"Actually," said Rob, "you're more likely to die in a car accident on the way home from the airport than you are to die on the plane."
"What about you, Melissa?" Jerry asked. Agnes liked the way he had thought to include the girl. She looked to her father, a reflexive gesture, before answering.
"Well," she said slowly. "Assuming I had some time, I'd observe the men before I made my decision. Do they act like people do on a plane? Getting settled, looking for something to read, slightly bored, remembering to turn off their cell phones, looking for a drink? Or do they seem too alert, too observant? Do they notice I'm observing them?" She paused. "But truthfully? If six Arab men got on the plane, I'm not sure I'd even notice."
Bill laughed and Harrison chuckled.
"Do you like school?" Agnes asked the girl.
"I do," she said.
"What are you studying?"
"I think I might major in psychology."
"Do you live alone or do you have roommates?"
"I have two roommates," Melissa said. "We have a three-bedroom apartment."
"Whereabouts?"
"On Commonwealth Ave?"
"Oh, I just love Boston," Agnes said, smiling at the girl.
"Where are you going for your honeymoon?" Julie asked Bill and Bridget, a question that not only silenced the table but seemed odd coming so hard on the heels of bringing Melissa out of her shell. Had Jerry not told Julie about Bridget?
Bill reached over and took Bridget's hand. "Delayed honeymoon," he explained. "We're going to Europe in March. Paris, London, Florence."
"You'll have to get on a plane then," Jerry said.
Bridget, with aplomb, asked Julie if she could borrow some of that Xanax she was talking about.
"I'm envious," Nora said, smiling at Bridget.
"You could take some time off," Jerry said, turning in Nora's direction. "Your place here is doing a good business. I read that article in New York Magazine. "
"But I can't really," Nora said. "That's one of the pitfalls of running an inn or a restaurant. You have to be there all the time. There are really no days off."
"None?" Julie asked, and Agnes wondered if Julie of the furs and the pearls had ever worked a day in her life.
"Well, I'm exaggerating," Nora said. "But not too many."
"What do you do?" Agnes asked Julie, regretting the question as soon as it was out of her mouth.
"I'm with Credit Suisse," Julie said.
"Not just with Credit Suisse," Jerry corrected. "Julie is senior vice president for corporate finance."
For a moment, no one at the table spoke, each guilty, Agnes guessed, of having formed the same set of assumptions she'd made.
"You must travel a lot," Nora said.
"Hence the need for Xanax," Josh said.
"Julie doesn't toot her own horn," Jerry said.
And you certainly don't do it for her, Agnes thought.
"Evidently," Rob said. "It's quite refreshing, actually."
Julie lost herself in a glass of wine. Three waiters arrived bearing large silver trays laden with the entrees. Agnes had ordered the Dover sole. She'd only dabbled at her soup and was now hungry. She attributed her hunger to the sheer work of all those tears, combined with a kind of emotional exhaustion. She noted that she was more than a little tipsy as well.
After the service, Harrison had walked her up to her room. He'd waited while she'd gone into the bathroom and washed her face. She'd run the water as cold as she could, trying to shock her face into some semblance of normalcy. She hadn't wanted to delay Harrison too long, but she had to comb her hair and blot her dress because she'd splashed water all over its front. When she appeared, Harrison, who'd been sitting on the bed watching CNN, said, "That's better," and Agnes had allowed herself to relax a bit.
When they'd arrived at the room in which the dinner would be held, and Harrison had asked her if she would like a drink, Agnes had accepted with alacrity. Drink in hand, she'd finally made her way to Bridget, whom she'd embraced and congratulated.
"Do you have children?" Agnes asked Julie now.
"One," Julie said. "A daughter. She's thirteen."
"Oh," Agnes said with enthusiasm. "Then you'll soon be thinking about schools. Have you considered Kidd?"
Agnes noted a stop and pause between Jerry and Julie, a momentary beat after which Jerry spoke as if for the both of them. "Emily is autistic," Jerry said bluntly, a fact he clearly hadn't volunteered earlier. And one Agnes wished she hadn't inadvertently forced out of him. "She's at a special school in Manhattan. The best in the country."
