21

“Well?” Daniel says as Will sits down.

“I haven’t told her.”

“No?”

“I feel like I’m . . . I just have to get a few things straight before I talk to Carole. Straight in my head.”

“How will you do that?”

“I’ve contacted one of them, a woman named Lisa Christianson. E-mailed her. She said she’d see me.”

“See you.”

“Yes. Talk to me. I mean, I didn’t tell her what it was I wanted to talk about. I . . . well, I led her to believe that I was going to be in the area. In Albany. Said I’d like to stop in.”

“What will you do?” Daniel says.

“Ask her, I guess. I’ll ask her.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. If she says no, that it never happened, then I guess I might try someone else. And if that woman says no, I’ll drop it. I’ll tell Carole what happened with the girl. Ask her forgiveness. I mean, what are the choices?”

“And if she says yes?”

“Lisa Christianson?”

Daniel nods. “What if she confirms your suspicions?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I have no idea. I mean, I already feel like I don’t know anything anymore. Or anyone. Or myself. I ran into a friend yesterday, John York. We talked for a while; then he asked me to return his boxed set of Charles Mingus. Said he wouldn’t ask if it weren’t a rare recording that’s no longer available. But I never borrowed any CD’s from him. The only time I see the guy is on the racquetball court.” Will shakes his head. “It wasn’t that he accused me, but I could tell he didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t have it. That he thought I’d borrowed the recording and forgotten about it. Or that I was lying intentionally. And even though I was sure I didn’t have his CD’s, that he hadn’t ever loaned me any recordings at all, when I got home I went through all our music, twice, looking for something I’ve never seen before.”

Daniel is silent. Then, “Another instance of confusion or ambiguity over what’s true, what’s a lie,” he says.

“I know. I know. But I don’t get the significance. I mean, was I being paranoid? Maybe I was. Maybe he didn’t think I was lying. Maybe my feelings about that transaction have nothing to do with John at all, but with something else, something present under or behind every essentially meaningless event, with the power to show through what’s happening on the surface. Like, like a black bra showing through a white blouse.” Will shakes his head. “I’ll have to . . . if Lisa says yes, I’ll have to go through the past. Factor in this, this . . . factor in whatever she tells me. Correct my misapprehension of everything.”

“That’s a striking image you used.”

“What? The black bra?”

“Yes.”

“Sexual,” Will says, nodding. “It just popped out.”

“So I assumed.”

“You know, I can’t . . . ever since Jennifer, I can’t get it up. I don’t know if it’s the possibility of her being related to me, or if it’s that . . . well, it wasn’t my plan, but I did cheat on my wife.” Will slumps down in the seat, pinches the skin over his Adam’s apple. “Or if it’s because of Mitch.” He closes his eyes, stops speaking.

“If your ability to perform sexually has been dismantled by what you’ve learned about your brother?”

Will nods. “You know,” he says after a silence, “I’m not going to get anywhere in here, with you, until I’ve straightened out this, this thing about Mitch. Until I know if it was just Elizabeth or . . .” He stands up. “I’m sorry. I think I’d like to leave, come back to talk after I’ve seen Lisa.”

Daniel pushes his chair back from his desk and stands. “You know, Will, I think it’s been a mistake not to use the couch over the last few months.”

“A mistake?” Will looks at him. “Don’t you mean a dodge?”

Daniel nods. “Yes,” he says, “that is what I mean.”