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Authors: Anita Shreve
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gauze all around her, a veil that kept her and Jack just beyond easy reach of each other. And after a while, the gauze began to make her anxious.
And then there had been the fight. The one truly terrible fight of their marriage.
But she wouldn’t think about that now.
“There wasn’t anything,” she said to Robert. “I think I’ll go up to bed.”
Robert nodded, agreeing with the idea.
“It was a good marriage,” Kathryn said.
She ran her palm over the table.
“It was good,” she repeated.
But actually she thought that any marriage was like radio reception: It came and went. Occasionally, it — the marriage, Jack — would be clear to her. At other times, there would be interference, a staticky sound between them. At those times, it would be as though she couldn’t quite hear Jack, as though his messages to her were drifting in the wrong direction through the stratosphere.
“Do we need to notify any other of his family?” Robert asked. Kathryn shook her head.
“He was an only child. His mother died when he was nine,” she said. “And his father died when he was in college.”
She wondered if Robert Hart already knew this.
“Jack never talked about his childhood,” she said. “Actually, I don’t know much about his childhood at all. I always had the impression it wasn’t a very happy one.” Jack’s childhood had been one of those subjects Kathryn had thought there was all the time in the world to talk to him about.
“Seriously,” Robert said. “I’d be happy to stay here.”
“No, you should go. I have Julia here if I need someone. What does your ex-wife do?”
“She works for Senator Hanson. From Virginia.”
“When you asked me about Jack,” Kathryn said, “about his being depressed?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there was one time I would say he was not depressed, exactly, but definitely unhappy.”
“Tell me about it,” Robert said.
“It was about his job,” she said. “This was about five years ago. He became bored with the airline. Nearly, for a short time, terribly bored. He began to fantasize about quitting, giving it up for another job — aerobatics, he said. In a Russian-built YAK 27, I remember. Or opening his own operation. You know, a flying school, charter business, sell a few airplanes.”
“I used to think about that, too,” Robert said. “I think every pilot probably does at one time or another.”
“The company had grown too fast, Jack said. It had become too impersonal, and he hardly knew any of the crew he flew with. A lot of the pilots were British and lived in London. Also, he missed the hands-on flying he’d known earlier. He wanted to be able to feel the plane again. For a while, we got brochures for strange-looking stunt planes in the mail, and he even went so far as to ask me one morning if I’d be willing to go with him to Boulder, where there was a woman who was selling her school. And of course I had to say yes, because he’d once done it for me, and I remember being worried about how unhappy he was and thinking perhaps he really did need a change. Although I was relieved when the subject finally drifted off the screen. After that, there wasn’t any more talk of leaving the airline.”
“This was five years ago?”
“About. I’m no good with time. I know that getting the Boston-Heathrow route helped,” she said. “I guess I was just so glad the crisis was over, I didn’t dare raise the subject again by asking about it. I wish I had now.”
“After that, he didn’t seem depressed anymore?” Robert asked. “No. Not really.”
She thought that it would be impossible to say with any certainty what accommodations Jack had made inside himself. He had seemed to put his discontent into the same place he had put his childhood — a sealed vault.
“You look tired,” she said to Robert.
“I am.”
“You probably should go now,” she said.
He was silent. He didn’t move.
“What does she look like?” she asked. “Your wife,
And then there had been the fight. The one truly terrible fight of their marriage.
But she wouldn’t think about that now.
“There wasn’t anything,” she said to Robert. “I think I’ll go up to bed.”
Robert nodded, agreeing with the idea.
“It was a good marriage,” Kathryn said.
She ran her palm over the table.
“It was good,” she repeated.
But actually she thought that any marriage was like radio reception: It came and went. Occasionally, it — the marriage, Jack — would be clear to her. At other times, there would be interference, a staticky sound between them. At those times, it would be as though she couldn’t quite hear Jack, as though his messages to her were drifting in the wrong direction through the stratosphere.
“Do we need to notify any other of his family?” Robert asked. Kathryn shook her head.
“He was an only child. His mother died when he was nine,” she said. “And his father died when he was in college.”
She wondered if Robert Hart already knew this.
“Jack never talked about his childhood,” she said. “Actually, I don’t know much about his childhood at all. I always had the impression it wasn’t a very happy one.” Jack’s childhood had been one of those subjects Kathryn had thought there was all the time in the world to talk to him about.
“Seriously,” Robert said. “I’d be happy to stay here.”
“No, you should go. I have Julia here if I need someone. What does your ex-wife do?”
“She works for Senator Hanson. From Virginia.”
“When you asked me about Jack,” Kathryn said, “about his being depressed?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there was one time I would say he was not depressed, exactly, but definitely unhappy.”
“Tell me about it,” Robert said.
“It was about his job,” she said. “This was about five years ago. He became bored with the airline. Nearly, for a short time, terribly bored. He began to fantasize about quitting, giving it up for another job — aerobatics, he said. In a Russian-built YAK 27, I remember. Or opening his own operation. You know, a flying school, charter business, sell a few airplanes.”
“I used to think about that, too,” Robert said. “I think every pilot probably does at one time or another.”
“The company had grown too fast, Jack said. It had become too impersonal, and he hardly knew any of the crew he flew with. A lot of the pilots were British and lived in London. Also, he missed the hands-on flying he’d known earlier. He wanted to be able to feel the plane again. For a while, we got brochures for strange-looking stunt planes in the mail, and he even went so far as to ask me one morning if I’d be willing to go with him to Boulder, where there was a woman who was selling her school. And of course I had to say yes, because he’d once done it for me, and I remember being worried about how unhappy he was and thinking perhaps he really did need a change. Although I was relieved when the subject finally drifted off the screen. After that, there wasn’t any more talk of leaving the airline.”
“This was five years ago?”
“About. I’m no good with time. I know that getting the Boston-Heathrow route helped,” she said. “I guess I was just so glad the crisis was over, I didn’t dare raise the subject again by asking about it. I wish I had now.”
“After that, he didn’t seem depressed anymore?” Robert asked. “No. Not really.”
She thought that it would be impossible to say with any certainty what accommodations Jack had made inside himself. He had seemed to put his discontent into the same place he had put his childhood — a sealed vault.
“You look tired,” she said to Robert.
“I am.”
“You probably should go now,” she said.
He was silent. He didn’t move.
“What does she look like?” she asked. “Your wife,
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