The entrée was served, plates of prime rib with asparagus and potatoes.
“How was it, going from one child to two?” Felicia inquired, picking up the conversation where they’d left it. “A friend of mine told me that one plus one equals three. Is it true?” She sliced into her prime rib, causing blood from the meat to seep into the potatoes.
He considered for a moment. “Actually, it was after the second that our marriage sort of”—he paused, searching for the right word—“disappeared.” He realized it was a funny word to use, but something had been lost, something had fallen through their fingers, and that was the only way he could put it.
“What do you mean?” Felicia asked. She set down her fork and squinted at him with her small eyes, her voice suddenly cold.
He looked over at Megan, full of the radiance that had graced her this evening, still talking to Jared. In the hotel they had vowed not to leave each other’s side, but she was miles away from him. He felt the same resentment that often seized him after he cleaned up the kitchen and bathed Maya and Monika and put them to bed, and then watched television alone, knowing that he had seen his children through another day, that again Megan had not been a part of it. She lived in the apartment, she slept in his bed, her heart belonged to no one but him and the girls, and yet there were times Amit felt as alone as he had first been at Langford. And there were times he hated Megan, simply for this. Had he been sober he would have repressed the thought, reminding himself that it was for his sake, and the girls, that she worked so hard. He would have reminded himself that in a year or so their lives would change, that Megan hoped to find a job in a private practice, so they would once again be able to go on family vacations and throw dinner parties for their friends. But tonight nothing censored his peevishness; he embraced it, felt justified by his very ability to acknowledge what was true.
“It disappeared,” he repeated, with more force this time. “I guess it does for everyone, sooner or later.”
But Felicia’s face had hardened. “What an awful thing to say,” she said, not hiding her disgust. “At a wedding, of all places.”
And yet he felt justified. Wasn’t it since Monika’s birth that so much of his and Megan’s energy was devoted not to doing things together but devising ways so that each could have some time alone, she taking the girls so that he could go running in the park on her days off, or vice versa, so that she could browse in a bookstore or get her nails done? And wasn’t it terrible, how much he looked forward to those moments, so much so that sometimes even a ride by himself on the subway was the best part of the day? Wasn’t it terrible that after all the work one put into finding a person to spend one’s life with, after making a family with that person, even in spite of missing that person, as Amit missed Megan night after night, that solitude was what one relished most, the only thing that, even in fleeting, diminished doses, kept one sane?
He considered explaining this to Felicia, but he saw that she no longer wanted to talk to him. She’d been hanging on his every word but now she turned her attention to one of the women in silver jewelry. He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost eight thirty. The girls would be in their nightgowns, reading stories before bedtime. He had not finished his meal, had eaten very little of it in fact, but the plate was cleared away and strawberry shortcake was in its place. He looked up and saw that most of the tables were empty. Dancing had begun, couples clinging to each other under a neighboring tent, surrounded by the mountains, the black night. The band was playing a Gershwin song. Jared led Felicia away, and though Amit knew he would never have to see her again, he was relieved to see her go, taking away the depressing evidence of their conversation. Jared was bending down to hear something Felicia was whispering and Amit wondered if she was relaying what he’d said to her. How inappropriate, they would think, to talk that way to a person who was engaged. And they would promise each other not to let that happen in their own marraige, that even after twelve children they would never feel that way.
He saw Ted drifting over, asking Megan if it was all right to sit in the empty chair beside her. “That was quite a meal. I didn’t eat half as well at my own wedding,” he said.
“I should call the girls,” Megan said. “We promised them we would.”
“I’ll go,” Amit offered. “You stay, Meg. Enjoy yourself.”
“I won’t run off with her,” Ted said, winking. “I promise.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Megan asked Amit. From the way she was looking at him he saw, without his having to say anything, that she knew he’d had too much to drink, that she had still paid attention to him while speaking to other men all evening.
“I’m fine. I’ll go find a pay phone and then I’ll be right back. A walk will do me good.”
“But then we dance the night away and watch the sun rise, okay?” She smiled at him, and he felt her love for him suddenly—that unshakable belief in him and in their marriage that she never questioned, never denigrated, as he had tonight.
“Okay.” He walked over to where she was sitting, bent down and kissed her on the cheek, then went up to the admissions building where the bathrooms were. Two large rooms had been opened up for the children to play in. Some were running around, some crying, others sprawled fast asleep on the leather club chairs and sofas. He wandered around, looking for a pay phone. There were only the kind limited to the campus exchange, or private ones, sitting on desks. He saw them through the glass doors of offices. But when he tried the knobs they were all locked.
He walked outside, to see if maybe there was a phone there. He found nothing. And yet he had to call the girls, wanted to hear their voices, this was the sole thought in his mind. He began to cut across the field in the dark, in the direction of the hotel, forgetting that the car was parked at the school. Instead he stumbled across the field, silent except for the faint sound of the music carried across the air, and the sound of his own breathing. He stopped and looked up at the sky and the stars, the constellations that were so piercing outside the city. He thought of Megan, thought maybe he should go back and tell her he was going to the hotel. But he continued walking, unable to see his feet as they marched across the ground.
