You okay?” Stephen said, standing in the hall. “I heard you talking.” He looked intently at Annie, an expression of concern or suspicion, she couldn’t tell.
“Yes, fine.” She rushed her words, the lie catching in her throat. “I was checking in with my babysitter.”
“Your son okay?”
“Yes. All is well. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Don’t worry about the time. Come with me. I prepared some Hungarian sandwiches. I hope you like cheese and salami.”
“I do.”
She followed him down the hall, shaken that she was almost caught in the act of calling Edward.
“How long did you say you’ve lived here?” Annie asked, grasping for something to normalize their conversation. Her right toe was starting to ache. She wasn’t used to wearing heels, or a dress for that matter. She straightened up and followed him into the kitchen.
“Less than a year.”
“Not so long,” she said, dissatisfied by his answer. Less than a year was vague. She wanted to know exactly how long, but she didn’t want to raise his suspicions by asking again.
“No. But it feels like home.”
In the kitchen, Stephen opened the refrigerator and began assembling the ingredients of the sandwiches on a small square table next to the window. The window offered another stunning view of the statue across the river.
“I started doing this earlier,” he said, apologetically, “but I ran out of time.”
She stood beside him and helped arrange the sandwiches in a circle on the platter. She wanted to bring up his wife again but wasn’t sure how. “Are you planning to stay here permanently?”
“I think so.”
Then she noticed on the windowsill a framed photo of Marta lying naked on a bed. It was embarrassing and irritating.
“She’s a nice girl,” Stephen said, gently putting Marta’s photo facedown on the sill. He brushed a tendril of hair from Annie’s face as if to tell her, It’s okay. We’re both embarrassed. Let’s ignore it and carry on.
“I’m sure she is.” Once again his intimate gesture unnerved her, his ability to be so familiar with her, and in response, she felt emboldened to ask more questions. “When did you two meet?”
“When I moved here. She’s been a comfort. You know. After losing my wife.”
“Your wife died young,” Annie said, facing him. “Do you mind telling me what happened?”
“Multiple sclerosis.”
“I didn’t realize you could die from that.”
“Yep.”
Stephen finished his glass of wine and set the empty glass on the counter. “It is what it is. In the end, my wife couldn’t feed herself. Truth is, she wanted to go—like your brother, like my father.”
“No. My brother didn’t want to go,” Annie said. “He was depressed. And he was drinking.”
“Well, my wife did. It was her wish, and it angers me because people don’t understand that.”
She could hear Edward yelling bullshit. “You mean society or your family?” Annie said, seeking clarification.
“She didn’t want to live a compromised life in a wheelchair. That was not who she was.”
Annie neatened the sandwiches on the platter, pushing them together so they overlapped like flower petals. What was Stephen saying? He was putting forth a totally different explanation for Deborah’s death—not murder, not accidental overdose, but suicide—assisted suicide.
“Not many people consciously make that kind of decision,” Annie said.
“You’re not my wife.”
“That was insensitive of me. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I understand,” he said, touching her bare arm. “I get upset about this. Sorry for what I said about your brother.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of pálinka. “This stuff is great when it’s cold.”
In the other room, Eileen laughed gaily at something Bernardo said, and she could hear Will laughing as well.
“Deborah—my wife—she had a big laugh.”
Stephen opened the pálinka and poured himself and Annie another glass. “She helped me in so many ways. I wanted to help her, if you understand what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do.” She took a sip of the pálinka and it numbed her tongue again. She was too stunned to eat. Everything was beginning to sound like doublespeak. Help her how? Help her kill herself? Help her die, so he could collect the insurance and move here? Or simply help her die?
“How did she help you?” Annie said. She wanted to slow the fast currents of emotions flooding her thoughts.
“She wanted me to follow my dream of living here. She insisted on it. She believed in me when others didn’t.”
“She sounds like an extraordinary person. I don’t think my brother knew what his dreams were.”
“I’m sorry,” Stephen said.
“Me, too,” Annie said.
Stephen picked up the tray of sandwiches and took a decisive step toward the living room, but Annie put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Are you close to your wife’s family?”
“Funny you should ask.”
He paused at the burst of laughter coming from the other room—Eileen again.
“That’s a conversation for another time. Come on. Let’s join the fun. I don’t want to be a downer. Marta’s eager to show you her earrings.”
She walked with him back into the living room, dissatisfied. He hadn’t told her enough. The others were gathered around Marta’s display of earrings, which she’d arranged on a cloth on the living-room floor. Only the grandmother was standing on the balcony now. The old woman looked exceedingly frail yet regal next to the iron railing. Annie, on the other hand, couldn’t get her thoughts straight. If Deborah wanted to take her life, Stephen would have had to assist her because Deborah couldn’t feed herself, at least according to what Stephen said. What would Edward say about that?
Bullshit. She could hear his deep voice as if he were standing beside her. Deborah loved life. Always saw the positive in situations.
Her ears started throbbing. Stephen admitted that he had helped kill his wife. Hadn’t he?
“How about that pálinka?” Bernardo said to Stephen, holding out his glass. “Love the stuff.”
“We are proud of our pálinka,” Agnes said, freeing the bottle from Stephen’s hand and pouring some into Bernardo’s and then Eileen’s empty glasses. “It is our Hungarian tradition of fruit brandy. Very strong to get drunk,” she said, smiling. “We have festivals celebrating our pálinka.”
