justice. I made a single bad decision on, um, what was it again?
Weston v. the State of Kentucky.
I have since fallen from grace. Forgive my appearance. I used to wear suits designed by what’s his name,” said the man in the library.
Anna had seen him there before. He smelled better than he looked like he’d smell, so Anna didn’t mind when he struck up a conversation.
“I don’t know,” Anna said.
“You know. The suit designer.”
“There’s more than one.”
“No.
The
one.”
“Um, Hugo Boss,” Anna said, because those were the suits her brother wore.
“Hugo who?” the fallen justice said.
“Armani?”
“Yes. Ar-man-i. He used to make suits just for me. I’d call him up and tell him what colors and what fabrics, and two days later, they would be on my doorstep.”
“That’s a very fast turnaround.”
“I believe he had help,” the justice said.
“I’m sure he did.”
“If you’re important, you have help.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Do you have help?”
“No.”
“You must not be important.”
“I’m not,” Anna said.
A librarian approached the table and knocked twice on the cherry-wood corner to get the justice’s attention. She raised an eyebrow, and a silent exchange passed between them. The justice got to his feet, dusted off his jacket, and adjusted the bandanna he wore around his neck as if it were a cravat.
“Pardon me,” the justice said to Anna. “I have a meeting downtown in twenty minutes.” He glanced at the invisible watch on his bare wrist, tipped an imaginary hat, and departed.
Other than rare conversations with Supreme Court justices, Anna’s days were differentiated only by appointments. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, meetings started at 7:00 p.m.; Tuesday and Thursday, she had Dr. Stein at 3:00 p.m. Mornings were spent in the library, the park, sometimes the museum, other times a café, where she brought a hefty book to guard herself against the other patrons. Thursday, Anna’s brother always asked her to lunch. Sometimes she said yes.
Every Wednesday, Anna handwrote a letter to Kate. This was after her telephone and then e-mail attempts to make contact had failed. Anna recalled Kate saying once that e-mail would kill the letter, and it did. But Anna knew how much Kate preferred the older form of communication and thought that by resurrecting it, she might lure Kate back into an exchange. Anna wrote to Kate six times before she received a reply. She never knew when Kate would get the letters, since her address was a PO box in Colorado, from which her mail would be forwarded to whatever part of the country she was currently passing through. After a while Anna stopped thinking of her letters as one side of an even exchange. Things weren’t even between the two of them. Nor did they feel even between George and Anna, but communicating with George was simpler, if ultimately less satisfying.
After leaving a few voice-mail messages that went unanswered, Anna sent George an e-mail, because she knew George didn’t hold any romantic notions about the long-lost letter.
TO : George Leoni
FROM : Anna Fury
George,
I’m sure you know enough about recovery that you could probably see this part coming. Maybe that’s why you didn’t return any of my calls. I don’t want this apology to hurt you or dredge up memories that you’d rather forget, but some things no one will forget.
I don’t remember that night, but I know it happened because I was careless. I am more sorry for that than anything else I did, and I did so many things I regret. I’m also sorry that it took me eight years to say something. I’m not sure which is worse. There’s more, I know. But most things I can’t remember. I hope that doesn’t sound like an excuse. I own every mistake I made.
I know this is insufficient, as apologies go. I’ve got far better apologies up my sleeve; just say the word. I’m happy to provide them for you at any time and in any form you
Weston v. the State of Kentucky.
I have since fallen from grace. Forgive my appearance. I used to wear suits designed by what’s his name,” said the man in the library.
Anna had seen him there before. He smelled better than he looked like he’d smell, so Anna didn’t mind when he struck up a conversation.
“I don’t know,” Anna said.
“You know. The suit designer.”
“There’s more than one.”
“No.
The
one.”
“Um, Hugo Boss,” Anna said, because those were the suits her brother wore.
“Hugo who?” the fallen justice said.
“Armani?”
“Yes. Ar-man-i. He used to make suits just for me. I’d call him up and tell him what colors and what fabrics, and two days later, they would be on my doorstep.”
“That’s a very fast turnaround.”
“I believe he had help,” the justice said.
“I’m sure he did.”
“If you’re important, you have help.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Do you have help?”
“No.”
“You must not be important.”
“I’m not,” Anna said.
A librarian approached the table and knocked twice on the cherry-wood corner to get the justice’s attention. She raised an eyebrow, and a silent exchange passed between them. The justice got to his feet, dusted off his jacket, and adjusted the bandanna he wore around his neck as if it were a cravat.
“Pardon me,” the justice said to Anna. “I have a meeting downtown in twenty minutes.” He glanced at the invisible watch on his bare wrist, tipped an imaginary hat, and departed.
Other than rare conversations with Supreme Court justices, Anna’s days were differentiated only by appointments. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, meetings started at 7:00 p.m.; Tuesday and Thursday, she had Dr. Stein at 3:00 p.m. Mornings were spent in the library, the park, sometimes the museum, other times a café, where she brought a hefty book to guard herself against the other patrons. Thursday, Anna’s brother always asked her to lunch. Sometimes she said yes.
Every Wednesday, Anna handwrote a letter to Kate. This was after her telephone and then e-mail attempts to make contact had failed. Anna recalled Kate saying once that e-mail would kill the letter, and it did. But Anna knew how much Kate preferred the older form of communication and thought that by resurrecting it, she might lure Kate back into an exchange. Anna wrote to Kate six times before she received a reply. She never knew when Kate would get the letters, since her address was a PO box in Colorado, from which her mail would be forwarded to whatever part of the country she was currently passing through. After a while Anna stopped thinking of her letters as one side of an even exchange. Things weren’t even between the two of them. Nor did they feel even between George and Anna, but communicating with George was simpler, if ultimately less satisfying.
After leaving a few voice-mail messages that went unanswered, Anna sent George an e-mail, because she knew George didn’t hold any romantic notions about the long-lost letter.
TO : George Leoni
FROM : Anna Fury
George,
I’m sure you know enough about recovery that you could probably see this part coming. Maybe that’s why you didn’t return any of my calls. I don’t want this apology to hurt you or dredge up memories that you’d rather forget, but some things no one will forget.
I don’t remember that night, but I know it happened because I was careless. I am more sorry for that than anything else I did, and I did so many things I regret. I’m also sorry that it took me eight years to say something. I’m not sure which is worse. There’s more, I know. But most things I can’t remember. I hope that doesn’t sound like an excuse. I own every mistake I made.
I know this is insufficient, as apologies go. I’ve got far better apologies up my sleeve; just say the word. I’m happy to provide them for you at any time and in any form you
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