“I don’t mean to insult you. But Eva’s afraid—afraid of you among other things. Your life, the way you walk into the room, everything about you, frightens her. She’s gone from one box to another, you see, from childhood to me—answers have flowed toward her. She’s not had time to ask questions…she’s not needed to. She knows I don’t love her. This first question of her life is ‘Why not?’ You understand, it’s not arrogance that makes her ask it. Perhaps I don’t love anyone. Although Thomas…but that’s something else. And she wondered if it was you I cared for. I do care for you, Annie.”

He was silent, looking down at his hands, then up at her. “Don’t imagine—” he began.

“Oh, please,” she interrupted clamorously.

“You are imagining! You’re afraid I’m going to say something shocking! Listen! This is what I want. I want you to move out from here now. I have a friend I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time. I’m going to take you there now. She’s expecting us.”

“You’ve already told her!”

He said nothing. “I’ll find a place of my own!” she cried, chilled to her marrow; he was looking at a shelf of books, and that aquiline profile she thought so fastidious looked only finicking. Did her fear give off an ugly aroma? What charade was he playing in this slovenly room? He didn’t belong in it either!

“You can find a room of your own later,” he remarked casually.

“Oh, what have I done?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

He had said he cared for her. He had told her to leave. She glanced inadvertently at the bedroom door. He caught it and appeared to shake his head ever so slightly. All along, she had thought there was a tie between them, a secret line, but it had gone slack. She floundered, casting about in her mind for some powerful, outrageous thing that would bring his attention back to her. But the room was not hers; the books, the toys, the indifferent furnishings were tokens of a life she had no claim upon.

He was watching her now, smiling. She couldn’t help it; selfbetrayed, she smiled back. It was exactly the same smile, that of two people in trouble.

She packed her suitcase. She would like to not have anything. But the suitcase was there, its shabby contents reminding her of how many times it had been packed before. The suitcase was always looking for a place to be set down, emptied, and put away. When you carried a suitcase out of a door it was because you’d been asked to leave. If you walked away with nothing, the house fell to dust behind you.