The Story Hour by Thrity Umrigar

Author:Thrity Umrigar
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers

24

THIS IS WHAT I don’t get,” Sylvia said. “Why are you doing this? What are you getting out of it?”

Maggie shook her head. “That’s just it. I know it’s madness, but I just don’t seem to be able to cut it off.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Oh, God, no.” Maggie was surprised at how emphatically the words slipped out of her mouth. “I love Sudhir.”

“Well, he’s obviously fulfilling something that’s missing in your marriage. So the question is . . .”

Maggie shook her head again, impatiently this time. For the first time in the years she’d been seeing Sylvia, she was a little irritated with the older therapist. This line of questioning was too predictable, too easy. She fought the urge to jump to her feet and pace the small room. She knew Sylvia would look askance if she asked for them to go for a walk, as she had done so often with Lakshmi and some of her other patients. For a second, she was proud of her own skills as a therapist, was glad that she didn’t feel constrained by the techniques she’d learned in school.

“Come on, Maggie. Try. You’re so close to something, I can feel it. What is it that Peter gives you that—”

“Sylvia. It’s not like that. This has nothing to do with my marriage. Sudhir and I are happy. It’s just that with Peter . . . I have this connection with him. Can’t explain it. It’s been there from the first time we set our eyes on each other three years ago. I fought against it successfully back then, but now I—”

“So it’s strong enough to risk the breakup of your marriage?” Sylvia asked sharply, and Maggie’s head jerked back involuntarily, as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes filled with tears.

“No. Of course not. That’s the whole reason why I keep talking about this sordid story. I guess I’m just looking for the strength to break it off—and then have it stay broken off.”

“What would it feel like, not seeing him again?”

Sylvia asked the question gently enough, but Maggie felt such a heavy emptiness in her chest that it took her breath away. A feeling of incredible loneliness, of being adrift in the world, overcame her. She closed her eyes briefly and saw herself on a raft on an ocean that grew wider and wider as the raft grew smaller and more distant. The figure on the raft was not moving. Rather, she was lying in a position that was instantly familiar: the pose of the model in Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World. She opened her eyes quickly to escape the desolation of that image, but she had her answer. Because she had recognized the blue dress she was wearing in the image: It was a dress she’d had when she was eleven years old. And the desolation of being alone in the world—she had worn that feeling as often as she had worn the dress. It had been her second skin in the

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