have a point. At some stage my forgiveness is going to have to give way to trust. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, but I have to at least give it a try.
"Alright. So you didn't screw that girl. But you can't be going into cupboards with young women and expect that people aren't going to imagine that you're not screwing them. You get that, right? And I'm sure Chloe isn't going to appreciate all of this. I mean, it's just plain disrespectful to your wife. Which I suppose is what happened with you and Quinn. Neither of you respected me at all, and it still hurts."
"Okay," he says. "I get what you're saying. Stay out of the copy room."
"Just stay away from the interns all together."
"I suppose that's the safest thing."
"You think?"
I've never quite been comfortable with farewells. Most of the time the person you are seeing off is not going forever. You see them at reunions or at the market, or at the movies, or on the street. Maybe they haven't quite left and resurface from time to time, working casually. There is only one final farewell, and we all face that eventually. I avoided that moment with my father. I don't know why. Perhaps it is my uncanny ability to avoid pain. I know that at the time my life had fallen apart and I didn't want to burden my father with my problems. I mean, they seemed so insignificant to facing that great adventure of the afterlife. At least, that's what I thought that he'd think. But I'm sure that just wasn't the case. Regardless I could have seen him months before that, said my piece, but I never did.
I wonder if Mary had time to say what needed to be said to her husband before his heart gave up on him. I wonder what she would have said. I guess I'll never know. I won't ask.
Quinn is saying goodbye to her colleagues. They've thrown her a little party downtown, in a small but classy Italian restaurant. She is the centre of attention, and she likes that.
A month ago she had her check-up and the doctor told her with a smile that her blood pressure was elevated. Quinn and I know that's bad for everyone, and we know that his smile is meant to reassure us. It's not working. And, it seems, so will Quinn from today on. I can't help feeling a little relieved. I can't help feeling that she needs looking after a little and she's too stubborn to ask for it.
They give her presents and they give her speeches. Everyone is crying, except for me. I stand in the corner and watch it all with a calm detachment. I'm trying to pick the ones that were lying to me on Quinn's behalf for that cold and dark year. It is amazing what people will do out of some misplaced loyalty, passing it off as nobility without a second thought. But then, isn't that what I'm doing? Didn't Wade convince me not five hours ago to do the very same.
And anyway, if I were going to tell Chloe, how would I do it without crushing her soul, her spirit. I liked her. I couldn't do that to her. But then, I wouldn't want her to live a lie like I had.
It's strange how the mind wanders, meanders through a forest of thoughts, looking for that particular idea to latch onto. I stumbled onto something - something that I had not considered.
Quinn comes over to me. She looks like she's had enough. I help her on with her coat.
"Can I ask you something?" I ask her and she nods.
"It might sound like a strange question to ask after we've got this far, but I was wondering..."
"Yes?"
"Why didn't you just leave me before you started with Wade? Why didn't you just say: look, this isn't working for me anymore? Then you'd have been free to go with him without all of what happened. And I'd be free to... whatever. You know what I mean? Why didn't you just leave me?"
She shakes her head but she smiles. It's a little sad, but here is some deep affection behind her eyes that makes me want to kiss her. "Do you really have to ask that?" she says.
"I'd like to know."
"I've told you before. It's because I still loved you, Judd. I know you still think that the last year of our marriage was a lie, but it wasn't. I still loved you. I was hurting, but that never stopped me from loving you. And I know that I did this truly horrible thing and it doesn't make any sense, but there it is. Sometimes love makes no sense at all. It's like you said that you loved me after what I did to us and that it was inconvenient."
"I did say that, didn't I?"
"So you understand. I regret everything that I did. I regret the damage I did to us. I regret the pain I caused you. But I never regretted, not for one second, that I still loved you. And that's why I couldn't leave you, because deep down I hoped that somehow you'd find your way back to me. And then you found out, and I guess that hope just flew away."
"In a strange kind of way, that actually makes sense," I say with a smile.
