32

They took Spencer’s rental to get groceries. He had the feeling of taking her, hosting her in his space, and things felt good and yet also silly, like playing house as a kid. Why did it feel different who was driving and whose car it was? Pushing the grocery cart down the aisle felt oddly the same. Eva hung off his arm with her head on his shoulder.

He flashed on her saying, ‘I love you’. It felt wonderful. He had done the exact right thing coming here. This was the kind of man she wanted. He was so pleased with himself.

Eva perused the packaged meat section, hovering over the chicken.

“I spotted a barbecue there,” he said.

“Okay, yeah, but you’d have to make it. I’m not the barbecue pro.”

“You’re good hands, very good hands. How about chicken kebabs? I’ll marinate them.”

“Mm, yes. With salad.”

“Of course.”

He looked for boneless, skinless breasts. Silently, he thought through ingredients he would need. For the marinade: olive oil, garlic, shallot, honey, lemon, oregano, and paprika. He found the breasts and held a pack of two plump ones to Eva, but she was intently reading something on her phone. He didn’t want to interrupt and put the pack in the cart, then thought about the second dinner they would need. Salmon? They should have that tonight, and the chicken could marinate overnight. Barbecue the salmon too. Was there enough propane? An extra tank standing by? He should have checked before they left. The fresh fish section was small but had some nice salmon fillets. He looked over at Eva to ask her but she was glued to her phone.

“Can I help you?” said the sixty-something pudgy male clerk behind the counter. His smock was soiled with what must have been fish guts, which gave him an air of authority.

“Yes, thanks. Are these wild caught?” He pointed at the deep red salmon.

“No, sir. Farmed. Only the halibut is wild.”

“Oooh, maybe we’ll get that, just a sec.” He looked over at Eva.

She was scrolling, then exhaled and slipped her phone into her back pocket. She looked around for Spencer, then approached. She smiled brightly. “What’s up, doc?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe fish tonight and the chicken tomorrow. They’ve got this wild Halibut, which looks great.”

“Yep! Sounds good!”

“And do know what stuff they have for the chicken marinade? Herbs, honey?”

“Yep.”

“Garlic?”

“Not sure.”

They rolled to the produce section. She walked untethered, slightly trailing him. He thought about what to have with the halibut, not salad again. Some stir-fried veggies. He spotted bright green bok choy, snow peas, and a yellow pepper. And then thought of breakfast: yogurt, eggs, avacado. “Need more pita?” he asked.

“Yeah, good.”

She continued trailing behind a foot or two and hadn’t put anything in the cart herself. He turned to her: “Some Baba G, perhaps?” She was looking idly at the passing items on the shelves and didn’t answer, as if she’d not heard him. He took that as a hint not to repeat the question.

At the checkout, they both took out their wallets. “I got it,” said Spencer.

“No, no, this is mine, I got it.”

As they crossed the parking lot, he asked, “Good news?” She looked at him, slightly confused. “Did you hear from the doctor?”

She looked down in front of her. “No. It’s June, she applied for a new job. She said the interview went well.” She lifted her head with a deep breath. “It would make her so happy, she’s been hating her current job.”

“Which is what?” He popped the rental’s hatch to load the groceries. His bag was still in there.

“Office…reception. A law office. Answering phones. Appointments.” She spun the empty cart around and took it back to the store entrance. Everything felt different, but why? Because she said she loved him? And because she had a new t-shirt? She talked differently too, more direct and cussing. Touchy and affectionate in a different way, so wildly happy to see him. They had, exactly as he’d hoped, broken through to the next level, but now everything felt track since the message from June. No, not June, that was a lie. Or, yes, June, what did he know? The message had nothing to do with him, that was a fact. You’re incurable! It’s not about you! He watched her walk back after returning the cart. She avoided his gaze for most of it, looking around at nothing or down in front of her. They got into the car and he instinctively put his foot on the brake but didn’t press the ignition. In the hermetic quiet, they looked forward at the snow-capped peak.

“We going?” she asked. He nodded slowly, theatrically, and then turned to her, gently fixing his look on her eyes, opening the door for her to say it, something that would make it make sense. She met him there for a moment, then turned back to the mountain. “Anytime you’re ready,” she said, mocking humour.
“Yep,” he replied and pushed the ignition.

 

Eva went straight to the day bed when they returned and wrote in her journal while he put away the groceries. Instinctively, he checked the freezer. There were some glass containers with what was probably pasta sauce and, at the back, a bag of frozen French fries. He checked the expiry date, they were good for another six months. Twenty minutes later, he set a layer of Saran over the marinating chicken and put it in the fridge.

“What now?” he said to Eva.

“Swim!”

“Is it itching?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Eva ran down the dock, Spencer a few paces behind. She dove right in, so he did the same. The ice-cold hit his head like a hammer and raked through his body. She loves me. He screamed underwater, then came up gasping, instinctively heading back to the dock for safety. This is love, this is love. His limbs were stiff and heavy. He gripped the aluminum ladder rung and climbed out. “Ho- holy shit, that’s cold!” he stammered, but Eva was beating a powerful crawl further out, seemingly unaffected. He was in the full sun, but the wind whipped over his frozen skin. He tightened his muscles from head to toe to hide the shivers erupting from his core and failed, jerking awkwardly as they had their way with him. He kept his eyes on Eva, ready to dive in if she suddenly froze up, but she looked relaxed as ever, as if she were in a heated pool. After getting out, she marched quickly back to the terrace and threw on a towel. He followed and did the same, trailing her inside, shivering badly as ever. “I’m showering, want to join me?”

She pushed her mouth sideways, a mock devilish grin. “You go ahead,” she said casually.

