“Answered what?”
“My letters! My notes! I called twice a day. I left message after message. Just ask Ruth. And now this? The day you’re leaving? By the way, Sasha, I’m going to have your baby? Why not just rip my heart out of my chest and finish the job?”
Iris whispered, “I don’t understand. I never received anything. I never knew.”
The telephone line crackled static in her ear. She swiveled around to face the door, which Ruth had left ajar.
“Goddamn,” Sasha said slowly. “The bitch.”
“No. No. It’s some mistake.”
“Iris, don’t go. Please. Just stay where you are.”
“I can’t. The steamship—twelve o’clock—”
“Stay where you are! For God’s sake! Just trust me, won’t you? I’ll be there in twenty minutes!”
“Sasha—”
The line clicked and went dead. Iris held the receiver to her ear anyway. Maybe it would come back to life again—maybe some wise, impartial operator’s voice would explain everything, like in the movies.
She heard the quick thump of footsteps climbing the stairs. The door flung open. Ruth said, “Thank God, he’s here at last. Iris, could you . . .”
From the dead receiver came a buzzing noise. Iris set it carefully in the cradle. Ruth stood in the doorway, flexing her fingers against her crisp linen trousers. A couple of lines appeared across her forehead.
“I just want to know whether you saved the letters,” Iris said. “Did you save his letters or did you throw them away?”
“Look, it was for your own good. You’re a bunny, Iris, a baby bunny. You don’t know from anything. No idea how it is with men like that. He’s too complicated for you. He’ll take over your life, if he doesn’t break your heart first. He’ll run around on you, believe me, you can’t trust him, he’ll—”
“Just tell me whether you saved the goddamn letters.”
Ruth whistled the air out of her lungs and threw up her hands. She kicked the steamer trunk next to her—it happened to be hers—and crouched down to open it with the little key from her pocket. Iris watched her rummage around. It was like watching an actress in a film, or someone in a dream. Her heart smacked against her ribs. She couldn’t even feel her fingers, they were so cold.
Ruth rose at last. Her right hand clutched a packet of envelopes. “He’s a narcissist,” she said.
“Takes one to know one.”
“Not true. I’ve slept with one or two, that’s how I recognize it.”
“Give me the letters.”
“Iris, you’re such a sweetheart. You’re so sweet and gentle. He’s going to crush you. He’s going to gobble up all that sweetness to try and make himself whole, and it’s not going to work, and he’ll blame you for it and make you miserable. I couldn’t let him do it.”
“Give me the letters.”
Ruth held out her hand. “You’ll note they’re still sealed.”
“How honorable of you.”
“I was going to give them to you later. Once you were cured.”
Iris put the letters in her pocket. “I should have known. I should have figured it out. I should’ve had the nerve to call him up myself. I should’ve had the guts to march right up to him and ask him what was going on. But I didn’t. You know why?”
“Because you trusted me. You never imagined in a million years I would play such a mean, dirty trick on you.”
“So I ask you, Ruth. Who’s worse, you or him? Who’s really using me to fill some hole inside?”
Ruth blinked and turned around to close and lock the lid of the steamer trunk. She wore a white linen shirt tucked into the beige linen trousers. A silk scarf secured her hair in a ponytail. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion shoot for a travel magazine. When she straightened and turned bravely back to Iris, only her pink eyes gave her away.
“So are you coming with me, or not?”
“I’m going to have a baby,” Iris told her.
“You don’t say.”
Iris folded her arms across her chest. Ruth glanced to the shuttered window and back to Iris, and it reminded her of the time Sasha stood in her bedroom, not quite certain of her, and the same confidence she felt then returned to her now.
“You’re making a mistake,” Ruth said. “You can still come home with me. We’ll find a way. You and me, Iris. You still have a chance.”