Eileen was kneeling on the floor surveying the earrings, her tight green dress sliding up her thighs. Annie could see Eileen’s black underwear, but no one seemed to care, certainly Eileen didn’t.
“Please. Help yourself to some food, everyone,” Stephen said.
Will came over to Annie and traced his finger on her lips. “You okay?”
“Not really.” She whispered to him, “Do you think we can get everyone to leave soon?” She wanted to tell him that she had found a Vicodin tablet and that Stephen had just told her that his wife had killed herself and had asked Stephen to help her. Instead, she took Will’s hand and squeezed it.
Stephen stopped in front of her and Will. “Another sandwich?”
Will took one. “Appreciate it, Stephen.”
“I appreciate your wife,” Stephen said. “Annie, what do you think of Marta’s earrings? They suit you. Elegant but not too overdone.” Stephen spoke slowly, his voice drifting. “Marta is hoping to make connections with the American women here. Will told me you belong to the International Women’s Association.”
“Yes. I know a few women there.” Annie chewed on her sandwich, wanting to hide from Stephen’s ever-watchful eyes. He seemed to look through her and inside her. She didn’t know how to meet his gaze or what to think of him anymore. She needed time to process her thoughts. He just flat-out told her his wife wanted to take her own life and that he helped her. Everything Edward told her would be correct, except through this different lens, it changed Stephen’s intent. Didn’t doctors perform euthanasia every day with morphine? Not officially. But out of compassion for their suffering patients? She knew they did.
Disturbed, she walked over to Marta and crouched down to peruse the earring display. She agreed with Stephen, the earrings—long strands of glittering beads—were elegant and whimsical, not overstated.
“These are lovely,” Annie said to Marta. And she meant it. “I think the women at the IWA will love these. How much are you selling them for?”
“Twelve dollar,” Marta said to Annie.
“She means twenty,” Stephen said, moving closer. “Twenty and no change necessary. I’m her agent.”
“I’m buying ten pairs to bring home as gifts,” Eileen said. She pulled her hair back to show Annie her new earrings.
Bernardo came over and handed Marta two hundred-dollar bills. “American dollars okay?” he asked.
“Persze,” Olga said, taking the large bills from her granddaughter and turning them over to make sure they were legitimate.
“Hungarians love American dollars,” Stephen said. “The forint is pretty useless.”
“How shall I meet American womens?” Marta asked Annie.
Annie lifted a pair of white strands and carefully threaded the silver wires through her pierced ears. “What is your phone number, Marta?” Annie said. “I’ll call you.”
Marta looked at Stephen.
“I use Stephen’s phone and call you, yes?”
“Fine,” Annie said. “Stephen has our number.”
“Right here in my phone,” Stephen said, tapping his pocket. His throat was flushed, his gray-green eyes noticeably bloodshot in the low light.
Marta stood up and thanked Annie and Eileen for the sale. Stephen raised his arm. “This calls for some Unicum!” Stephen went back over to the table with their empty glasses and opened the bulb-shaped bottle.
“Very expensive,” Agnes said, coming over to Annie. “This is a most special drink for us.”
“You can’t get it anywhere else, only in Hungary,” Stephen said. He filled new glasses with the dark liqueur. “Come on, everyone. Bernardo, Eileen.”
Eileen reached for the glass of Unicum and lost her footing. Bernardo grabbed her and gave her a kiss, the two looking more glued together than ever. Annie decided she would never understand their combative relationship. She looked over at Agnes and wondered what she thought of this drunken collection of Americans. And Stephen? Was he pining for his dead wife? Relieved? Overjoyed? He certainly had moved on pretty quickly. But who was she to judge? What did she really know about his situation? What would she do if Will asked her to do the same if he were in Deborah’s situation? It was upsetting to contemplate and deepened her increasingly dour mood, and it was approaching ten o’clock. She wanted to leave.
A warm breeze from the balcony brought in a faint musty smell of the Duna, the current floating up from an underlayer of dirt and stones. Below, on the street, a car alarm went off, a long trill and then a series of different beeps, alarms, chirps, and sirenlike melodies echoing, repeating. Budapest’s night call, its nursery jingle: Watch out! Beware! Run away!
“We ought to be taking off soon,” Will said, tapping his watch.
“One more on the balcony!” Stephen said, holding up the bottle of Unicum and filling a tray full of shot glasses—passing them to Bernardo and Will, and offering one to Marta’s grandmother, who deferred, and went to sit in a chair by the table with the crystal glasses, clenching the two hundred-dollar bills in her fist. Annie wondered if the crystal glasses had been a wedding present.
“I’m cooked,” Eileen said, taking the shot glass from Stephen and smelling it. “This stuff makes you feel weird.”
“It’s hallucinatory,” Bernardo said.
“Think unique for Unicum,” Stephen said.
“No more for me. I’ve had too much,” Annie said. Her thoughts were swimming like a school of fish, taking reverse turns every time a new ripple of information passed through her brain. She couldn’t keep up with herself.
Marta gathered up the remaining earrings and put them in a cloth purse, then joined the rest of the group on the balcony.
“Last one,” Bernardo said, slurring his words, holding out his empty shot glass, “and we’ll call it a night.”