Lee was at home later that day when the phone rang. It was Kathy, and he knew immediately from her voice that something was wrong. She hadn't spent the night with him on Saturday either, and he thought she had already gone back to Philadelphia.
"I need to see you."
"Is it about your cat?"
"No, it's-I need to see you in person."
"You're still in town?"
"Yes. I leave for Philly later today."
"Why don't you come here?"
There was a pause, and in that single window of silence, despair crept into the room and nestled quietly beside him, warming itself in the fire of his passion.
"Can we meet somewhere else?"
"Sure."
"I'm still at Arlene's place in Murray Hill. Can you meet me at the Waterfront?"
The Waterfront was a friendly neighborhood joint on Second Avenue with a nautical theme, a long narrow room with dark wood floors and pictures of sailing boats on the walls. The elaborate mahogany bar sported a great selection of microbrewery beers, and the menu selections included ostrich burgers and rabbit stew. Lee had been going there for years, and when he took Kathy, she had loved the place as much as he did.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he said.
He hailed a cab and was there in twelve.
Kathy was sitting at a square wooden table farthest from the bar, where the regular customers were perched on their barstools, shrouded in a blue haze of cigarette smoke. Lee's father had smoked, and he hated being around smoking of any kind.
She looked nervous, and the smile she gave him was fleeting, flitting across her face in the space of a second. He bent down to kiss her, but felt her stiffen.
He sat across from her, resting his elbows on the wooden surface, deeply scarred with the carved initials of previous patrons. In front of him the phrase Kilroy was here was written in large block letters.
"What are you drinking?" he said, glancing at the glass in front of her.
"Scotch," she answered. She seemed to be avoiding looking at him.
"Want another one?"
She nodded and drained her glass in a single swallow. Bad sign, he thought-normally she wasn't much of a drinker.
"Okay, I'll be right back."
He threaded his way through after-work crowd. They looked to be mostly office workers, men with their ties undone and suit jackets over their shoulders, the women at the bar slipping off their pumps to wiggle their toes under the bar stools. Everyone was in a festive mood. Even though it was Monday, the place was crowded. Waves of laughter crested and fell among the various groups; people flirted and gossiped, leaning into one another and then suddenly throwing their heads back to laugh at the punch line of a joke.
He ordered two Scotches, carrying them back to the table carefully through the crowd to avoid spilling them. She accepted the drink and took a large swallow. She put down the glass and looked at her hands, which were fidgeting with the drink straw, twisting it into tight knots.
"Okay," he said, his stomach slowly filling with dread, "what did you want to talk about?"
"This is really hard," she said, looking away.
"Waiting to hear it is harder-just say it."
"Okay." She looked up at him. In the rosy rays of the setting sun, her eyes were the color of caramel cream. A single lock of curly black hair fell over her forehead, and Lee's stomach went hollow. He forced himself to look away.
The words, when they came, hit him like a body blow.
"I think we should have some time apart."
"All right," he said calmly, though what he wanted was to yell and scream as loud as he could. "Why couldn't you tell me this over the phone?"
"Because it's not the kind of thing you say over the phone."
"Okay."
"I… I'm having trouble sleeping-"
"Me, too, but we both know it'll take a while-"
She raised a hand to stop him.
"Just hear me out, please?"
He nodded, miserable, and took a large gulp of Scotch. The peaty burn slid down his throat, bringing with it the welcome promise of numbness.
She studied her hands, which were trembling. "Lately it feels like when we're together you're not really… there."
"Okay," he said, forcing an evenness of tone he did not feel. He wished he were a better actor.
"I know this case has a personal element for you-"
His head felt like a parade of ants had invaded his brain. What about the red dress?
"All cases are personal for me," he said.
"I already thought about that, and it doesn't help. Maybe it should, but it doesn't. But what's worse is I don't feel I'm quite there either. The job I'm doing, the body identifications…" She looked away, her lips compressed. "At the end of the day all I want is to crawl into bed." She looked back again-not at him, but at her hands, gripping the glass of Scotch, the skin around her fingernails white. "And in less than two weeks is the-"
"I thought of that," he said quickly, knowing what she was going to say. It would be the first anniversary of the attack.
