Familiar Spirit

They belonged to the apartment, to a time and a place, not to either Brian or Sarah but to something intangible now vanished, the relationship between them. Sarah could not imagine the ugly table lamp in another house, even her own house, but she did not want to leave it to Brian knowing that it would then become a part of Melanie’s life, a part of her personal mythology. She chewed her lip, feeling like Solomon about to divide a baby. This for Brian, this for me, this to go, this to stay . . .

She found the photograph beneath the Art Deco cigarette case Brian had bought once on impulse. For just a moment, lulled by the familiar surroundings, Sarah simply looked at it, trying to remember the dark-haired, thin girl with the strained smile. One of her friends? One of Brian’s? And then she knew. It must be Melanie.

Brian came back into the room at that moment, slightly out of breath, and she glared at him, and waved the photograph in the air.

“What’s she so scared of?”

Brian gave her a wary look and came no closer, although Sarah could see by the way his hands moved that he was longing to snatch the precious picture away. “She doesn’t like being photographed.”

“Is that all? My God, she looks terrified, not just uncomfortable. All huge eyes, and that grimace, and the way she’s standing, kind of clutching herself—”

“All right, Sarah, that’s enough.”

“Is that what you like? Scared little girls? Is that what you need to feed your ego? Didn’t I shiver enough when you turned out the light?”

“Stop it. You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to. I’m talking about you.” She dropped the photograph onto the table. “Let’s have a little truth session here. I don’t want any more about how you didn’t mean it to happen, or how much she needs you, I want—”

“Yes, it’s always what you want, isn’t it?” he said bitterly.

Their eyes met, and Sarah felt a shock. He was not distant now; the old current was in the air between them again.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything was always on your terms—I could adapt or get out. I felt like I was always running after you, trying to please you, trying to tempt you to stay a little longer.”

“You could have told me how you felt.”

“Yeah, sure. And had another lecture about my possessiveness and your need for independence, and how you were afraid to be dependent on anyone, especially me. Yeah, afraid,” he said, his tone heavily ironic.

Sarah’s skin was prickling all over with shame, and with hope. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. She moved a step closer to him, saw he noticed, saw that he didn’t back away. “You did make me happy, Brian. I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you that enough. I thought you’d realize . . .”

“It’s all right,” he said wearily. “It’s all over now.”

No. She wanted to shout, but restrained herself. “It isn’t. It doesn’t have to be.” He must feel the attraction that charged the air, she thought. He must. If they could both let go at the same moment, their bodies would take over, come together, never to be parted again.

“We just didn’t understand each other well enough,” Sarah said. “I know now—I’m not afraid to admit I need you.” She rejoiced to see the pain flicker in his eyes.

He shook his head hard. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s too late for that. I don’t . . . Things have changed.”

She realized he didn’t want to bring up Melanie’s name, and she felt another surge of hope. “Things haven’t changed that much. Not between us.” She took another step closer and laid her hand on his arm. She felt him jump, but he didn’t pull away. They looked into each other’s eyes. Distantly, Sarah was aware of the sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside, but she was preoccupied by more immediate sensations, and willing Brian to kiss her.

There was a knock on the open door below, and Pete’s voice: “Hello . . . Marchants Movers at your service!”

Brian jerked away as if he’d been shot.

Sarah reached for him. “I’ll tell them to go away,” she whispered. “I’ll say we don’t need them . . .”

But Brian moved away, not letting her touch him, and showed himself at the top of the stairs. “Come on in, Pete,” he said in a voice that was nearly normal.

Sarah made herself move, although it was like managing a clumsy robot. She crouched on the floor and began fumbling in a box of books, to appear to be busy when Pete and Beverly came up.

After that, Brian kept his distance. Their eyes met only once, by chance, and Brian broke that brief contact as swiftly as if it had burned him.