She hung up, and for a moment the bareness of my mother’s office confused itself in my mind with the bareness of Julia’s apartment, so that I seemed to be back there, seeing the dazed expression on her face again as I left. I stared down at the phone, wondering why I’d withheld the reassuring phrases she clearly wanted to hear. Was it that I felt I’d been put through one hoop too many? Possibly. Nobody likes being jerked around. I certainly sensed I’d become entitled to that feeling, if it should prove in some way useful. Calling me up to admit to the lie hadn’t exactly canceled out the lie—in a way it seemed to have made things even murkier. The word “tainted” came into my mind. Julia’s entire testimony, I told myself, had become “tainted.” It was a powerful formula, I realized. It allowed me to detach myself from her version of events without committing myself to the position of outright disbelief. Why I should find this desirable, I couldn’t have said precisely, and yet I did. It seemed to offer obscure advantages.

9

9

I FLEW BACK to the States two days later. I’d missed a couple of classes and scheduled a makeup for a Monday in October. On the drive home from the airport I called Marco to ask if I could stay an extra night.

“Of course. In fact why don’t you come on the Sunday? I’m having some people over to watch the debate. It’s going to be a blast. Disguster’s last stand!”

He sounded like his old self again: cheerful and expansive. I thanked him, accepting the invitation.

“And don’t forget you and I have some celebrating to do. We’ll go out after your class. My treat again.”

I began to protest, but he insisted.

“I owe you! You’ve been an incredible friend. I wouldn’t have got through this without your support.”

I was debating, as we continued chatting, whether to mention my visit to Julia. I didn’t want to risk spoiling his mood. On the other hand, I was going to have to tell him eventually, and it might seem odd that I hadn’t done it now.

The traffic was slow on the thruway—weekenders heading upstate for the foliage. Fall had arrived, making its usual splashy entrance of pinks and magentas, as if it wanted you to think some season of vigorous growth was coming in, rather than just the prelude to winter.

“See you Sunday then,” Marco said. “Eightish, or come early if you can. Lots to catch up on!”

“Marco, listen, I have to tell you something. I saw Julia in London. Your Julia.”

There was a brief silence on his end.

“Oh?”