IT WAS TWILIGHT AS Ellis’s car rolled over the Triborough Bridge. The lights of the city were just beginning to turn on. Lily, who since Jeremy’s death had done everything she could to push thoughts of Harry from her mind, was suddenly obsessed with learning about his emotional state. She was hungry for any information Ellis might give her.
“How has Harry been? Has he been working? Oh Ellis—tell me.”
For a moment, he thought of Valerie. Then he recalled the way Harry had looked just yesterday, how low he’d sunk. “He’s been writing. But lately, I think he’s slowed down a bit. It’s been hard for him”—Ellis hesitated—“with you gone.”
When they pulled up in front of Lily’s building, Ellis carried her bags inside for her. “I imagine it would be best for you to go up alone.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. Then, turning, she embraced him and the warmth of her kiss lingered on his cheek as she looked into his eyes. “Thank you … for everything.”
Harry was in the middle of his third Scotch when he heard the key in the lock. Angrily he thought, Valerie again. Several times in the past few days she had come over uninvited, and each time he had sent her away. But it seemed she couldn’t take the hint. Harry cursed himself for ever having become involved with her. Hearing footsteps click on the parquet floor, he rose rather unsteadily and shouted, “Go away!” But speech left him the second he saw Lily framed in the archway.
At the sight of him, she almost gasped. My God, she thought, he looks dreadful. A five-day growth of beard dotted his chin; his eyes were bloodshot and ringed by dark circles. His clothes looked as if he had slept in them and hung loosely, revealing how much weight he’d lost in the past few weeks. A choking pall of cigarette smoke hung over the room.
Even without the empty bottles littering the coffee table Lily would have known that he had been drinking heavily.
As he stared at her mutely, Lily thought in anguish, What have I done to cause this?
“Harry?” she began uncertainly, “I’ve come home….”
Without a word, he staggered over to her, flung his arms around her, and began to cry.
She couldn’t understand the fierce, inarticulate things he was mumbling—but she knew what he was trying to convey. Tears coursed down her own cheeks—tears of love, of guilt, of gladness to be in his arms once again.
Finally, raising his head, he looked at her with burning eyes. “Is it really you or am I hallucinating?”
“It’s me, Harry.”
“Oh God, I’ve missed you so!”
Drawing her down onto the sofa, Harry swept her into his arms once again, stroking her hair and kissing her hungrily.
“Harry, I want to explain—”
“Lily, I don’t want to know why you went away,” he interrupted, “or why you stayed away so long. All I care about is that you’re back.”