DOWN THE HALL, he heard Brett on the phone with someone who had to be her mother.
“Accident . . . Yes, she’s here too . . . No, I don’t know what’s happening . . . Kiss Lars for me.”
He was so thirsty, his throat felt like sandpaper. He’d have to ring a nurse to bring him a drink or he’d expire, even if it meant alerting the two women in his life that he was awake. Just as he was about to shimmy for the buzzer, Cass appeared in the doorframe holding two bottles of his favorite: raspberry-flavored Perrier. She entered quietly and closed the door behind her, finding space on the far edge of his bedside for her bottom.
For a minute they didn’t speak. She unscrewed the cap of one of the drinks and it released its telltale fizz. Cass rose again to fish in her purse for a straw and brought the drink to his lips. He took a much-needed sip and found his throat in working order again.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She sat back down. “How do you feel?”
“Like hell. Is Puddles okay?”
“Totally. Jemima’s got him for the week.”
“Good.”
“So?” she asked poignantly.
“So,” he responded, sidestepping the doorway she’d opened for him.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.
“Cass,” he began.
“No—let me. I freaked. The baby, my job. Worrying that we were turning into roommates more than lovers. I think you think I’m a certain way, but I’m not really the person you think I am.”
“I could say the same, Cass.”
“It turns out you could,” she said. “Did you really believe I would think you were some kind of bigot because of something that happened when you were seventeen years old? You think I don’t know you better than that?”
“I was worried, Cass. I didn’t want to risk you misinterpreting. What if you couldn’t understand?”
Cass nodded, like she got it. Enough to make him go on.
“Remember that night we met in college and you told me you chose Brown because of RISD? Years later I heard you telling Leon’s buddies that it was because of the financial-aid package. Which was the truth? And after you left for California, I found a huge stack of programs from some theater in Los Angeles in the back of your night table drawer. We both have things we’ve kept from each other for too long.”
“I agree. There’s mystery and there’s deception. It’s a fine line, but I think we both know which side of it we’re on.”
Cass stood up again and came closer to his face. He thought she might kiss him or brush aside his hair.
“You’re so banged up,” she observed, like he was a damaged work of art.
“I haven’t looked in a mirror yet. But I can feel it.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I can run out to get you a sandwich or pasta from Elio’s if you’re up to it.”
“Not yet. Maybe later,” he said.
“So . . . Brett?” she asked, settling herself back on his bed. He noticed her stiffen as she sucked air forcefully into her lungs. “I came to New York when the news first broke about Winstar. But then I found her things in our apartment and I ran.”
“Really? I had no idea.” So she was human after all. “What about you and Marty Spiegel?”
“It was a thing. But it’s over. You guys?”
“I don’t know. Your leaving was like a Mack truck mauling me. And then an actual taxi did maul me. I can’t think straight right now. We’ve both made mistakes that need sorting out.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the background noises of the hospital. Brett’s voice sounded intermittently, broken fragments that were incomprehensible but still difficult to ignore.
Cass finally spoke.
“We should be more up-front with each other. About the big things. And some of the little things that were pissing us off. No married couple is perfect, right?”
“I don’t think anyone would ever accuse us of being perfect.”
She laughed heartily and he knew that if he never saw those overlapping teeth again, he couldn’t go on.
“Cass, I cheated on you. Right after we lost Peanut.”
Her face fell, like she’d been hit from behind.
“I’m so sorry. Cass—there is no excuse, I know, I just—”
“Jonathan, stop. I have to say something too. We didn’t meet by chance. Not in college. And not in New York City either.”
Heightened senses shook them as the room flooded with anger and the deafening echo of truth.