"Maybe I'm an emotional coward," she said, "but I've been around some of the families, and what they're going through… Jesus." She took a long drink of Scotch. "When I lost my mother I thought I would never get through it."
"Maybe I'm an emotional coward," she said, "but I've been around some of the families, and what they're going through… Jesus." She took a long drink of Scotch. "When I lost my mother I thought I would never get through it."
"But you did."
"But I don't want to feel that pain ever again."
"To live is to feel pain, Kathy-you can't protect yourself forever, for Christ's sake!"
"There's another thing," she said, looking into her Scotch glass as if it held all the answers. "I don't feel like I can talk to you about it, because of your-your-"
"My depression." He knew she didn't like to say the word.
"Yes. I don't want to be the cause of an episode, and… it sounds really shitty to say it, but I don't want to have to deal with it right now. I have enough on my hands just doing my job."
"I understand," he said.
"No," she said, "I don't think you do. I'm not like you-I'm not good at putting things into words. I'm a scientist, and we're not good at that kind of thing. I just don't have room for a relationship right now-not with you, anyway."
The last phrase stopped his breathing for a moment. Not with you, anyway.
"I see," he said, his voice tight.
"Don't be angry," she said.
"What the hell do you expect me to be?"
"I'm not saying this is forever. I just need some time-"
"Fine," he said. "I thought we had something, but I guess I was wrong."
"Don't be a drama queen, for God's sake-"
"When couples have problems, they're supposed to work them out together."
"I've never been very good at that. I've always worked things out on my own. Maybe it's because I lost my mother young, and I didn't have a female role model."
They had joked about this from the first-how she was the "boy" in the relationship and he was the "girl." But now it felt like a stolid, ugly wall between them. The sun had dipped behind the Manhattan skyline, and the only lighting in the room came from wall sconces and the occasional standing lamp. Kathy's eyes had again changed color; now they were the shade of dark mahogany, like the burnished wood on the beautiful old bar.
"There's something else I want to tell you," she said.
"I'm listening."
"I'm… going into therapy."
"Well, good. It's probably what you need right now."
"But I'm scared and anxious and afraid I'll end up… like you."
"Look, Kathy," he said. "Everyone's different. Just because you're going into therapy, it doesn't mean you'll become clinically depressed. There are some hard truths in everyone's life. It may take courage to face them, and it'll be painful, sure-but that doesn't mean you'll end up like me."
"I hate the way that sounded-I'm sorry."
"And another thing. My sister, my only sibling, was murdered, probably by some psychopathic creep, and I can't even talk to my mother about it. So unless there's something about your family you haven't told me, I don't think you have that much to worry about." He was aware of the anger in his voice, but he didn't care. She wasn't the only one with issues, he thought bitterly.
A silence descended upon them. They had run out of words; anything else they might say to each other would only compound the hurt. It suddenly felt as if there were a frozen tundra between them, instead of a scarred wooden table in a crowded bar.
They finished their drinks and walked without speaking out into the gathering twilight. A brisk wind was blowing in from the East River, and as they faced the setting sun, it occurred to him this might be the last time he ever saw her.
She stood on the curb, waiting to snag one of the yellow cabs hurtling down Second Avenue. She turned back to him as if about to say something, just as a cab came grinding to a halt in front of them, brakes screeching.
"I'll call you," she called to him as she climbed in, closing the door behind her. With a gun of its engine and a squeal of tire rubber, the cab turned west and sped off across town.
Walking home through the darkening city, Lee replayed the evening in his head. He watched the couples, arms linked, strolling in stride with one another, heels clacking crisply on the pavement. Just a few days ago he and Kathy had been one of those couples, and now he was headed home alone, while she caught a train back to Philadelphia.
He knew she was afraid; they were both afraid. And that's what frightened him most of all.