The Storm at the Door by Stefan Merrill Block Page B

of a difficult man. No wonder she panics at Tat’s invitation; the ladies’ intimacy always displays to Katharine her failure.
    How are you, Tat?
    Katharine tries to imbue her greeting with Tat’s enthusiasm but succeeds only in amplifying her volume, as if she were speaking to a very old woman.
    Couldn’t be better. Back from Paris, refueled for the fall
.
    Paris?
    It was Ron’s big birthday present. And what a gift! That whole city. My god, I feel like I spent the last three weeks inside a Fabergé egg
.
    Katharine has phoned this mere acquaintance, this cheery woman whose friendship Katharine always fails, and what should she say now? Should she counter Tat’s Paris with her own desperate story? Katharine sees plainly: within her extended family camp along this stretch of Barvel Bay, the Merrills have sympathy, and Katharine is nearly heroic for taking the action she finally took; beyond Barvel Bay, they are simply a failed family. Katharine thinks about abandoning the call’s purpose. She could cheerily respond with a story of a pleasant summer spent by the lake, a vague plan for cocktails soon. But she has come this far already. And why not say what happened? She might as well say it, and at least practice the way she has thought to tell her story.
    It’s been a rough summer for me
.
    Oh? Please say it’s nothing serious
.
    Katharine tries to think of an artful way to begin, but then other words escape.
    Promise you won’t tell anyone?
she says, like a child.
    Of course, Katharine
.
    Katharine is surprised by the instantaneous empathy with which Tat accepts the secret, as if it weren’t at all unusual that an acquaintance should call and swear her to confidentiality. But, of course, Tat is so skillful in the ways Katharine never could be. Of course people must tell Tat their secrets all the time.
    It’s Frederick
, Katharine begins, and then stumbles through an awkward, rosier version of the story. She does not mention the police, or the nudity. She focuses her staggering narrative upon the bourbon and Frederick’s restlessness. But when Katharinesays the name Mayflower, she lapses into a momentary silence, knowing all that
Mayflower
says about chaos and delusion, madness and genius, screams and straitjackets.
    Well
, Tat says,
he couldn’t be in a better place
.
    They think he just needs a rest, and some time to sort things out
.
    And what do you think?
    I think
—Katharine begins, and pauses. She then tries to respond as another version of herself, more like Tat, a person who can receive misfortune and transform it to theater, for the entertainment of others.
I think that husband of mine could use a strong slap in the face
.
    Katharine decides her tone is almost perfect, Ethel calling Lucy to complain.
I think someone needs to tell that man to pull himself together!
    Tat does not laugh as Katharine expected.
    Have you ever told him that?
Tat says.
    And now Katharine wants again what she wanted just before she dialed. She wants to be seen; she wants to lay it all out for Tat; she wants to open her skull so Tat can observe the infinity loop of considerations and reconsiderations cycling within her. Katharine is suddenly nauseated and giddy with gratitude for Tat’s empathy.
    Oh, of course
, Katharine says.
Yes, well, not as often as I should have, I suppose
.
    The memory, from near the beginning of her marriage, comes to Katharine again now, as it nearly always does when she thinks of her failure to confront her husband with his plain wrongs. There is an opening here, to let this memory outside of herself. For once to admit to it, and perhaps slightly disperse its needled pressure. But Katharine does not say anything.
    Well, at least you’ve spoken your mind. Good
. Tat unfastens thesuspended silence, then skillfully changes the topic to the latest happenings at church, another invitation to bridge, and finally excuses herself from the conversation with such tact that Katharine does not realize, until