not to make any unnecessary noise. Wouldn't it be intrusive, an interference to his work if she called out, "Hal, I'm here"?
But she listened. She listened as if her ears were fingers that could reach out and snatch up his words. What she heard was his mild Midwestern voice murmuring clipped replies to whatever the other party was saying, and it maddened her not to hear that, too.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Sure."
"You can count on it."
"I understand."
"Right."
"That's okay."
"Yes, it's for the best."
"She was?"
"Of course."
"I understand."
"I'm grateful—believe me, I am."
"Good-bye."
He replaced the receiver, sighed wearily, and then swiveled around in his chair, his face registering something more than surprise when he confronted Peggy sitting just feet away.
"You might have knocked."
"I'm your wife," she said. "Do you have something to hide?"
He brought his elbows forward onto the top of the desk and laced his fingers together.
"What has hide got to do with it? For Christ's sake, Pegs, it's a mere formality."
"Formalities between husbands and wives?"
Suddenly she had to urinate. It didn't seem possible to hold it. She crossed her legs and jammed the toe of her shoe under his desk. She squeezed her thighs together hard.
"All right." he said, dropping his hands from their pose. "A courtesy, then. For God's sake, let's not fight."
"Forget it," Peggy said.
She saw the rain hit, blow against his window. It splattered over the glass as if sprayed by a hose full-force. Like a cue to a child straining over the toilet, it made the pressure in her bladder worse.
"It doesn't matter," she said, trying to recapture her thoughts. "What matters is why I'm here, and it has nothing to do with what you choose to keep secret from me." As soon as she said it, she wondered if it was true. But then she shook off the thought like a dog breaking his muzzle free of cobwebs.
He smiled. He spread his hands as if to shrug.
"Pegs, honey—I honest to God don't know what's happening to you. All I know is something is."
She saw the smile as a smirk, the gesture as a lie.
"It's not me, Hal. It's you," she said.
She felt she was competing against the clock now, a runner pitted against the speed of his own heartbeat. The rain, Hal, the weight of the scalding fluid that thundered for release, everything stood like a colossal wall between her and the undoing of the drawing Sam had made of his Miss Putnam and the class.
"I want Sam out of that school. We have to withdraw him. We have to do it right away."
"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Pegs. Let's not start on that again." His face closed down, and he hunched himself forward, his manner serious, grave, his mien that of the person elected to be the grown-up in the room. "Let me lay this on you one more time. I want that school for my son. I want him in the world St. Martin's represents; I want him to have the kind of education it provides; I want him to go to the kind of college it prepares kids for; and most of all, I want you to get off my goddamned case about it. People all over this city would kill to get their kids into that place, and all you can do is piss and moan about it. Really, Peggy, I think you're coming a little unglued. There is absolutely no reason for any of this bullshit you're slinging at me!"
"There is!" She was screaming.
When she saw him jump out of his chair and come quickly around the desk, she couldn't help herself—she recoiled in fear. But then she saw he was only going to close the door.
He returned to his place behind the desk, shaking his head from side to side and puffing out his cheeks as if nothing else could possibly express the magnitude of his shock.
"You realize this is an office? You realize you're making a spectacle of yourself in my goddamn office?" he hissed, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Really, Hal, I—"
"Maybe you should see someone. Maybe, what with the move and everything, we've both been
But she listened. She listened as if her ears were fingers that could reach out and snatch up his words. What she heard was his mild Midwestern voice murmuring clipped replies to whatever the other party was saying, and it maddened her not to hear that, too.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Sure."
"You can count on it."
"I understand."
"Right."
"That's okay."
"Yes, it's for the best."
"She was?"
"Of course."
"I understand."
"I'm grateful—believe me, I am."
"Good-bye."
He replaced the receiver, sighed wearily, and then swiveled around in his chair, his face registering something more than surprise when he confronted Peggy sitting just feet away.
"You might have knocked."
"I'm your wife," she said. "Do you have something to hide?"
He brought his elbows forward onto the top of the desk and laced his fingers together.
"What has hide got to do with it? For Christ's sake, Pegs, it's a mere formality."
"Formalities between husbands and wives?"
Suddenly she had to urinate. It didn't seem possible to hold it. She crossed her legs and jammed the toe of her shoe under his desk. She squeezed her thighs together hard.
"All right." he said, dropping his hands from their pose. "A courtesy, then. For God's sake, let's not fight."
"Forget it," Peggy said.
She saw the rain hit, blow against his window. It splattered over the glass as if sprayed by a hose full-force. Like a cue to a child straining over the toilet, it made the pressure in her bladder worse.
"It doesn't matter," she said, trying to recapture her thoughts. "What matters is why I'm here, and it has nothing to do with what you choose to keep secret from me." As soon as she said it, she wondered if it was true. But then she shook off the thought like a dog breaking his muzzle free of cobwebs.
He smiled. He spread his hands as if to shrug.
"Pegs, honey—I honest to God don't know what's happening to you. All I know is something is."
She saw the smile as a smirk, the gesture as a lie.
"It's not me, Hal. It's you," she said.
She felt she was competing against the clock now, a runner pitted against the speed of his own heartbeat. The rain, Hal, the weight of the scalding fluid that thundered for release, everything stood like a colossal wall between her and the undoing of the drawing Sam had made of his Miss Putnam and the class.
"I want Sam out of that school. We have to withdraw him. We have to do it right away."
"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Pegs. Let's not start on that again." His face closed down, and he hunched himself forward, his manner serious, grave, his mien that of the person elected to be the grown-up in the room. "Let me lay this on you one more time. I want that school for my son. I want him in the world St. Martin's represents; I want him to have the kind of education it provides; I want him to go to the kind of college it prepares kids for; and most of all, I want you to get off my goddamned case about it. People all over this city would kill to get their kids into that place, and all you can do is piss and moan about it. Really, Peggy, I think you're coming a little unglued. There is absolutely no reason for any of this bullshit you're slinging at me!"
"There is!" She was screaming.
When she saw him jump out of his chair and come quickly around the desk, she couldn't help herself—she recoiled in fear. But then she saw he was only going to close the door.
He returned to his place behind the desk, shaking his head from side to side and puffing out his cheeks as if nothing else could possibly express the magnitude of his shock.
"You realize this is an office? You realize you're making a spectacle of yourself in my goddamn office?" he hissed, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Really, Hal, I—"
"Maybe you should see someone. Maybe, what with the move and everything, we've both been
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