The information left Agnes momentarily at a loss for words. Should one be sorry to hear that Jerry's daughter was autistic? Or glad that she was being so well cared for? "I didn't know that," Agnes said, marveling at the sheer mass of all that had cumulatively happened to her six friends in twenty-seven years. "I'm glad she's receiving such good care," she added.
Jerry played with his napkin. He set it on the table and then put it back on his lap. He seemed about to say something but didn't. Agnes found this small glimpse into Jerry's vulnerability appealing. For the first time since he had arrived at the inn, she felt sorry for him.
Agnes gazed around the table. Bill and Bridget. Two failed marriages between them. On the cusp of another. A diagnosis of breast cancer. Stage two? Stage three? Children who would have to adapt to being in a blended family. Agnes had watched Matt as he'd surreptitiously (and sometimes blatantly) observed Melissa. The pair were, as of today, stepbrother and -sister, though they seemed hardly to have spoken.
Nora. Married practically as a child to a man who easily could have been her father. A difficult man by all accounts, whose brilliance and fame might have been both thrilling and exasperating. Now a widow with tremendous responsibilities and apparently no partner with whom to share them.
Harrison. Whom Agnes had very much admired as a boy. The only one of them on full scholarship at Kidd. Raised by his mother who'd been widowed years before. On the surface at least, Harrison appeared to have the most normal life of them all: a wife, two sons, a good job, a home. And yet there was about the man some quiet anxiety not accounted for. Perhaps it was only that in this group, he couldn't help but think of Stephen. As, indeed, they all couldn't help but think of Stephen, a boy who, outwardly at least, had appeared to have all of life's advantages — good looks, athleticism, charm, money — and yet, at heart, had seemed to lack an essential authenticity that had caused him to drive himself, in a kind of frenzy, to the front of the pack. Unlike Harrison, who'd hung back a bit, been something of a loner, an observer.
Jerry. Clearly enmeshed in a cold, if not a fraught, marriage. One child, autistic.
Rob. Happy now with a calling and a lover, and apparently tremendously successful at both. Rob's early years after Kidd would have been difficult, however. "Working for his place at Juilliard. Emerging into gay life. A gay man's existence could not be easy, however outwardly happy and successful it seemed, Agnes thought. Or was she simply profiling once again?
"Rob," Harrison said. "I've been meaning to ask about your folks. Are they still living in Manchester?"
"No, they moved to North Carolina to be near my sister. She and her husband have three kids. How about your mom? Still in Chicago?"
"Still there," Harrison said. "Just retired from teaching a couple of years ago. We see a lot of her actually. She's great with the boys."
"I wonder who among us will be the first grandparent," Nora mused.
"Oh jeez," Bill said, "what a way to spoil a good meal."
Agnes calculated. It would not be Nora or Rob or herself. Unlikely to be Jerry. That left only Bill and Bridget and Harrison. Melissa was staring at her lap, and Matt looked as though he wished himself a hundred miles away.
"Does anyone know what happened to Artie Cohen?" Agnes asked, trying to change the subject. Artie, one of their fellow students in Jim Mitchell's class, had been a particular friend of Stephen's.
"I heard he ended up in Indonesia," Rob said, "but I'm not sure."
"Doing what?" Jerry asked.
"Medicine maybe?" Rob said. "Peace corps kind of thing? I think I might have read that about ten years ago."
"Good for him," Agnes said.
"Does anyone else get the alumni bulletin?" Rob asked.
"I do," Agnes said. She studied the bulletin each time it came out, looking to see who worked where, who had married whom, who had died. "You all knew that Joe Masse died, right?" Agnes asked.
"A car accident?" Rob asked.
"He was in a small plane that crashed at a ski area in northern Italy."
"I heard that," Jerry said.
"Sad," Nora said.
"Does anyone ever talk to Stephen's dad?" Jerry asked.
Nora glanced at Harrison and back at Jerry. "I do," she said. "I visit from time to time, usually on my way to Boston."
"He still in Wellesley?" Jerry asked.
"Yes. In that enormous house. All by himself," Nora added.
Harrison, who had been drinking red, signaled the waiter for another glass of wine.
