Imeros

wishes from Joelle, and carries that same weight from his breath to hers.

  And, though it's been difficult, they've been careful to maintain their celibacy. And that absence of full release has made their desire, their passion, their hunger for one another, all the more powerful.

  So, there's no denying that there is a fullness there that he knows he could spend years trying to express. But he is also cognizant of its foolishness. He tries to embrace the purity of the time they spend together, but the more time he is away from her, the further he gets from the potency of those first days of unencumbered joyfulness.

  Sure, when they're together, everything is perfect. Things couldn't feel more right, but as some distance is applied, he questions that intensity, and is filled with self-doubt.

  He knows that he never asked these questions about his love for Melissa. There was never any doubt, or at least not that he can remember. Perhaps, he has mythologized his feelings—his sheer certainty of perpetual love—for Melissa. Or, maybe, it was because they were young, and he hadn't built the kinds of ties that he has since developed. Maybe it is as simple as that. Things just weren't as complicated at twenty-two as they are at forty-two.

  Either way, the complications are there, and he and Joelle can only hide from them when protected by their private bubble. But when they're apart, they can't escape the fact that they are both promised to other people, that the mere fact of their spending time together is predicated on disloyalty and dishonesty.

  It's hard for him to acknowledge that these things need to be reconciled when he's in the bubble. From within, nothing can possibly seem wrong in the world, and yet everything outside the bubble makes the bubble's existence less certain, less of what you perceive it to be from within. The further he gets from the confines of her loveliness, the more the truth of it's goodness becomes uncertain.

  And everything has been made more difficult by the fact that, though he is sure he has been inspired, he has been completely unable to work. When he sits to write, there are just too many words. It's the opposite of the problem he had a few weeks ago, but it's no less a problem for his overall production. He just can't keep his focus. There is too much going on, too many ups and downs to isolate into something as concise as a poem. It's like wading into flood water, and trying to fight the current. Everything just gets carried away, and he can't concentrate the words into anything meaningful.

  There's no question that he's found his poet again. He just can't slow the heart long enough to catch the poems, tame the words.

  Slowly, things had begun to thaw at home with Rachael. It's not as if there has been some verbal truce. They talk, but only about the vital day-to-day business of keeping their home operational. They talk about Sam, groceries, dinner plans. They talk about bills, and whose paid what and when.

  But, other than that, there's not been a whole lot of personal back and forth. The heaviness in the air has subsided, but they really haven't warmed to each other in any emotional way since their big argument.

  So, he was surprised to hear her knock on the door of his office. The few conversations they've had have always taken place in the normal traffic spots of the house: the kitchen, crossing paths in the living room, or in the bedroom at night—sometimes just to crack the wall of quiet, and make the long drift to sleep a little less tense. Otherwise, they have kept, mostly, to their own spaces.

  So, he wonders what it is that's made her decide to pierce this silently agreed upon space they'd given each other.

  She opens the door a little and peeks inside, "Can I come in?"

  "Sure."

  She moves in and takes the chair by the door, and he immediately remembers the last time she had sat there, after Gary's funeral, when she encouraged him to see a therapist, and again, just as suddenly as that, he is as frustrated with her as he was that day.

  And he realizes the baggage between them has become so intrusive that even the most innocent of endeavors are painted with resentment. But this is what time can do to a relationship. It takes even minor things, reflects them off of some pain from the past, and blows them up during tense times.

  This tenseness only serves to remind him how easy it is to talk to Joelle. He hasn't incurred time yet with Joelle. They are too new, and the baggage is still a ways away.

  "What's up?" he asks.

  "I have something to ask you, and it's... Well, it's a sensitive subject," she says, and is looking at him with a very serious expression on her face.

  "OK?"

  "And I want you to be completely honest with me."

  Now, his heart is dropping. She knows. It's all about to fall apart.

  "Has David been having an affair?"

  "What?" he asks, relieved.

  "David. Is he cheating on Clare?"

  "I don't know. How would I know?" he says, trying to stall, trying to find a way not to tell her what he knows and to still maintain some artifice of truth.

