Norman looked toward her, but averted his gaze out the door to the nurses’ station. He began to cry. “I might’ve saved a young woman’s life in the attack, but I’m no hero. I’m so ashamed and it’s because I’ve wronged you so,” he stammered.
What did he mean? Had he stolen money, been unfaithful, embezzled from Howe and Lescaze? Did he have another wife somewhere she’d never known about? No, not the architect husband with the perfect posture, six o’clock morning run, and one-martini limit.
“You’re not making sense, Norman. You’ve been a wonderful husband.”
“I can’t bear to tell you this, Agnes.”
“The way you’re talking,” she said, her voice now tremulous, “it sounds like you attacked that young girl rather than the other man.”
“I lied to you. I wasn’t having dinner with a client last night. I was having dinner at the Richmond Club.” He scrunched his face and broke into tears again, but he continued like a man jumping off an ocean cliff for the first time. “With … with a woman and it wasn’t you. I had an affair.”
A thunderbolt hit her straight in the heart. She jumped out of the chair and kicked it with all her power. It went crashing to the floor. She kicked it a second time, and then a third.
A young nurse knocked on the door. “Is anything wrong in here?”
No comments:
Post a Comment