decided to stop dating and build a house on this lake and live here alone. And my dad was the guy she hired to help build the house. And when the house was done and my dad asked her to marry him, she asked him why he wanted her when hecould have someone with nothing wrong with them. My dad didn’t give her a bunch of compliments or anything like that. He just said, ‘No I couldn’t. That person doesn’t exist.’”
I didn’t tell her the rest of their story, how they married and loved each other for twenty years, and then in less than two years she went crazy and died. I didn’t think there’d be any need to tell her, because after we said good-bye the next day, I thought I’d never see her again. She was smiling now, her face still wet. I wanted to touch her, not even to kiss her necessarily but just to feel her skin, which I for some reason thought would be hot and thin and fragile like the skin of a mouse. I took a step toward her, and I could feel the heat coming off her. Then she brought her arm up between us and wiped her eyes with the afghan.
“Why did we come here?” she asked.
The night snapped back into focus. Frogs were singing in the woods; the moon was starting to set.
“What do you mean?” I asked her. It was the kind of question people back in the city would ask me at parties, meaning What is our purpose in this world? But Sophie didn’t seem like the type to get existential.
“I mean, why did you want to shoot here? I can tell you’ve been here before. What happened here?”
Her face was dry now, and she was looking at me hard with her big eyes, sizing me up. I remembered that I barely knew her at all.
“I used to come here when I was a kid,” I said, turning away. “I’d better get some sleep.”
“Good night,” she said. And she put her hand on my arm, just for a second, and her skin was just like I’d imagined.
. . .
T HE NEXT MORNING the guys were loading up the van. I put the amps and guitars on board, but when I tried to help Sophie’s crew with the lighting equipment, they gave me a look like they didn’t know who I was, so I just stood around in the driveway, staring at the trees and my feet. I was thinking maybe this weekend would be good for me. I was feeling clear and alert. When I got back to the city, maybe I’d be able to write songs again. Then I felt skinny arms wrap around me from behind.
“Let’s not go today,” Sophie said. “Let’s stay.”
At first I thought we wouldn’t be able to do it. When I called, the owner said it was rented to someone else starting Monday, and when I asked if there was any way they could switch, he gave me a lecture about city people and the things we needed to understand. I thought of telling him I’d come here every summer for fifteen years, but I was worried he’d tell me bad news about the house, like the new owners had torn it down and put up a big new ugly house in its place. Instead I just hung up. But when I told Sophie it was a no-go, she called him back, and within fifteen minutes he had changed his mind.
“I just told him we needed it,” she said, blank-faced.
And then we were alone with that whole house around us, just staring at each other. I admit that I thought we’d have sex; it seemed like the next step. But we were just standing together in the empty living room, and I had no idea how to get started. I couldn’t tell if she even expected me to do something—she was looking at me out of those eyes like a cat or a bird of prey. I was embarrassed, andI didn’t know why. Finally I went to the kitchen and got my guitar, which was still right by the door, ready to get loaded into the van.
“Want to hear some music?” I asked her.
She nodded and sat down on the daybed. I sat next to her, close enough for my leg to touch her a little bit but far enough that if she asked if I was hitting on her, I could deny it, maybe. I felt twelve years old. I thought I’d play something romantic, so I
I didn’t tell her the rest of their story, how they married and loved each other for twenty years, and then in less than two years she went crazy and died. I didn’t think there’d be any need to tell her, because after we said good-bye the next day, I thought I’d never see her again. She was smiling now, her face still wet. I wanted to touch her, not even to kiss her necessarily but just to feel her skin, which I for some reason thought would be hot and thin and fragile like the skin of a mouse. I took a step toward her, and I could feel the heat coming off her. Then she brought her arm up between us and wiped her eyes with the afghan.
“Why did we come here?” she asked.
The night snapped back into focus. Frogs were singing in the woods; the moon was starting to set.
“What do you mean?” I asked her. It was the kind of question people back in the city would ask me at parties, meaning What is our purpose in this world? But Sophie didn’t seem like the type to get existential.
“I mean, why did you want to shoot here? I can tell you’ve been here before. What happened here?”
Her face was dry now, and she was looking at me hard with her big eyes, sizing me up. I remembered that I barely knew her at all.
“I used to come here when I was a kid,” I said, turning away. “I’d better get some sleep.”
“Good night,” she said. And she put her hand on my arm, just for a second, and her skin was just like I’d imagined.
. . .
T HE NEXT MORNING the guys were loading up the van. I put the amps and guitars on board, but when I tried to help Sophie’s crew with the lighting equipment, they gave me a look like they didn’t know who I was, so I just stood around in the driveway, staring at the trees and my feet. I was thinking maybe this weekend would be good for me. I was feeling clear and alert. When I got back to the city, maybe I’d be able to write songs again. Then I felt skinny arms wrap around me from behind.
“Let’s not go today,” Sophie said. “Let’s stay.”
At first I thought we wouldn’t be able to do it. When I called, the owner said it was rented to someone else starting Monday, and when I asked if there was any way they could switch, he gave me a lecture about city people and the things we needed to understand. I thought of telling him I’d come here every summer for fifteen years, but I was worried he’d tell me bad news about the house, like the new owners had torn it down and put up a big new ugly house in its place. Instead I just hung up. But when I told Sophie it was a no-go, she called him back, and within fifteen minutes he had changed his mind.
“I just told him we needed it,” she said, blank-faced.
And then we were alone with that whole house around us, just staring at each other. I admit that I thought we’d have sex; it seemed like the next step. But we were just standing together in the empty living room, and I had no idea how to get started. I couldn’t tell if she even expected me to do something—she was looking at me out of those eyes like a cat or a bird of prey. I was embarrassed, andI didn’t know why. Finally I went to the kitchen and got my guitar, which was still right by the door, ready to get loaded into the van.
“Want to hear some music?” I asked her.
She nodded and sat down on the daybed. I sat next to her, close enough for my leg to touch her a little bit but far enough that if she asked if I was hitting on her, I could deny it, maybe. I felt twelve years old. I thought I’d play something romantic, so I
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