The set Liesl and Professor Mahmoud were led to had a podium that had been built to tilt the blue page toward the camera.
The producer introduced them to the anchor who would be conducting the interview. And then the lights in the studio darkened and the lights on Liesl brightened, and she took a last glance at her feet to confirm she was standing on the masking tape X that was her mark, and then she tilted her face up to the camera and prepared to talk about her work.
***
When she went to Marie’s house, she went alone and with the television makeup scrubbed off. Knocking with one hand, clutching a rioja by the neck with the other. She knocked as Marie was washing a single dinner plate, and when Marie answered the door, she was still holding a dish towel, twisting it back and forth in that way people do when they’re uneasy.
“Are you here caroling?”
Liesl didn’t answer. She hadn’t expected Marie to lead with a joke.
“Lighten up and come in,” Marie said. “It’s very charitable of you.”
“I’m not here for charity, Marie,” Liesl said. Her palms sweating, Liesl cast an agitated eye at Marie and followed her into the house. The door clunked closed behind them, but Marie didn’t invite her further. She crossed her arms and waited for answers.
“Then why are you here?”
“To drink this wine.” Liesl lifted the bottle. Proof of her good intentions.
“I had other invitations, you know.”
“I don’t doubt you did.”
“People aren’t so terrible as to leave a widow alone at Christmas.” Softening a bit, Marie turned and led Liesl out of the foyer, into the quiet of the house.
“So why stay home?” Liesl asked.
“No one here to ask me any questions.”
Liesl followed Marie into the kitchen to get a corkscrew. They passed the dining room. Candle still lit. Single place mat ready for tomorrow’s breakfast.
“Would you like to see his office?” Marie asked.
Liesl didn’t move from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Not at all,” she said.
Liesl poured them each a glass. “To a Merry Christmas,” she said, raising hers.
“Yes,” Marie said, failing to return the gesture and bringing the glass right to her lips instead. “What a festive year it is.”
“You can’t cut yourself off from all happiness.”
“Can’t I?” Marie said. “I’ll accept that challenge.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“It seems that you do.”
“I’m not here for the gossip, Marie. I’m here to check if you’re all right.”
“But only now that I’ve helped you…” Marie said, drinking again.
“That isn’t fair,” Liesl said. “I would have come before.”
Marie’s glass was empty, and Liesl moved to refill it. She hadn’t drunk a sip of her own.
“But you didn’t.”
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”
“My husband had just died.”
“I should have come.”
“Ask me. That’s why you’re here, I know it is, so just ask me. Ask me why I sent you the pages. Ask me if I knew.”
The cracks in Marie’s lips were stained red from the wine. They must have been very dry to take on the color so quickly. Liesl had always thought of Marie as the type of woman who took very good care of her skin. But the cracks were showing.
“Did you know?” Liesl asked.
“No.”
“I believe you. There’s no reason for you to lie about it now.”
Liesl set down her glass on the white marble counter. She’d never thought much about what Marie and Christopher’s kitchen might look like, but she didn’t expect it to be so sleek. So modern. She still hadn’t had any of her wine.
“Except for the small matter of prosecution,” Marie said.
“That would never happen,” Liesl said, nonetheless conjuring a picture of tiny Marie in her twin set being led away in handcuffs.
“Wouldn’t it? Isn’t it what I deserve?”
“You just said you didn’t know.”
“But I should have. I can be prosecuted for being stupid.”
She sprayed spit when she slurred the word stupid. The wine wasn’t the first she’d had to drink that night. It couldn’t have been.
“That’s enough.” Liesl reached across the counter and pulled a sheet of paper towel off the roll, handed it to Marie, and cast her eyes downward to give the woman a second of privacy to pat her mouth dry.