There were no lights apart from the stars and he was unsure which direction the hotel was in. And then again he stopped, to listen to the serenade of the frogs that lived around the lake, like the repeated, random plucking of a bowed instrument in an orchestra, endlessly tuning itself before a performance. It was a sound he had forgotten, one that had haunted him and kept him awake his first nights in a Langford dormitory, at the end of another August when he was fifteen years old. All the incoming students heard it as they slept in their new rooms, in their strange beds, missing their parents, their homes; they were told at their first assembly that the frogs were calling for their mates, defending their territory by the water’s edge before burying themselves under mud for the winter. The deafening thrum spoke to Amit tonight as it had then, of everything in the world that teemed beyond his vision, that was beyond his grasp.
He saw the hotel. It had taken no time at all; Megan wouldn’t even notice he’d been gone. He went into the room and sat on the bed that was empty, as opposed to the one used for their discarded clothes and luggage, and picked up the telephone. He looked around the room, and what he had earlier found disappointing he now found comforting. He dialed his in-laws’ area code. But he could not remember the rest of the number.
He sat there for a long time, the phone in his lap, trying to remember the digits. But he did not know them by memory, it was Megan who always called. He studied the paper pyramid from all sides, as if that might hold the answer. But no, those were television channels. He would have to go back to the wedding, ask Megan, and then come back again to the hotel. That was what he would do. He stood up, walking across the room to the door. Then he remembered that he could call directory assistance. He returned to the phone and was about to press the buttons. But his head throbbed and things began
to spin, the paper pyramid on the bedside table no longer where it had been a second ago, and the need to be horizontal overwhelmed him, pulling him back to the pillows on the bed.
He woke up dressed in his suit, polished black shoes on his feet. The light was on in the dark room, the curtain to the balcony drawn. He first thought that it was still nighttime and that he had to get back to the wedding. But then he looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and saw that it was eleven in the morning.
“Megan?” he called out. He could barely form the word. His voice was ragged, and he realized that for a long time in his sleep he’d been craving a glass of water. He sat up a little and became aware of an excruciating band of pressure around his head. Looking at the neighboring bed he saw that it had not been slept in, that the open suitcase and clothes had not been moved aside.
He sat up fully and then stood. “Megan?” he called out again. He took off his jacket, went to the bathroom, drank water from the basin. He couldn’t bear to turn the light on. The night began to come back to him in pieces. He remembered sitting on the toilet seat, just minutes ago, it seemed, inspecting Megan’s skirt. Then he remembered watching Pam Borden getting married and waiting in a long line for a drink, and a conversation at dinner with a woman who was engaged. He remembered leaving Megan at the table with another man. Suddenly he jerked on the light and saw that her glasses were not by the basin where she normally left them during the night, that she had not come back to the hotel.
He returned to the bed in which he’d slept, searching for some sign of her on the other side of it. But the cover had not been turned back; there were only the creases indicating where he’d lain. Again he crossed the room. He yanked open the closet, which contained just a few empty hangers on the rod. He decided to go to the front desk and ask if she’d returned. He felt chilly and put on his jacket again. Then he saw that the door to the balcony was partly open.
She was sitting in a chair, in jeans and a fleece pullover she’d wisely packed, thinking it might be cold in the mountains. The diamond studs he’d given her after Maya’s birth sparkled in her ears. She was sipping coffee from a paper cup and was staring at the pine tree that blocked the view.
“Well, I made it to watch the sun rise, like I said I would,” she said. “Only the sunrise wasn’t visible today.” He looked at the sky. It was full of daylight but uniformly gray. The air was cool and rain seemed imminent.
He eyed the empty chair next to Megan, knowing he wasn’t welcome. She had not turned around to face him, had not looked up, and he stood partly behind her, shivering, his arms crossed in front of him. “When did you get back?” he asked her.
“Oh, it must have been around three. That was when the party finally broke up. My feet are killing me. I haven’t danced like that in years.”
Her words made him think that perhaps his memories had been part of a terrible dream. “Did we dance last night at the wedding?”
“It was only for about an hour that I was out of my mind with worry. We looked for you everywhere. I asked strange men to check underneath bathroom stalls. I even considered calling the police. But then something told me you’d ended up back here, and when I called the hotel that’s exactly what they told me.” She said all of this calmly, as if addressing the tree in front of her, and yet he felt her fury in each word.
“I couldn’t find a pay phone,” he said.
She turned to him then, jerking the chair around while still sitting in it, her eyes wet with tears. “Neither could I. But I asked Pam’s father and he opened up one of the offices.”
Amit looked down at his feet, at his muddied wing tips. “I left the car up there. Did you drive it back?”
“How could I, when the keys were in your pocket?”
“How did you get here, then?” He felt as if he might be sick, remembering Ted, thinking of him accompanying her to the hotel in the middle of the night.
“Oh, that nice couple at our table gave me a ride. Jared and Felicia.”