"I just hope that you won't keep thinking that our marriage was a lie. It wasn't. It was broken. We were broken. And I guess we were always going to fall apart at some point. But don't doubt that I loved you. Not for a minute did I stop."
"But I still don't understand how you could be with him and then with me right after."
She frowns. "It wasn't easy."
"It just seems like... I don't know."
She shakes her head. "Judd, do you really want to talk about this here?"
I look about the room. People are laughing. People are happy. Quinn was happy right up until she came over to me. And I'd killed the mood.
"No," I say. "I guess not. Sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up now. I was just thinking."
"Sometimes you think too much."
"I suppose I do."
"I guess this just tells us that we still have a long way to go. We'll need to find someone else to talk to, I suppose."
I nod sadly. "Someone we can trust again like we did with Grant and Mary? I don't know."
"Good point."
"But we'll work it out. I think we've got enough skills to get us through for a while. At least we talk now. That's something."
"And I will talk to you about that time. Just not right now."
"I look forward to it."
She punches me in the arm and we're back the way we were when we were first married. Joking, laughing, poking fun. But there is a sadness there now that lingers in the shadows, reminding us of where we have come, what we have done. We don't blame each other anymore, but deep inside we still blame ourselves.
"Take me home," she says, and I do.
Saturday
Quinn wakes me with a significant nudge, sending me almost out of my side of the bed.
"What?" I say, still half asleep.
"Get up," she orders me, and swats me with a pillow.
"It's the weekend," I protest.
"We've got things to do."
"So you've planned my weekend out and neglected to let me in on it?"
"Something like that."
"So what is this grand plan that you speak of."
She smiles in that way that makes me forgive her of everything. "First you're driving me up to Branford."
"Shouldn't you be resting? I mean, that was the whole point of giving up work so early, so you could rest."
"I'm visiting a grieving friend."
"Stress is just as bad on the blood pressure as work."
"I'll sit in the study, put my feet up. I'll behave, I promise. And you can't wrap me up in cotton wool. I'll go crazy if I can't get out of the house."
"I suppose you're right," I concede.
"I'm always right," she says, and I think she's serious.
And so we drive the hour or so upstate. Quinn's ankles have swollen up in the car and I'm a little annoyed at her. But I know she's right too. The doctor didn't confine her to bed, at least he hasn't yet, and I think she's trying to enjoy a little freedom while it lasts. And I trust her. She won't put Rachel in danger.
We are thirty minutes away when Quinn's cell rings. She smiles when she sees the caller's name and picks up quickly. She speaks for several minutes and slowly the smile drains from her face. Finally she says: "I'll have to talk to Judd about it," and she signs off and hangs up.
"Who was that?" I ask her.
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"Chloe," she says quietly, looking out the window, and I know there is something wrong. I can guess: something to do with Wade, something to do with his wandering eye.
"What's up?"
She sighs a little, then turns and looks at me. There is sadness behind her eyes, regret. "She invited us to their New Year's party."
I nod. I know what this means to her. I know what this means to us. Then I feel my mouth inch up into a smile. "We can go if you want."
She shakes her head. "I don't know."
"Okay? well, it's two weeks away, so we've time to decide."
Silence envelops us again.
Quinn is true to her word. She stays in the study with Mary while I walk the garden like I have many times before. But I'm not alone. As I walk into the hidden alcove I almost run into Elise, who is sitting on a stone bench. It's bitterly cold. Light snow fell earlier that day and the garden is now no longer a sweet green but a crisp white. She is wrapped in a blanket and nursing a steaming cup of coffee between her woollen hands.
"Sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"I'm not doing anything, just getting some air. So, you didn't interrupt anything."
"Well, that's a relief."
"Judd, isn't it?"
I nod. "And you're Elise."
"You have a good memory for names."
"Not really. I just had to remember yours. You had to remember everyone's. I'm surprised you remember me at all. There were a lot of people at the funeral."
"He was well loved."
"He sure was." I stand next to her. For some reason I feel that I'm meant to be here. I don't want to intrude, but I don't want to leave. I motion to the space next to her. "Do you mind?"
"Please," she says