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Page 66.
 “I hope Léopold Montblé will write some poetry soon.” Her smile was pointed and wistful. Her eyes were not without tenderness, yet an unconditional something hovered in her gaze, directing what must be done.
He felt relieved that he’d be leaving her. “I think it’s long overdue.”
“I’m expecting a phone call from Jérôme,” she said. He called her every Saturday evening at five. As if she’d suddenly remembered, she sat dutifully on the couch beside the phone. She became insular and withdrawn.
Marc sat down on the couch about two feet away. “Look, I’m not going to kiss you goodbye, okay?”
She cast a minute glance in his direction. It was a dull, veiled, hurt look.
He said, “I’m realizing that I have no business kissing you goodbye. I mean we’ve shared our time. And all. I just. Oh, well, maybe you understand what I’m trying to say.” She was someone else’s wife into whose life he had briefly and ludicrously intruded.
Should he seal their dead-end relationship with a kiss or just turn his back? Somehow, it seemed, any gesture now would be to sanction a thing that should not have happened. A gesture would take away the thinly worn accidentalness with which they had both approached their liaison. It had been little more than a flirtation, a licentious thought, until that angry moment by the pond. Somehow things had gotten complicated at that very moment.
He started to rise, but with a swish of clothing she moved suddenly, putting her arms around his waist and resting her head in his lap…only briefly.
She sat up and took his hands between hers. “It’s meant something.” She whispered rapidly and her smile was only a half-smile, torn between emotions. “I wanted to push you out the door, but somehow I can’t do it alone. When you leave I’ll be glad you’re out. I know what you’re trying to say. I had a little forest pond to myself, before you plopped in like a big old rock and disturbed everything. Now the water is full of ripples and I’m almost dreading this phone call today. I think it would be best if you don’t come anymore. But I would like it if you would give me a kiss before you go.”
He kissed her cheek, but it wasn’t enough. Smelling her hair, seeing her eyes flutter shut and her lips open, breath bated, he hovered on the brink of sinking down on the couch with her. In that moment he respected her weakness and rose, pulling her to her feet. She moved readily as he directed, eyes still closed, hair tangled and fuzzy, lips slightly parted in an expression of exquisite want and hurt.
He took her hand as if she were a doll and led her to the door. She padded along, unknowing and confused. Her bare feet padded quietly on the cool, glossy wood floor.
At the door, she clung to him. He embraced her tightly, kissing her, and he ran his hand along her waist, down to her buttocks, feeling the material of her dress slide loosely over bare, electric skin.
She stiffened and pulled away.
He unlocked the door and started into the hallway.
Her hands reached for his arm, caught it briefly, then released it.
He plunged into the dark stairwell on wing-borne feet, giving a last spastic wave to her shocked and indistinct face hovering around a closing door, and then he was out on the porch, feet pounding on the hot wood, down on the concrete, in the car, struggling with a whining starter, and off in a screech of tires which he knew he shouldn’t as he pulled away down the sleeping street, turning the corner sharply to get away from its crinkling elm leaves and sad, knowing, owl-windowed buildings.
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