A gust of wind found its way into the loading dock, and she shivered.
“I’m going to more funerals these days. I’m sure you are too,” Francis said. “And I reckon there’s far more licentiousness at funerals then I ever saw at weddings.”
“Same amount of wine, twice the reminders of one’s impending doom,” Liesl said.
“Think Max’s husband will find out?” Francis said. “About the philosopher?”
“Maybe,” said Liesl. “Might not matter. People’s marital arrangements can surprise you.”
“John couldn’t stay tonight?” Francis said.
“Let’s not talk about John,” Liesl said.
The wind came in again, and again Liesl shivered. This time, Francis noticed. He kicked off his own shoe and placed his sock-clad foot over Liesl’s pantyhosed one.
“No one likes cold feet,” he said.
The chardonnay was half-spent, resting on the step to the right of Francis. Liesl wasn’t cold anymore. She was wearing a purple silk shirt tucked into a black skirt. Control-top pantyhose under the skirt. She had looped her arm through his. She didn’t remember doing it, but their arms were linked together. That was a fact.
“It’s raining again,” Francis said. At the end of the loading dock they could hear it, and they could see just enough of the pavement beyond it to see that the pavement was shining. The rain was falling. Their heads were swimming. Francis leaned in to kiss her.
“What are you doing?” Liesl said. She had leaned in to meet him but pulled up short. Well oiled though she was, she had the sense to stop from leaning all the way in.
“We’re both doing it.”
“I’ve had too much to drink,” Liesl said. “We both have. Let’s not get carried away and do something we regret. Not again.”
“It’s not just the wine, Liesl,” Francis said. “This got started before the chardonnay.”
“Maybe,” Liesl said. “But it was a mistake.”
“We’ve known each other a long time,” Francis said. “You know me, and you knew what was happening. What mistake?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Liesl said, and she got to her feet to make sure that if she stopped thinking again, her lips were a safe distance from trouble.
“Tell me the truth,” Francis said, looking up at her. She stood, balancing with her one bare foot rested on her other shoe. “Is it that you suspect me?”
“Don’t do this now, Francis.”
“I thought I felt something thawing between us. After a long, long winter. Until Miriam, and all of a sudden I’m in a hailstorm. So tell me what’s happened.”
“Miriam, then,” Liesl said. “The awfulness with Miriam.”
“Is it?” Francis said. “Or is it what Max has been putting in your head since Miriam and the books disappeared? Go on and tell me, Liesl.”
Marie had never brought Liesl the manuscript pages that might have given her a definitive answer. Liesl was uneasy. He could feel her uneasiness. Had been feeling it all this time.
“I don’t know what you mean about Max,” she said.
“Bollocks you don’t,” Francis said, hunching over his knees.
“I don’t,” Liesl said. “You’ve had too much to drink, and so have I. We almost made a mistake, and then we didn’t.”
“You’re lying,” Francis said. “When you call this a mistake, I know you’re lying.”
“You don’t know a lick about what I’m thinking. If I say this is a mistake, then it is.”
“Then why haven’t you brought up your husband,” Francis said. “Such a mistake, you and I, but your marriage is nowhere on your mind.”
Liesl helped herself to a long breath before responding. Tried to be as serious as a woman balancing on one foot could be.
“You don’t know what’s in my head.”
“Of course I do. I’ve been in a marriage.”
“You haven’t been in mine.”
“You’re not worried about adultery all of a sudden. You’re worried about proximity to a criminal.” Francis’s face went dark and disappointed.
“You’re calling yourself a criminal now?”
“No. You are. Or you may as well be. This suspicion is typical coming from Max, but I expected better from you.”
“That’s not fair.”
Wine-woozy, Liesl watched Francis go slack, saw the anger slide right from his body and the sadness, cold and low, come in to fill the cracks that were left.