Then I stand up, throw my apron off, and storm out of the restaurant.
My heart is beating in my ears. Iâm walking so fast, the people I pass are a blur. I go straight to his building. I walk past the doorman and get in the elevator, push three. I still have my key. If it were true, wouldnât he have taken back the key? Gabriel, no, Iâm thinking. Please, no. Donât let it be true.
Though heâs in town, he isnât home. I let myself in.
I stand in the kitchen and look around the place. I notice one strange thing right off the bat. The couch has been turned to face the fireplace. Thatâs when I know that what Janelle said might be true. The couch facing the fireplace fills me with dread. I go over to it and sit down. It looks east now. Through the window, I can see Central Park. The trees are beginning to turn yellow.
I get up and go into his office. You have to climb two steps and pass through French doors. I sit at his desk and open one drawer, and then the next. Iâm not surprised to find evidence of all the others, photographs, postcards, and little notes heâs saved. What do I expect to find that will confirm it? I open a notebook in the second drawer. Itâs filled with lyrics written in English. Heâs been writing songs for the English album. I look for clues in the words heâs chosen. Some are love songs, but what does that prove?
In the bedroom closet, I go through the pockets of his jackets. He has a lot of them. Baseball jackets, blazers, cashmere and leather coats. I look at the names of restaurants on matchbooks. I check the addresses on crumpled receipts.
The phone rings, and I jump. I let it ring again before answering it.
âHello?â I say tentatively.
âHi,â Gabriel says. Heâs startled to hear my voice. âI was just calling for my messages.â
âGabriel,â I say.
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â He sounds worried. He loves me. I know he does.
âI heard something really bad.â
âWhat did you hear?â
âI canât even say it, itâs so terrible.â
âIs everything okay with the baby? Is your family all right?â
âEveryoneâs fine,â I say. âIt isnât that.â
âWhat is it, then?â he asks carefully.
âItâs about you,â I say.
Heâs quiet then.
âJust stay there,â he says. âIâll be home in an hour. Okay? Iâll be there as soon as I can.â
I hang up the phone and sit on the bed. This room is the world I would live in if I could. I wouldnât care if everything else evaporated, if I could only stay here with him.
But itâs slipping away from me.
I place my hands over my belly and lie back on the bed. I look up at the white ceiling.
Little Fish, I told you he breaks my heart.
When I was a little girl, I used to talk to God this way, lying on my back in bed. I would look right up through the ceiling, as if God were a kind man just on the other side of it, as if His ear rested on the roof and His eyes could look through it to see me. I wasnât raised with any religion, so Iâm not sure where this idea came from, but it was a great comfort to me as a child, to feel His presence there. As I talked to him, the tears would fall sideways from my eyes onto my pillow, even if what I had to tell him wasnât especially sad. It was being listened to that made me cry.
Gabriel gets home soon after. I hear his key in the lock; he says my name, finds me lying on the bed. He climbs onto it beside me, and we hold each other, not saying anything.
âWhat did you hear?â he asks finally.
âI heard you got married in California,â I say quietly.
âWho told you that?â He wants to know so he can seek revenge. Heâd like to kill whoever told me.
âIs it true?â I ask.
âI was going to tell you,â he says. âItâs not what it sounds like.
Joseph Lance Tonlet, Louis Stevens