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And what of Andy? Would he one day come upon his wife unawares, her good heart broken, and just know, as Griffin had, even though he’d tried not to, that there was someone else? Sensing the power of jealousy to wound deeply and maybe even destroy, would Andy bury that knowledge, as Griffin had, even before he knew for sure what it was? And later, after Laura at great cost had done all any woman could do to rule what was by nature unrulable, would her husband then resent her because the wound to his own heart, neither acknowledged nor treated, hadn’t healed?
Griffin did not want to believe that any of this would come to pass. In fact, he refused to.
“Thank you,” Su
“What for?”
“For the honest conversation. A rare thing.”
“And thank you, for the drink. A rare scotch.”
“It’s not my business,” Su
Griffin could tell from Su
“I don’t know if we will or not,” he at last said, embarrassed by Su
“Do you mind if I ask if this is self-pity?”
“Almost certainly,” Griffin admitted, a little taken aback by Su
“Allow me to say that things will work out for the best.”
This made Griffin chuckle. “We’ve known each other a long time, Su
Hauling his and Marguerite’s bags out to their rental car and getting soaked in the process, Griffin discovered that yesterday’s inertia, which Su
Was Joy, too, feeling the same dispiriting sense of inevitability? Was that why she’d kept her distance at the reception? He wished he could ask her. Sliding in behind the wheel, Griffin again noticed the “Summer of the Brownings” magazine on the dashboard. He’d wanted her to see the story because he was proud of it, but also, he now realized, because it constituted evidence of-what? That he’d been trying for a long time to understand and resolve his almost pathological resentment toward his deceased parents? That perhaps he’d made some progress? The facts on the ground suggested rather the opposite. This time last year he was driving around with one parent in the trunk of his car, whereas now he had both. Far from resolving anything, the Browning story probably just explained how he’d come to be the husband and father he was instead of the one he meant to be. It was also possible he wanted to show Joy the story for even more selfish reasons. Tommy, puzzled by the story in its earlier incarnation, had been both surprised and impressed by the new version. “Jesus, Griff,” he said. “This is really… there’s fucking truth in here.” Maybe all he wanted from Joy was more praise.
He studied the cover, where his name was listed along with eight or ten other writers, none of them household names, and felt the smallness of his accomplishment. Sure, he could use the story as an excuse to drive back down to the Hedges. Once there, if he screwed up his courage, he could ask Joy if this really was the end, if that’s what she truly wanted, but he already knew the answer, didn’t he? She’d told him at the hospital that Brian Fynch didn’t make her unhappy, and for her, given the last few years of their marriage, this was probably a step in the right direction. Besides which, he thought, tossing the magazine onto the backseat, he’d have to explain to Marguerite why driving back down the peninsula made more sense than just mailing the issue once they got back to L.A.
But what the hell was taking her so long to check out, he wondered. He supposed he might go find out, but decided instead to stay where it was dry. After all, there wasn’t any hurry. No doubt the vague sense of urgency he was feeling was just residue from the wedding, which was now over. Laura and Andy were already in a limo headed for Boston, where they’d catch their flight to Paris. Had they agreed on that destination for their honeymoon? he wondered. Laura had spent her junior year in France and talked about returning ever since. But had Paris been Andy’s first choice, too, or had he been persuaded, the first tiny burr of resentment under the marriage saddle? Griffin banished the thought. They’d make their own marriage, not repeat his.