to read from the beginning, please click the photos on the right.
Chapter XXXI pgs. 201-203
The men’s room was old fashioned. The floor had marble tile, and the stalls were painted that strange pasty green that dentists used to like. He knelt in front of the toilet and heaved until his throat was raw and his strength was spent, but the metallic taste persisted. He started to rise and felt his stomach lurching one more time. Once more he leaned into the toilet, and his stomach convulsed long after it had emptied itself.
Finally the retching was over and Alex stood up to rinse out his mouth and clean himself off. He’d stained his suit and ended up with wet spots where he’d sponged the vomit off with paper towels. This was Vivian’s fault. She should have just sent a card with regrets. “Unfortunately, my husband’s work makes it impossible for us to attend Harry’s funeral…” Well, she’d pay.
Alex straightened his tie and checked his reflection in the mirror. He’d worn a red tie, and some water had splashed on it leaving a pattern of droplets on the silk. He wondered if the tie was ruined. He didn’t want to go back into the chapel. He stared at the tie some more, dabbing at it with a paper towel. The wet spots were a deep burgundy color – ‘the color of wine, not blood,’ he told himself. He rubbed at the spots some more, willing them to be gone. He was wearing Harry’s blood. No, damn it, water, not blood. Vivian was going to pay for all of this. On his chest, Alex wore Harry’s blood. No, not Harry’s blood, just water, damn it! The words, “Harry’s blood” filled his head along with the vision of a sucking wound. The metallic taste flooded Alex’s mouth – a taste so strong that it gagged him, and Alex turned back towards the toilet, dry heaving all the while.
When he walked back into the chapel, the organist was playing “Taps” and a young man in uniform presented a folded American flag to Harry’s wife. As she took the flag, her head dropped, and the sounds of her breath echoed throughout the room. Alex thought he would retch again. Instead, a burning spasm shot through him, and he had to grab the back of a pew to steady himself.
Following the funeral, they held a wake at the home of Harry’s Aunt Margaret. The house was a pale blue Cape Cod-style home built in the seventies, up high on a hill and it gave a good view of Bar Harbor. Through the living room window, if you looked over the rooftops and between the telephone wires, you could see the Atlantic Ocean.
The living room was set up for the wake with five folding metal tables, one of them covered with photo albums containing pictures of Harry, and the others packed with hors d’oevres. Greasy hors d’oevres, thought Alex, – his stomach hadn’t settled down completely -salami wrapped around gherkin pickles, chips and store-bought onion dip, some chicken wings soaked with orange stuff. Aunt Margaret had probably made the food herself or bought it at the supermarket. You’d think she could have at least hired a caterer!
Alex tried to eat a cracker, but his mouth was dry and he almost choked on the crumbs. He poured himself a glass of wine and sipped. What he really needed was a good brandy, but apparently Aunt Margaret was also too cheap to serve hard liquor.
Usually Alex was in the thick of any party, but this time he stood sidelined and watched stupid people hugging each other and talking about camera lenses, and soufflés, and sports fishing. The practice was obscene, thought Alex. A man had died, and his life was being celebrated with cheese balls and cabernet. It wasn’t even very good cabernet, thought Alex examining the bottle, but he poured himself a glass anyway. He watched his wife hugging and giggling like a high school sophomore, acting as though these people were more important than all the influential friends they’d made in Washington. For Pete’s sake, they’d eaten dinner with senators and cabinet members, and they’d played golf with President Bush himself. Back in Washington, Alex had succeeded in ways most people don’t even know to dream about. And here Vivian was acting like these little people were interesting.
Alex took a sip of the wine. His stomach was empty and the wine burned as though scratching his insides with sharp claws, but he didn’t care. For distraction, he looked around the room. Harry’s pictures stared at him from every wall and every corner: Harry, six years old and holding on to a string of fish and smiling like an idiot; Harry standing next to his bride Chris; Harry dressed up in a chicken suit, probably for some Halloween thing; Harry, holding baby Todd on his shoulder and the girl in a ballerina dress on his knee. What was her name? Vivian had told him, but he forgot. They had so many pictures of Harry, that they might as well have used him for wallpaper. Harry, Harry, Harry! At least this thing would be over soon and the dead bastard could be put to rest.
Alex held up the wineglass then averted his eyes. The color made him nauseous. He tried to drink another sip, but it tasted as if blood were mixed in with the wine. His hand shook and the room swam and he staggered some as he made his way to Vivian and grabbed her by the elbow. “We have to go now. I have a plane to catch.” He thought he would start retching again.
Vivian looked at her watch. “But we have plenty of time. Your plane doesn’t leave for…”
“I said it’s time to go now.” Alex grabbed Vivian’s arm hard, digging his nails into her skin, and propelled her toward the door with the strength of a football player tackling the ball carrier.
And Vivian didn’t say another word. Without a parting hug for Denise or a thank you to Aunt Margaret, the two walked to the front door and down the street to where the rented Ferrari was parked. Vivian checked her arm to see if Alex’s nails had left a mark.
They drove to the airport in silence. After parking the car, they proceeded to the security check area. “You don’t have to wait with me if you don’t want to,” said Alex. He gave her a mechanical kiss on the cheek and turned away towards the window staring intently at the runway.
“Fine. Good bye,” Vivian said to the air between them, and walked back towards the main terminal.
Alex turned once, saw her walk away, then looked around for a lounge that served brandy.
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