  "You're his friend."

  "But that doesn't mean he tells me everything that's going on in his personal life."

  "Come on, Jacob. If he were having an affair, you'd know."

  "Why would he tell me? He knows that were close to Clare. If he were to tell me that he were seeing someone else, he'd know I wouldn't approve."

  "You wouldn't?"

  "What's that supposed to mean? Why would you even ask me that?"

  "Because sometimes I think there is a 'boys will be boys' attitude between men about these sorts of things, even among middle-aged men. You know, an extension of that wink and high five mentality."

  "That's absurd. Of course, I would be upset if one of our friends was having an affair. I wouldn't be winking and high fiving anybody. That is a very strange perversion of men's behavior you're imagining."

  "Well, I saw him."

  "Saw him what?"

  "I saw him with a girl, a young girl, probably a student. At least, she looked like a student to me."

  "Where?"

  "Off-campus. In Bradford. At that small Middle Eastern restaurant downtown."

  "What were you doing there?"

  "That's not the point, Jacob."

  "I don't know what the circumstances were, but I don't think there's any reason to automatically suspect someone of having an affair."

  "They were there together. I could tell."

  "How?"

  "I just could."

  "Well, I don't know anything about David taking some girl to Bradford, if that's what you're asking me."

  "That's not what I asked you. I asked you if he was having an affair."

  "Maybe you saw some innocent flirtations, but who knows if anything is really happening?"

  "Unbelievable. You know something and you're not telling me."

  "What did I say?

  "It's not what you said. It's what you're not saying."

  "I don't know what you think I'm not saying."

  "I think you're defending him?"

  "I don't know what it is I'm defending?"

  She stands up. "You know, even if he weren't having an affair, even if he were just having an innocent meeting with a student, off-campus and at a small, intimate restaurant, and they were just being flirtatious, well, that's bad enough. And you know it. The worst part is that you know it, and you know something more, but you're deflecting for him."

  "I'm not sure there's anything left for me to say here. You already seem convinced that something happened. I told you that I don't know why he'd tell me anything knowing the relationship we have with Clare."

  "Is he or is he not having an affair?"

  "Not as far as I've seen."

  "Unbelievable," she says, walking from the room and slamming the door.

  "Rachael knows about you and what's-her-name?"

  "What?"

  "Yeah, she pretty well interrogated me about it yesterday."

  "What did you say?"

  "What could I say? I couldn't lie."

  "You're kidding? You didn't tell her anyth
ing?"

  "I didn't concede anything. I tried to dance around it, but it didn't matter. She's already convinced that you're having an affair."

  "Is this because she saw us at that Middle Eastern restaurant?"

  "You saw her?"

  "Yeah. How could I have missed her in that place? It's so small."

  "Who was she there with?"

  "I don't know. Some guy, a young guy. I think he's in her department. I've seen him around. He's an Eastern Religions guy, I think."

  "An Indian guy?"

  "Yeah, that's him."

  "Really?"

  "I wouldn't worry about it. It looked like they were working. It didn't look suspicious to me."

  "Well, no, not after she saw that you were there. They would be careful to be more professional then."

  "Wait a minute, Jacob. Let's come back to what Rachael thinks she knows. Do you think she'll tell Clare."

  "I don't think so. I mean, she doesn't know anything for certain. She just suspects it."

  "Well, do you think she'll tell Clare that she suspects something?"

  "I don't know. When would she tell her? When do they see each other?"

  "Around. I don't know. She could call her."

  "No. She wouldn't do that."

  "Maybe I should just tell her."

  "Who? Clare?"

  "It's over, Jacob. We can hardly even feign friendliness anymore. I've been feeling more hostility between us than ever before. For a long time it was just indifference, but something's changed recently."

  "Do you think she suspects something?"

  "Who knows? It's possible. If so, she hasn't shown any sign of caring one way or the other."

  "What about the kids?"

  "They have their own lives now, which makes the idea that we're trying to keep up appearances for their sake all the more absurd. It's just another illusion that I've built up to