Part 11 (1/2)

1.

On Monday, Veronica left the bank early.

She returned to the mall, and again parked by Sears. Out in the mall proper, she had no trouble smiling at the owner's of kiosks and the survey-takers.

The moment she strolled into Ralph's Scott spotted her and came out from behind the register. ”Hey, Mrs. Lieber!”

”h.e.l.lo,” she said. ”I'm sorry, but I've come to return the clothes.”

”Why?” asked Scott, bending over to look in the bags. ”They messed up?”

”Not at all. I just made a mistake. You could sell p.o.r.n to a puritan.”

Scott seemed suddenly amused by her comment. He leaned in, winked. ”I sold you clothes you couldn't afford.

Veronica hesitated, strangely irritated at him. A boy thought she couldn't afford these things? She stared at his silver hair, his small waist, his broad shoulders, his stupid grin. ”I'll bet you could sell credit cards to rich people.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. ”But I have a good job.”

”You'd double whatever you make here.”

”Really?”

”Really.”

”Am I hired?” he asked, fidgeting with his name tag.

Veronica bit her lip, slowly nodded, and Scott slid off his tag, tossed it inside the store's entrance. Near the back, the manager jerked forward, calling his name. ”We better hurry-Herb loves me. He'll fight to keep me,” he said, taking her by the hand.

She giggled. ”Slow down,” she cried.

”Chill, we're almost out.” Scott kicked a door open and they were in an echoing corridor, then he kicked open another door and the day appeared before them, humid and blue. ”See?” he said, whispering in her ear. ”I'm guessing the bank's closed-so where to?” he asked, jangling his pocketful of keys.

”We could . . . stop by my place. I think I've got an application somewhere.”

The smile at the corners of the boy's mouth faded. His eyes danced with the light of a sky that, thirty miles east, married the Atlantic seamlessly at the horizon. ”I'll bet you do,” he said, suddenly grim as fire.

2.

Robert Lieber retired to his office following his four o'clock cla.s.s. He had papers to grade, but was exhausted. He flicked off the light and dropped his head on the desk. For half an hour sleep hovered but never fell. Finally, he dragged himself up, attempted to stand, but an agonizing pain doubled him over. His forehead smacked the desktop and he cried out. When the dizziness pa.s.sed, he vomited into the waste bucket.

With blurry eyes, he made for home. Although a terrific pain formed in his hip when he got out of the car, he made it to the front door. Doubled over, he pushed it open.

Upstairs, voices rang out.

Robert froze. The pain dulled and he strained his ears, making out more than one voice. Neither was speaking. His heart beat in thick, heavy strokes, as if it were moving congealed blood. He consciously tried to slow it, to keep it steady, and took two small steps toward the banister, grabbed the railing and made his way up the stairs, thinking strangely not of whatever might be going on up there, but of rising, sifting through the atmosphere like smoke. As he neared the top the sounds intensified but did not gain coherence. Only a cacophony of slaps and stifled yells rang out. As he stepped onto the floor, he bowed his head. It was Veronica and she was yelling. She'd been yelling all the time. He longed to feel anger, but it wouldn't come. What he was about to walk in on made sense-his wife was a puzzle he had no interest in putting together.

He pushed on the door and it moaned open. The covers thrashed. ”h.e.l.lo,” he said, and the sheet was suspended in mid-air a moment before draping over the now inert lovers. A head covered in silver hair emerged. His wife peered over the boy, whom he didn't recognize yet, but knew.

”Ah s.h.i.+t,” said Veronica, smacking her forehead.

The kid leapt from the bed, tore his pants from the floor and jumped into the first leg. That's when Robert found a name for the face. ”Donaldson? Scott Donaldson?”

”I'm so sorry, Professor Lieber, so, so . . .” the boy gibbered as he looped his belt, missing more loops than he found. He clasped it, tore his s.h.i.+rt from the lampshade, started for the doorway. Robert turned, let him pa.s.s, then looked at Veronica. She'd let the sheets drop; her body was luminous with perspiration. I'm bored, he thought. I've caught her, it makes sense, and I'm bored.

”s.h.i.+t,” she repeated.

They stared for what seemed on one hand forever, and on the other a heartbeat. When he opened his mouth, he didn't know what he was about to say. ”s.h.i.+t? Yeah, get your s.h.i.+t.”

She stared a moment longer, as if judging his sincerity.

”Jenn's staying,” he told her. ”She's staying.”

She paused, blinking, then climbed from the bed to dress. Strangely, her nakedness stirred him; her skin filled him with desire and when she knelt on the carpet to remove her suitcase from under the bed, he nearly approached her. He grabbed hold of the door frame instead.

Veronica tossed the open suitcase on the bed, then turned to him, punched her hands on her hips. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounced. ”Do you mind?”

”Am I already a ghost to you?” he whispered, and when they looked into each other's eyes Robert found himself hoping she'd answer. She said nothing.

When she'd made it downstairs, she set the suitcases in the foyer, staring back into the den. Robert stood, and again they appraised one another. He felt there were many things he should ask, much he might say, but so little of it actually needed voicing. He found himself more hurt by her choice not to fight over their daughter than by finding her in bed with one of his students. After all, it had long ceased being their bed, while Jenn would always be their creation, the prize of their bitter union. But Veronica seemed so ready to part with her; she hadn't even asked to say goodbye. Perhaps she thought she'd be back in a day or two, thought they might reconcile.

She looked at him coolly, nodding her head. Then she walked out of his life.

Chapter Thirteen: Orphaned.

1.