After This

When she had finished, Grace flopped back onto the tile floor, and A

A

But Grace merely held it in her hand, the hand still in her lap. She let her head fall back against the wall, the tears falling freely. “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, God.” Her shoulders were shaking with her sobs. Her face was terrible, the pale, myopic eyes and the torn mouth, the short forehead and the bloated cheeks. “I love him,” she said. “I’m so in love with him.”

A

But Grace put her fist to her soft stomach, and then to the space between her breasts, as if the love were lodged there and so there was no denying it. “You don’t understand,” she said, sobbing. “I’ve never had a boyfriend, nothing, no one. I’m ugly and stupid and fat.”

“You’re not,” A

But Grace pressed her fist into her breast as if it were a dagger, leaning over it to bring her face to A

After some minutes, Professor Wallace rapped at the door and asked, through it, “Is everything all right?” A

A

She was in the room, touching Grace’s forehead, then helping her to stand. Grace was still crying but more gently now, as Professor Wallace said, “Silly girl,” and led her out. The other Americans had left and all signs of di

“Well, you’re not the first,” Professor Wallace was saying, getting Grace to kick off her shoes. “My husband is known to be a bit liberal when he pours. Poor girl.”

A

“Yes, well,” Professor Wallace said. “Drink will do that.” She glanced at A

There was a satin bathrobe thrown over the back of the velvet chair, but Professor Wallace didn’t mention it as she guided Grace onto the couch, between the sheets in her clothes. Grace crawling in like a weary child. “I’m so in love with him,” she said as her head touched the pillow, but now she said it as if he were merely a character in a novel, as if the love were merely a source of comfort and delight. Merely a part of the delight she felt at the moment, with Professor Wallace shushing her like a child and touching her face. “Silly girl,” she said again. “Is the room still spi

“There’s a basin here,” she said, and indicated the ceramic bowl at her feet. “If you’re sick to your stomach.”

Grace smiled a little, her cheek to the pillow. “Thank you,” she said.

Professor Wallace looked down at her, almost fondly, and said again, “Silly girl.” She turned to A

But A

“David will walk you down,” Professor Wallace said and as if on cue, David appeared in the far doorway, creeping softly into the room. “Everything all right?” he asked. He looked over the back of the couch to Grace, who A

David Wallace walked her to the bus stop, offering her a cigarette as he did. They stood smoking together as they waited. In the wet lamplight, with his collar turned up, he was even more handsome. He chided himself for pouring Grace too many whiskeys, and then praised A

She put her head against the cold window. She had said Edith Wharton because she saw herself as a woman alone, square-jawed and ma

It was a despair she already understood because she had also, once, wanted a life with both her brothers in it.

Suddenly, a boy slid into the seat beside her. He was scruffy-looking, a sparse beard over his pale cheeks, long hair, a long black coat. She had seen him as she got on, his feet up on the seat beside him, his back to the window and his eyes closed; she had instinctively avoided sitting opposite him. He leaned into her. “Are you all right?” he said. Aww right. She looked at him over her shoulder. His eyes were black with long lashes. He smelled heavily of cigarette smoke and beer.