Now You See Him by Eli Gottlieb

surprised, as I was, by overlooked local pleasures. Lucy was beautiful.
    “And all this is what,” she asked, “reparations of a sort?”
    “Hey, it worked for the slaves, didn’t it?” I laughed in the silence, and spread my arms. When she didn’t say anything more, I lowered them and leaned forward. “Look, I admit I’ve made mistakes, taken some things for granted, okay? Probably little parts of me fell asleep over the years, and I feel bad about that. I want you to know,” I went on, “that I recognize how hard you work, and I want to honor it somehow.” I heard the slightly canned quality to my speech, and said more softly, “Remember how I used to cook for you, honey?”
    She shook her head to herself, sadly, a dreamy half smile on her face.
    “I’ve been seeing a therapist,” she said.
    I felt a pang, deep in my stomach.
    “Purefoy?”
    “Yes.”
    I loathed the bald, handsome, self-impressed Purefoy. We’d first seen him not long after Will was born, when we’d grown frightened by the high wave of incomprehension and dead-calm indifference that seemed to be hurtling toward us. Still holding my arms up, I slowly lowered them to my sides.
    “Well,” I said, struggling to keep things light against a sudden sharp feeling of undertow, “I’m glad you’ve been talking to someone, because you certainly haven’t been talking to me!” In the ongoing silence, I went on, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about let’s have some of that wine you just accused me of drinking?”
    “Fine.”
    I poured the Chianti, and nodding her thanks, she took a sip, set it down.
    “Nick?”
    “Yes, honey?”
    Her large made-up eyes, ringed with mascara, stared deeply into mine. “Why are you trying to end this marriage?”
    “What?” I cried.
    “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she said.
    “No, it’s not!”
    “Oh, but it is,” she said. “The doctor and I are in perfect agreement on this. And all the signs point to it.”
    “What signs are those?”
    “I guess you know,” she ignored my question, “that Deirdre Friedrich saw you and Belinda Castor at Padi-Cakes?”
    My heart began thudding against my ribs.
    “Well, how nice for Deirdre Friedrich,” I said.
    “She said that you two were laughing and carrying on like a house on fire. She used that very phrase, ‘house on fire.’”
    “So?” I said, ignoring the persistent banging at my clavicle, “Is that a crime? I mean, come on, honey. I took her out for a cup of tea. It seemed the least I could do under the circumstances. We talked mainly about Rob, her career, and the pain she was in. The woman is kind of inconsolable right now. And yes, all right, I did my best to make her laugh—so shoot me!”
    In the extended silence, my smile drying on my face, both of us then listened to the distinct sound of me swallowing hard. When her voice next came it was gentler than I’d heard it in a long time.
    “Do you think I don’t know you, Nick? Do you reallybelieve you’re living in some little tree house of the mind, spying out on the world and the world can’t see you back?”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Please don’t pretend to be thick. I hate when you do that. For the last half year I’ve tried to find you, in that faraway place you’ve been living. Not only for the boys, but, you know…” I saw her lip trembling; I knew how much this was costing her, and I wanted suddenly to protect her—but against what? Myself? “For us. I love so much about you, Nick, that I think it’s going to kill me to say this, but I have to.” She took a deep breath, drew herself erect. “Why don’t you just admit you want out, and we can go from there?”
    “Out?” I said. “What do you mean, Lucy, ‘out’?”
    “I mean that maybe if you had more time to spend in that past you’re always mooning over, you’d be happier. And if you were happier, I’d be happier too, even if…we’d come to the end of something.”
    “This is crazy!” I said