He knew that she’d been virtuous, that she was telling him the truth. At the same time, feeling sick again, he wondered if Felicia had told Megan what he’d said. “How are the girls?”
“They’re fine, they’re having a blast. I told my parents we’ll be there by afternoon.”
“But we’re staying here until tomorrow. That was the plan.”
“It’s a bit silly, don’t you think, given the weather? The concierge said it’s only supposed to get worse.”
Ten years ago it wouldn’t have mattered. They would have laughed at the rain, gone for a walk anyway, then holed up in the room and made love.
“I’m sorry, Meg. The drinks went straight to my head. I don’t even remember having that many. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”
She didn’t acknowledge his apology. Instead she said, “I’ve had breakfast. I can go get the car before the rain starts, while you pack up. The hotel restaurant’s not bad. You should probably eat something. I’m tired, and I want you to be able to drive back.”
“You’re always tired,” he wanted to tell her. “The only time you haven’t been tired in years was last night.” But he knew that he was in no position to accuse her.
“Well?” she said.
“There’s a brunch,” he remembered, and suddenly he felt hopeful, that there was still a bit of the wedding left, that he could make an appearance, make up for what he’d missed. “I can eat there. I’d like to go and say good-bye to Pam and Ryan,” he said. “Let’s go over together. Please.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. His head was pounding and his voice was cracking, and from the sad look in her eyes he knew that he looked pathetic, that it was out of pity that she refused to raise her voice, to berate him. Eventually she said, “If that’s what you want.”
“You’ll go with me?”
“I’ve spent enough time at this wedding by myself.”
She sat on the balcony reading the local paper while he changed out of his suit and into his ordinary clothes. Then he packed up their things, throwing all the tourist brochures into the garbage. They walked across the road and across the field to Langford. They were halfway there when the rain started. It was an undramatic drizzle, filling the air with the faintest sound, but by the time they reached the edge of campus their hair was damp, their feet drenched and cold. At one point they paused to take in a view of the lake. In spite of the rain, a man swam in the dark gray water, quite far out.
They went past the small cemetery on the grounds of the school, along a path that led them to a sign taped to a stake that said BRUNCH, with an arrow. They headed in that direction, keeping their eye out for another sign. The tents under which people had dined and danced were still up, empty now, the tables folded and stacked in piles. The chairs on which they’d sat to watch the ceremony were still arranged more messily, on the lawn. There was a truck parked in front of the alumni building, where two maintenance men in overalls were clearing up.
“Is the brunch in here?” Amit asked.
“Don’t know anything about a brunch,” one of them said.
They walked in the direction of the chapel and the observatory. They passed the parking lot, where a few cars stood, including their own. They reached the front gates of the school, then turned back again.
“I don’t see any other signs,” Megan said. “Did she say which building?”
Amit shook his head, and they continued on. United in their quest, he wondered if her rage was dissipating. And yet they did not walk side by side; she was ahead of him, leading the way even though she did not know it. When doors were open they entered, wandering down musty carpeted hallways, into naked stairwells, past empty classrooms with clean blackboards and the round wooden tables at which Langford students always sat. In less than a month students would return to those tables. He was free of the school, it no longer touched his life in any way. But instead of feeling grateful, he wanted to relive those confused days, that life of discovery, to b
e bound to those round tables and lectures and exams. There were things he had always meant to understand better: Russian history, the succession of Roman emperors, Greek philosophy. He wanted to read what he was told each evening, to do as he was told. There were the great writers he had never read, would never read. His daughters would begin that journey soon enough, the world opening up for them in its awesome entirety. But there was no time now, not even to look at the whole paper on Sundays.
In the music complex, they found a room with an assortment of couches and practice stands. There was a baby grand piano in the corner, and in front of it, two trash bins filled with coffee cups and crushed boxes from a bakery. A long folding table held a coffee percolator, a stack of unused cups.
“We found it,” Amit said, feeling triumphant. And then, just as instantly, he felt thwarted. He saw an open box on the table containing a few eclairs. The sight made his stomach churn up in hunger, and he picked one up, consumed it without pause.
“Looks like we missed brunch,” Megan said. After a while she added, “You have chocolate icing around your mouth.”
Lacking a napkin or the wipes he always had with him when he was with the girls, he drew the back of his hand across his lips. The bells of the chapel chimed as if for the two of them alone. He thought of Pam and Ryan on their way to the airport, to their honeymoon in Scotland. He thought of the other guests heading back, pleasantly hungover, and the Bordens relaxing at home, commenting on the evening, saluting themselves on a job well done.
They headed toward the parking lot to get the car. The rain was heavy now, the sound of it percussive against the leaves of the trees. Had the wedding been today instead of yesterday, Amit thought to himself, everything would have been different; they would have gathered in the chapel, everyone would have remarked what a shame it was. The rain came down harder and they both began picking up their pace, half-jogging side by side, Megan keeping a hand pressed over her head. They approached Standish Hall, the dorm in which they could have stayed. The front door was open, held by a large rock.