"What happened to his wife?" Jerry asked.
Agnes could feel the collective tension of the thirteen souls at the table. Harrison, chin resting on his hand, was staring out a dark window. Jerry, perched forward, elbows on the table, was listening intently. Rob cast a look at Josh as if to say, I'll tell you later. Even Nora, who always seemed calm, nibbled at her nail. "Gone," Nora said. "Left after Stephen died. I think that's what happened."
Agnes cut into the fish. The sauce was particularly good. Some sort of grain (rice?) appeared to be green, though the light was so low, it was hard to tell.
"Does anyone know what happened to old Fitz?" Rob asked, referring to their art teacher at Kidd. "Remember he just picked up in the middle of our senior year and quit?"
"Jim Mitchell once told me he quit because he'd had this panicky sense he had to start painting," Agnes said.
"You mean like oil painting?" Jerry asked.
"Some kind of painting," Agnes said.
"So what happened?" Jerry asked.
"Couldn't make a living at it. He couldn't get a gallery. Last I heard, he was teaching history in Nyack, New York."
"Wow," said Rob, a kind of hollow and empty wow.
"Guys," Jerry said in an animated voice. "Remember the time Mr. Mitchell caught us smoking weed behind the field house after practice?"
"I certainly do," Harrison said.
"Who was there?" Jerry said. "You, me, Rob, Bill..." Jerry suddenly remembered Melissa and Matt at the table and quickly amended his statement. "No. Bill. You weren't there."
Bill chuckled.
"But Stephen," Jerry said. "He was there, right?"
"Stephen was there," Harrison said quietly.
"And we're like . . . swallowing the smoke, standing on the roaches. Mitchell knew, right?"
"Of course he knew," Harrison said.
"Yeah," Jerry said admiringly. "Mitchell was the man. Never said a word. We could have been expelled."
"We certainly could have," Harrison said, taking another sip of wine. "Closest I ever came."
Tell them now, Agnes thought, feeling a pressure build inside her chest.
"It was so stupid," Harrison said. He turned and looked pointedly in Matt's direction. "Never smoke marijuana," he added. It occurred to Agnes then that Harrison might be just a little bit drunk.
"On school grounds," Rob added.
"Immediately after a game," Jerry said.
"When a teacher might be around," Harrison cautioned.
"Yeah, Mitchell," Jerry said, sighing. "He was great."
"I love him," Agnes said.
She waited, wrists poised on the table, for the cataclysm she knew was coming.
"We all did," Harrison said casually. "You had him for your senior project, right? It must have been great to have him for a colleague.
"No, I mean I love him," Agnes said, aware that she was sealing her fate, that there was no going back, that she was exposing Jim, and as a result she might never see him again (and was there not just the slightest relief in this?).
"What?" asked Jerry.
Agnes lifted her chin. "I love him," she said. "I always have."
Agnes noted the moment of recognition. Jerry ducking in his chin in surprise. Harrison tilting his head, not quite believing what he'd just heard. Rob nodding slowly.
"That's great," Nora said after a long silence.
"Well. No," Agnes said. "It isn't."
The room was so quiet, Agnes could hear a conversation in the next room. A man was talking about a Lexus. A woman said the word "Anichini."
"Matt?" Nora called from across the table. "You and Brian don't have to hang out with us old folks if you want to go back downstairs and play pool."
"Sure," Matt said, clearly eager for any excuse to leave the room.
"I think I'll go check on Mom," Bridget's sister said.
"Great," Bridget said. "I'll be up soon, too."
Matt looked in Melissa's direction. "You want to?" he asked his new stepsister.
Melissa shrugged. "I'm not very good," she said.
"We aren't either," Matt said.
"Really, really not good," Brian added, grinning.
"Well, all right," Melissa said.
There was quiet chatter around the table to cover the awkwardness of Matt and Brian and Melissa's leaving. Janice told Bridget to stay and enjoy herself. Rob asked Harrison if he wanted another glass of wine. Harrison nodded, drained the dregs in his glass, and handed it over in Rob's direction. An audience settling itself, Agnes thought.
"So what's up?" Jerry asked finally when the others had left.
