maggie didnât roll down the window. They looked at each other a moment, then David walked to his truck and climbed in. He fully expected Maggie to continue on to Halifax, but in the rearview mirror saw that she was following him to the estate.
Once inside the guesthouse, Maggie took off her coat and said, âDavid, I really donât want to talk. I canât bear it.â She stood next to the bathtub and dried her hair from the sleet.
Viewing this from the kitchen, David felt so grateful for her presenceâthe painful familiarity in the way she bent slightly, let her hair fall, rubbed it with the towel in furious eddiesâthat it unhinged him a little. He sat down at the table, his coat still on.
Finally he followed her into the bedroom.
She left at 1:30 in the morning. âIâm driving straight back to Halifax,â she said. âIâm going now, David.â On the return drive she stopped and got that cup of coffee. As she sat sipping it in a booth, her heart felt scored by anger and blame. Nonetheless, she came up with a pairing of words to help her get purchase on the fact of having just slept with her estranged husband: ânecessary and confusingâ (once she learned she was pregnant, she revised this to ânecessary and nostalgicâ). She felt a slight cold coming on.
When Maggie got to her apartment on Robie Street, she took a bath, sat in her robe listening to the BBC on her broadband radio, a gift from her father, for almost two hours, trying not to think. She dressed in a favorite pair of black slacks, a peach-colored blouse with a button-down black sweater and, for the first time since her honeymoon, the simple pearl necklace David had given her in his London flat, for what he called their âone-hundred-day anniversary.â It began to snow. Putting on her overcoat, gloves and galoshes, carrying a pair of shoes in an oversize handbag, she
left for her Dalhousie office; there was paperwork to catch up on before a 9:15 appointment.
Â
If love has its own velocity, so does love in absentia. He put on a clean T-shirt. He should have taken a shot of whiskey and tried to sleep, or read Anatole France, or listened to Bach. What was that phrase Maggieâs mother used when Maggie was anxious about this or that?
Be patient, life will provide.
David wasnât so sure. However, he opted for none of the tried-and-true routines of the past year. Instead, he committed himself to a sequence of actions, each one by itself so compulsive, reckless, he didnât fear or probably detect their cumulative destructive effect.
How could I do more harm than Iâve already done?
he might have reasoned, if he reasoned at all. Whereas he shouldâve just called it a night.
First he walked to the pond and saw the swans gathered on the far bank. He approached, then dropped to his knees, crawled close, reached under the
He has not come to Halifax to say that very thing about me, has he?
) This surprised and saddened her, and then she experienced a surge of disappointment in herself for feeling it. That is, her emotions ran the gamut.
David stepped from the diner, his breath ghosting outâ
Put on your gloves,
she thought. He noticed her car and stopped abruptly, watching Maggie appear and disappear behind the streaking sleet as the wipers arced back and forth. The parking lot had patches of black ice. He walked, slipping once, catching his balance, to her car. Maggie didnât roll down the window. They looked at each other a moment, then David walked to his truck and climbed in. He fully expected Maggie to continue on to Halifax, but in the rearview mirror saw that she was following him to the estate.
Once inside the guesthouse, Maggie took off her coat and said, âDavid, I really donât want to talk. I canât bear it.â She stood next to the bathtub and dried her hair from the sleet.
Viewing this from the kitchen, David felt so grateful for her presenceâthe painful familiarity in the way she bent slightly, let her hair fall, rubbed it with the towel in furious eddiesâthat it unhinged him a little. He sat down at the table, his coat still on.
Finally he followed her into the bedroom.
She left at 1:30 in the morning. âIâm driving straight back to Halifax,â she said. âIâm going now, David.â On the return drive she stopped and got that cup of coffee. As she sat sipping it in a booth, her heart felt scored by anger and blame. Nonetheless, she came up with a pairing of words to help her get purchase on the fact of having just slept with her estranged husband: ânecessary and confusingâ (once she learned she was pregnant, she revised this to ânecessary and nostalgicâ). She felt a slight cold coming on.
When Maggie got to her apartment on Robie Street, she took a bath, sat in her robe listening to the BBC on her broadband radio, a gift from her father, for almost two hours, trying not to think. She dressed in a favorite pair of black slacks, a peach-colored blouse with a button-down black sweater and, for the first time since her honeymoon, the simple pearl necklace David had given her in his London flat, for what he called their âone-hundred-day anniversary.â It began to snow. Putting on her overcoat, gloves and galoshes, carrying a pair of shoes in an oversize handbag, she
left for her Dalhousie office; there was paperwork to catch up on before a 9:15 appointment.
Â
If love has its own velocity, so does love in absentia. He put on a clean T-shirt. He should have taken a shot of whiskey and tried to sleep, or read Anatole France, or listened to Bach. What was that phrase Maggieâs mother used when Maggie was anxious about this or that?
Be patient, life will provide.
David wasnât so sure. However, he opted for none of the tried-and-true routines of the past year. Instead, he committed himself to a sequence of actions, each one by itself so compulsive, reckless, he didnât fear or probably detect their cumulative destructive effect.
How could I do more harm than Iâve already done?
he might have reasoned, if he reasoned at all. Whereas he shouldâve just called it a night.
First he walked to the pond and saw the swans gathered on the far bank. He approached, then dropped to his knees, crawled close, reached under the
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