yes (chapter 26, part 2)

(image courtesy vyxle)

When Lang opens the bedroom door, Eleanor is asleep with a smile on her face.

Eleanor’s face with a man and a smile.

Lang stands there gripping the doorknob, registering the small details that construct a larger impression: the book splayed on the floor like a dead bird-the smooth sudden beauty of Elle’s bare shoulder emerging from the black silk kimono, the one Lang gave Rosemary on their first anniversary-the heft of the man under the quilt beside her-mardi gras beads draping the canopy bed like lurid party streamers-big brown boots at the foot of the bed-the naked sole of Elle’s foot peeking from under the quilt-

or is it Mae’s foot, Mae with a wig. With her eyes shut. Playing sleeping beauty.

But no. That makes no sense at all. It’s her own girl.

Lang steps back into the hallway and shuts the door.

Downstairs at the kitchen sink. The water’s too hot. Elbows propped on the edge and hands cupped under the tap. It flows down between her thumbs, fills her hollow hands and pushes out between her fingers. Like trying to hold an explosion. She sinks down like a stone.

Little white pills lined up on the window sill, observing. Front row seat.

What are you trying to do? What are you doing?

Holding my heart in my hands.

Don’t be ridiculous. Do something.

Do what?

Little pills just sit there. Good for nothing.

It’s too early to call home. Two hours time difference; Rosemary’s asleep.

Is there still a eucalyptus tree outside their bedroom window? Is the house still there at all? Maybe just a giant hole where the house once stood, the smell of charred wood, heaps of shredded clothing. Too late.

Her phone rings. Lang turns off the water and fumbles in her pocket.

“Hi. It’s me.”

Lang can’t speak. The little pills are listening. The words are just too big.

Rosemary’s voice is husky as if she’s just woken up. “I know it’s too early to call. I just missed you.”

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But she can’t speak. I went away and lost my mind and forgot myself and came home too late and fucked everything up.

Rosemary breaks the silence with that little noise she makes when she stretches. “I did the most wonderful painting yesterday. I really think it’s the best I’ve ever done for a long time. Sort of a huge artistic breakthrough. I’m still trembling inside.” Lang grips the phone in her wet hand, blinking. “It’s huge. Ten by twelve. It fills a wall all by itself. I mean really fills it. I’m looking at it now. I had Sal hang it in our bedroom so I would see it first thing.” Lang closes her eyes. “Well, I woke up early and it was all I saw and it filled my mind and it was wonderful. But then I my arms started to feel empty.” Inside Lang, the levees are bursting, and she’s gripping the phone for dear life. “Maybe it has something to do with our new house, you know? It’s so clean and open. There’s something so evocative about white walls and empty space. We have so much more room now, Lang, just wait until you see. I mean I really miss you guys, but this time when you come home we’ll have enough room for everyone to think. Enough room to really be together. How ironic. Maybe having the house complete means we can finally rest. We can just be. Do you know what I mean?”

Lang clings to the phone. “Yes” is all she can manage.