"I've loved Jim Mitchell since I was a senior at Kidd," Agnes announced simply.
"And does he love you back?" Bridget asked gently.
"Yes. He does."
She could hear the strain in her voice. Her heart kicked hard in her chest.
"Then why isn't it great?" Harrison asked.
"He's married," Agnes said. "He's been married the whole time."
Jerry whistled. "How long are we talking about?" he asked.
"Twenty-six years," Agnes answered, aware that she was sweating under her arms and down her back. She would ruin her dress.
"Oh, Agnes," Nora said, and Agnes didn't know if Nora's distress was because Agnes had never confided in her or because of the sheer weight of all those years.
"I went back to Kidd to visit him over Thanksgiving the year after we graduated," Agnes explained, "and, it's a long story, but I ended up in the emergency room. He took me there. And that night we . . ." She stopped.
"Jim Mitchell," Rob said with a kind of awe.
"The very same," Agnes said.
"I remember his wife," Jerry said. "Not her name, but she used to come to the games. She was kind of cute. Petite? Brunette?"
Agnes nodded. "Her name is Carol."
"This is amazing," Bridget said, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "Just amazing."
"It is amazing," Agnes declared.
"And his wife doesn't know?" Jerry asked.
"I don't think so," Agnes said.
"How is that possible?" Jerry asked.
"Jim and I don't see each other all that often. We meet in neutral cities in anonymous hotels for a night or a weekend."
"And that's okay with you?" Nora asked, unable to hide her concern.
"Yes," Agnes said with emphasis. "I don't want what you have. Or have had. I don't want a man in my life every day. I cherish my condo and my solitude. And when Jim and I meet and come together, it's all the better for having been apart."
"Agnes, I'm happy for you," Rob interjected. "If he has made you happy all these years, then I'm all for it. I'd be a hypocrite if I wasn't."
"If he loves you so much," Jerry asked, "why hasn't he left his wife? It's not fair to her either, right?"
Julie s
napped her napkin on the table, surprising all of them. "Since when have you ever cared about fair?" Julie asked her husband.
"What?" Jerry asked, either genuinely surprised or very good at feigning it.
"You shit," Julie said, as she pushed back her chair and stood. "You little shit." She gathered up her purse and her wrap. Agnes watched as she left the room without another word.
Jerry sat back in his chair. "Jesus Christ," he said.
"It doesn't matter," Agnes said quietly. "It's over."
"Why?" Nora asked.
"Because I've told all of you about it. I promised him I would never tell. And now I have."
"You're worried about breaking a promise to him?" Jerry asked, quickly recovering from his wife's departure. He certainly didn't seem about to go after her. "The guy's been using you."
"No," Agnes said. "He hasn't. You don't know the first thing about it, Jerry, so just shut up."
"Whoa," Jerry said, holding his palms up. "Easy now."
"We just hate to see you get hurt," Rob said.
"A little late for that, don't you think?" Agnes snapped. She hadn't meant to snap at Rob.
"How do you mean?" Harrison asked quietly.
"I know what you all think of me," Agnes said. "Steady, sturdy Agnes. Too bad she never had a date. Never got married. Never had kids. Is she gay?"
From a hallway, Agnes could hear a woman calling for Ian. A waiter moved around the table, filling wineglasses. Nora gave him a subtle signal to leave.
"Agnes," Nora said finally.
"I'm sorry, Bridget," Agnes said. "I told myself I wouldn't do this. It's your wedding supper, and I've spoiled it."
"You haven't spoiled anything," Bridget said.
But of course Agnes had. She could see it in their faces. Jerry's determination to get at the gritty truth. Nora's sadness. Harrison's bewilderment. Rob's desire to put the best face on this for Agnes.
"I just couldn't stand having you all leave after this weekend," Agnes said, "and not know this about me. That I have had a life. It's a different life than most. A life dispensed in moments. But they were transcendent moments, never dull, intensely felt, full of joy. How many of you can say that? I have had riches. I have had my share. Tomorrow, we'll all say that we'll get together again, but we won't, not really. I might die, and none of you would ever have known. Poor Agnes, you'd be saying. A spinster."