Her Last Affair by John Searles

Author:John Searles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

“To tell you the truth, I lied.”

—From Chinatown, shown at the Schodack Big-Star Drive-in, September 1974

Perhaps it bears repeating that there are a multitude of reasons why Jeremy Lichanel should not have taken a last-minute weekend trip to Providence. There is Pretty, of course, and now there is the all but certain permanent loss of Tiffany from his life too. There are the other previously established matters of his face and that ever-failing Lincoln, its trunk full of old books and now a dearly departed battery, gone leaky with acid and strapped down by the slip leash. Finally, of course, there is Maryanne and their hasty return to the past, or, more aptly, their hasty rush to bring the past into the present. Maybe all of those things would be fine; maybe the reunion would be unremarkable, except for its sweetness and the happy feelings it creates for them both, if not for that inconvenient and persistent memory of her on the swing.

Toes up. Toes down. Moon. Earth. Moon. Earth.

And so, while there are moments during the course of the evening when Jeremy senses that the hand-holding and her confession of petty jealousy and most certainly the I love you’s are akin to constructing a house of cards (one, on top of another, on top of another . . . ), at some point he ceases worrying. Jeremy allows himself to be caught up in the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her girlish voice in his ears, the joy of so much laughter bubbling between them after so many years of silence. That night in the playground was a very long time ago. . . . If Jeremy has any final, flickering thoughts of that memory as the two finish dinner and leave the restaurant, it might be that, and this too: We are grown-ups this time around, and it’s clear how we feel about each other. . . .

Now, they stand in front of his parents’ old house on Arnold Street. In the distance are the faintest sounds of a party—the thump of bass, the din of chattering voices, the occasional celebratory whoop in the night. While time has done much to alter Jeremy and Maryanne, it has done nothing to smudge the stoic New England beauty of that house. There is the same sharp slant of a roofline, the same barn-red shingles, the same paned windows giving off no hint of life from inside. Even the old tin rooster still stands guard at his post above the mailbox by the door. All those details make it easy for Jeremy to imagine his younger self slumped on the sofa in the living room, watching any number of eighties favorites (Footloose? Tootsie?) on the DVD player, every light in the house off on account of the electric bill.

“What are you thinking about, Jer?” Maryanne asks from where she stands impossibly close to him on the sidewalk, puffing on a mentholated cigarette.

Smoke wreaths in the air around them, reminding Jeremy of the way the Tiramisu used to smell.

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