there. If you’ve reached it yet. “Is there something more?” you keep asking yourself.
He slid his tie through his collar and folded it. He laid it on the armrest.
Jean and I weren’t sleeping together. Not often, anyway. So there was that to deal with, too, because it was all around us. Sex. In the mornings, you could hear Rich and Adaline fucking in the forward cabin. I’ve said that.
The
fucking
so harsh a word, Linda thought. His anger must still be sharp. Bitter.
— I know that Jean thought for years that I’d used her. Right after I met her, there was an uncanny period during which I started writing again after a long dry spell. For years, I’ve had trouble with writer’s block. Jean thought I stayed with her because of that, that she was a sort of muse for me. I was never able to disabuse her of that idea.
He ran his hands over his still unfamiliar head.
And it was complicated by the fact that early on — before I knew Jean and I would be married — I’d told her about you. She knew I loved you.
He took a breath.
That was a problem.
Linda crossed her arms over her chest. Why did this knowledge upset her so?
— How do you take that out of the equation?
Thomas asked.
How do you solve a problem like that?
Linda breathed slowly and evenly. The room was cold, and she rubbed her arms.
— The second day we were there, Jean and Rich went over to the island where the murders had occurred. We were moored just off the island — it had a dreadful name: Smuttynose — and Adaline and I were alone on the boat. Just talking. She’d lost her daughter in a messy divorce, and she was telling me about it.
He scratched his head again.
Such irony. To think that I was comforting her, and just hours later it would be me who’d lost a daughter.
He put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up.
I happened to see some people over on the island, and I decided it would be Rich and Jean. I thought I’d give them a wave. I picked up the binoculars and saw Rich and Jean embracing. Jean was naked from the waist up.
Linda gasped. The image was shocking, even in a world of shocking images.
— I watched for a while, and then I couldn’t bear it. I threw the binoculars overboard. Adaline kept saying, “What, Thomas? Thomas, what?” But I couldn’t speak. And I don’t know why it bothers me so much, even now. After everything else . . .
He leaned back in the chair.
— It was your brother,
Linda said.
It was your wife.
He nodded.
— It was biblical,
she said.
He nodded again.
What is sex, anyway?
he asked.
Is taking your shirt off in front of your brother-in-law sex? Technically? Where do you draw the line?
— There isn’t one.
— No, of course not.
He took a deep breath.
I was crazed after that. I couldn’t think clearly. I was so fucking preoccupied. And then, when they got back . . .
He paused.
There was a storm brewing. A serious storm. I’m not a sailor, but even I knew it was bad. There wasn’t any time to confront Rich or Jean.
Thomas was shaking his head constantly now as he spoke.
And between the storm and the tension, none of us was paying attention.
He stood up suddenly, as if gathering courage for the rest. He walked to the window.
We thought Billie was safe with Adaline. Adaline was seasick, and she was lying in the forward cabin with Billie, who was beginning to feel queasy herself. Rich and Jean and I were trying to stabilize the boat and get to shore.
Thomas rubbed his eyes the way only a man would do: vigorously, even viciously.
Adaline left Billie lying on the bed and went through the forward hatch to get some air. Probably to puke, too. I know she thought Billie wouldn’t leave the bed.
Thomas began to pace. He walked to the French doors and through them to the living room. He picked up a small vase and put it down. He walked back to the bedroom.
Jean and I had been trying to get Billie into her life vest. And I suppose we thought we’d done it, or maybe we were
He slid his tie through his collar and folded it. He laid it on the armrest.
Jean and I weren’t sleeping together. Not often, anyway. So there was that to deal with, too, because it was all around us. Sex. In the mornings, you could hear Rich and Adaline fucking in the forward cabin. I’ve said that.
The
fucking
so harsh a word, Linda thought. His anger must still be sharp. Bitter.
— I know that Jean thought for years that I’d used her. Right after I met her, there was an uncanny period during which I started writing again after a long dry spell. For years, I’ve had trouble with writer’s block. Jean thought I stayed with her because of that, that she was a sort of muse for me. I was never able to disabuse her of that idea.
He ran his hands over his still unfamiliar head.
And it was complicated by the fact that early on — before I knew Jean and I would be married — I’d told her about you. She knew I loved you.
He took a breath.
That was a problem.
Linda crossed her arms over her chest. Why did this knowledge upset her so?
— How do you take that out of the equation?
Thomas asked.
How do you solve a problem like that?
Linda breathed slowly and evenly. The room was cold, and she rubbed her arms.
— The second day we were there, Jean and Rich went over to the island where the murders had occurred. We were moored just off the island — it had a dreadful name: Smuttynose — and Adaline and I were alone on the boat. Just talking. She’d lost her daughter in a messy divorce, and she was telling me about it.
He scratched his head again.
Such irony. To think that I was comforting her, and just hours later it would be me who’d lost a daughter.
He put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up.
I happened to see some people over on the island, and I decided it would be Rich and Jean. I thought I’d give them a wave. I picked up the binoculars and saw Rich and Jean embracing. Jean was naked from the waist up.
Linda gasped. The image was shocking, even in a world of shocking images.
— I watched for a while, and then I couldn’t bear it. I threw the binoculars overboard. Adaline kept saying, “What, Thomas? Thomas, what?” But I couldn’t speak. And I don’t know why it bothers me so much, even now. After everything else . . .
He leaned back in the chair.
— It was your brother,
Linda said.
It was your wife.
He nodded.
— It was biblical,
she said.
He nodded again.
What is sex, anyway?
he asked.
Is taking your shirt off in front of your brother-in-law sex? Technically? Where do you draw the line?
— There isn’t one.
— No, of course not.
He took a deep breath.
I was crazed after that. I couldn’t think clearly. I was so fucking preoccupied. And then, when they got back . . .
He paused.
There was a storm brewing. A serious storm. I’m not a sailor, but even I knew it was bad. There wasn’t any time to confront Rich or Jean.
Thomas was shaking his head constantly now as he spoke.
And between the storm and the tension, none of us was paying attention.
He stood up suddenly, as if gathering courage for the rest. He walked to the window.
We thought Billie was safe with Adaline. Adaline was seasick, and she was lying in the forward cabin with Billie, who was beginning to feel queasy herself. Rich and Jean and I were trying to stabilize the boat and get to shore.
Thomas rubbed his eyes the way only a man would do: vigorously, even viciously.
Adaline left Billie lying on the bed and went through the forward hatch to get some air. Probably to puke, too. I know she thought Billie wouldn’t leave the bed.
Thomas began to pace. He walked to the French doors and through them to the living room. He picked up a small vase and put it down. He walked back to the bedroom.
Jean and I had been trying to get Billie into her life vest. And I suppose we thought we’d done it, or maybe we were
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