they assembled in the park for the photographer. Ken was stiff, ill at ease.
“He lowered his head to
hear something she was saying.When he answered, the girl giggled. The sound
”
was like a warning.
“Question: You knew you didn’t want to get married? Answer: Yes, I knew that I didn’t.” The photographer tried to get Ken to relax, stand closer to her, get him to smile. She wanted that too. Ken stood where he was told as the photographer placed his arm around her waist. Ken’s touch was light, obedient, and she wondered if this was how actors felt when they took direction. It reminded her of the last time they were in bed together. They’d made love only once in several weeks. They’d been busy with the wedding arrangements, up late, tired. They watched a movie that night, drank wine, she, at least, hoping it would relax them. But he couldn’t get hard, blamed it on the wine. He went down on her but her body resisted, until she found herself imagining that the face between her legs was Richard’s, a young man Ken once taught with, a man he had always disliked. Moira
glassworks 12
had never imagined such a thing before, but the thrill of it, the feeling that she’d escaped some arid place, overcame her, carried her a safe distance away. “Question: Why didn’t you want to go through with it? Answer: Because I didn’t love her. I never really loved her, not the way I should have.” Bertwin put the papers down. “What have you to say to that?” Moira’s fists were clenched. Again she’d been found wanting. She tried for an even tone, but the bitterness wouldn’t stay down. “I’d say that’s less than 100 percent.” “Moira,” Bertwin said, almost in a whisper, as if he was going to say something kind. But it was only more of the same. “Moira, does this match your understanding of the way things were that day? Did you have a sense that something was missing?” She wanted to laugh. Was he really smug enough to believe he and his Church could get to the truth? “He said he loved me and wanted a family. Whether he was lying then or now is anybody’s guess.” “Do you really believe that? That he didn’t love you?” Bertwin sounded stern. “It’s a lie,” she said. “You sound certain.” She wasn’t. Never had been. “It’s the reason I’m here. We had something special once.” “And the affair?” “That’s a lie too.” She clung to