“Blind,” Ella said. Dr. Reeson had said the odds were overwhelmingly against such a possibility. That afternoon, Ella had researched the family medical books she kept in the house for women’s health issues; she had even called a herpes hotline—as it turned out, there was such a thing. She was a doctor’s daughter, she had reminded herself, she had to be calm, do her homework. Dr. Reeson had told her that the baby would be okay. “It’s possible.” Ella pointed to all the papers scattered about his shiny black shoes. “You can read about it. I’ve been looking at all that. All afternoon. All night. I could write a paper on it.” She chuckled. Something in Ella’s laugh had turned sharp.
Ted bent to gather the papers, arranging them in the folder. The day had begun with everything he’d ever wanted being possible and true. He had wanted first place, the grand prize, the best of whatever was worth getting: education, job, girl, and house. Two points determined a line, three points determined a plane, and four made a thing that much more stable and with greater dimension. Just that morning, he’d had those things. In less than a day, they’d slipped from his grasp. His education and job were intact, but the latter two, harder to affix, were vanishing into infinity. That morning, he had called his ailing father to tell him about the town house, thinking that it might cheer him up. “How is Ella’s health?” Ted’s father had asked him right after saying hello, though he’d just spoken to her on Sunday night—on Ella’s regular call to to his mom and dad. Would Ella tell his dad? She would not be so vindictive, he told himself, but he’d never seen Ella this way; this rage was new. Ted held the folder with both hands, sat back down on the armchair. His actions were irrevocable.
“Darling, please rest. The baby. The doctor said—”
“Shut up, Ted. Don’t you tell me your concerns about the baby now.”
Ted closed his lips, his jaws locked. No one had told him to shut up since he was a boy.
“Who?” Ella asked. “Who did you sleep with?”
His only chance of recovery, Ted figured, was full disclosure.
“This girl at work. An assistant.”
“Casey?”
“No!” Ted looked at her, disgusted. “I would never sleep with Casey.”
“Who, then?”
“This woman Delia. She’s been there forever. She’s screwed everybody.” How could Delia not tell him? He had given herpes to Ella, the only person he had ever known who was truly kind. Truly good. “God, Ella, I am so, so sorry . . I. . . I never intended—”
“Are you in love with her?”
“No. No.” He shook his head violently. “I am not in love with Delia.” He touched his hair.
“She’s a friend of Casey’s,” Ella mumbled out loud, recalling the name. Casey had spoken of her.
“Yes. I think so.” He shrugged. “Ella, baby, I am sorry. You have to believe me.”
“Why should I believe you? You know what? I hate you. I’ve never hated anyone before. But I know what it feels like right now. To hate. I want to die. God, I want to die.”
Ella walked to their bedroom and shut the door behind her. She shouted from the room, “Don’t come in here. I swear if you do, I’ll jump out the window.”
He had to get her, but his legs wouldn’t yield. For several years, Ted had run the New York Marathon—each year with an improved time. He was also a brilliant sprinter. But his long legs were frighteningly immobile. In that moment, he didn’t think he could flex his toes. He picked up a few pages from the carpet, but the words made no sense now. The text floated in front of his eyes. He had lost the ability to read. He rested his head on the back of the chair and shut his eyes as if it were all a bad dream. What was Ella going to do? He’d never heard her say the word fuck.
The first time he’d had dinner at Delia’s apartment, she’d put away the dishes in the sink, then pulled out another bottle of beer for him from the fridge and said, “Don’t you want to fuck me, Ted?” and he had replied, “Yes, Delia, yes. It’s all I thought of all day.” Delia liked that answer and rewarded him for it.
It began last year. A small deal had closed, another banker who knew Delia had invited her to the drinks party they were having at Chachi’s. At the end of the evening, the group spilled out of the bar onto Second Avenue, and she turned to Ted, asking him to take her home because she felt light-headed. The taxi drove past K-bar, and she made the driver stop. She locked on his eyes, tugged his jacket, making him come in with her. The guy at the door knew her and waved them in without having them pay the cover. At the table, she ordered a bottle of red wine without opening the list. The waitress brought it to them, and they were left alone in the high-backed banquette.