He let it run uncomfortably hot to thaw his insides, turning in circles, it seemed never hot enough. He thought of the absurd ending of her play again, the run at happiness, her and Sandy side by side, Miranda insisting Sandy had saved her. He wanted Eva to fix it, but he had no clue what that would be. Did she? Is that what she was writing now?

In dry clothes, he felt alighted and clear-headed. He opened a beer and his laptop, then went to the Airbnb site to book their getaway in August. Her preferred choices were booked for the weekend of the 18th. She came out of the bedroom dressed in jeans and another new t-shirt, this one a light yellow.

“Bad news,” he said. “Both those Airbnbs are booked that weekend of the 18th.”

“Oh.” She opened the fridge and stared into it. “When do you want to eat dinner?”

“Anytime. You hungry now?”

“Kinda, maybe just a snack.” She opened a bag of potato chips and headed for the daybed.

“You okay booking for three nights? All these places have a three-night minimum, I guess because of summer, but I don’t mind paying for that. In fact, I’m happy to pay the whole thing, I know you’ve spent a fair bit on this place, and I’m really looking forward to getting away in August.”

“I don’t know.”

“About what?”

“Three nights.”

“We can stay for two, leave. No one’s forcing us.”
She nodded, crunching through a mouthful of chips, her eyes on her open journal propped on her folded-up knees. “Do you want to look and find something you like? You’ve found such great places before.” He angled the laptop screen toward her.

“Yeah. Not right now. I need to do some writing.”

“Okay, but we should do it soon – things are booking fast.”

“Yep, I get it.” She was already writing, retrieving more chips every few moments. Planning a getaway was supposed to be fun, and this wasn’t. Instead, he was having to sell her on it, as if cajoling her to weed the garden.

He remained on his computer for the next hour, checking emails and advertising stats, then read digital marketing news and reviews of tools and platforms and pretended to be absorbed, but all he was conscious of was the furious scratching of her pen. He finished his beer and had the impulse to open another. He stood up from the island and affected a stretch. “Want something to drink?”

“Yeah, a cider please.” She didn’t lift her eyes from the page. He poured it into a glass and handed it to her. She gave him a quick smile.

He went back and got himself a beer. “How’s it going?”

“All good.” She pressed on, the pen hardly stopping.

He started putting things together for dinner. A stubborn shiver shook him.

 

An hour later he served the salmon fillet, rice and stir-fried veggies.

“Thank you,” she said. She had kept writing up to the minute sitting down.

“Welcome. Maybe you can read me something after dinner.”

“I think I want to wait now until it’s done. I’ve found doing that affects how I feel about the scene afterwards.”

“Because of my reactions?”

“I think so.”

“They’ve always been positive.”

“I know.” She swallowed a bite of salmon. “Wow, the salmon is perfect.”

“Thanks.” It was silent for a long minute, which felt like tumbling down a hill. “I’ve been having some crazy kinds of conversations with clients.”

“Like what?”

Her response seemed encouraging. “For most business owners, I’ve learned that it isn’t just a business, it’s an extension of themselves, of their identity so when I consult with them, I have to be careful because I’m really talking about something that is tied to them emotionally and in particular how they see themselves and how they want the world to see them. They’ll acknowledge that taking my suggestion makes good business sense but they are reluctant, something doesn’t feel right for them and because, as I mentioned, it’s tied to their identity, the business and them are one thing so convincing them is the challenging part even though they can clearly see it makes sense and then, when it doesn’t go well, which often is the case because we’re just getting started, they desperately want to bail out. What they forget is that making it work is a process of moving forward by way of course correcting.”

She was silent, her eyes blank, as if he’d been speaking a foreign language, looking past him.

“It’s interesting how human beings say they want something but they don’t act like they do, I don’t know, I guess it’s fear-”

She suddenly stood up and took her plate to the sink. She had finished the salmon, but the rest was still there. “I need to sit on the bed, the stool is bothering my back.”

“Sure.” His back was to her, so he turned to face her politely while he finished eating. She opened her journal and found her page. “Are you okay?”

“Yep, just tired. I can feel the itch is getting bad again, it comes on at night for some reason. You should sleep in the bedroom, otherwise I’ll keep you up all night.”

“That’s what I was hoping.” She chuckled politely but kept her eyes on the page. “I brought a joint if you want some.”

“Hm, nah. I think I need to take it easy. I shouldn’t have had that cider.”

“I feel like there’s something going on.” She didn’t answer. “Is there?” He turned to her fully and waited.
“You were talking that way again.” She looked at him and sharpened her voice into a point. “You go on and on and leave no space. It’s like I’m not even here.”

Her raised voice was unsettling.

“I’m sorry, it’s…don’t take it personally, I said that before. Just a bad habit sometimes. Sorry, anyway.”

“It makes me want to tell you to SHUT UP.”

His face flushed. He turned away, then looked at her briefly, her tight lips and feral eyes focused on her page as she scrawled.

“Sorry, I said I was sorry.” He got off his stool and washed his plate, setting it carefully on the drying rack.

He let her be for the rest of the evening, hanging out on the front porch and then reading in the bedroom. He wanted to pack up and leave, but he hoped she would come to him in the bedroom and explain what was going on, even if it was just a confirmation that her rash was really bothering her. The stupidest thing to do would be to abandon her. He had to be patient.

He heard the front door bolt unlock, followed by a whispered greeting. Then it closed and was silent. Through the bedroom window he saw Jasmine. They had walked beyond the cars, almost out of his view. Eva ran her fingers through her unkempt hair, then pressed her forehead with the flat of her hand as if holding it in place. Jasmine’s brow was knit with concern. She gave Eva a hug and retreated up the driveway.

What the fuck is going on?

The front door opened and the bolt engaged to lock it. A moment later, the light spilling from the living room went dark.