trois

Seven days.

Another whole week had passed, and that ailment in his gut had not been extinguished. Every day, of those passed seven days, Jack could have talked to either David or Evangeline, if he willed. He'd even set his mind on it, that fifth day. But his intentions were quickly dismissed. Every night, of those passed seven nights, he had sat outside the apartment, on the fire escape. He had no idea of the time that would pass as he sat there listening ... He never dozed. He was afraid he had caused something irreversible in David Jacobs' life, and he was determined to reassure himself that he had not.

There was no reassurance.

Not the first day. Nor the second, or third. Those first three days, they slept in separate rooms. David must have been on the couch - it would be the guilt-inducingly gentleman thing to do. Any other man would force his wife onto the cold floor for her sin, but not David. No, he let her sleep in the bed. Jack doubted she slept all that much, if she felt as guilty as he did. Those first three days were torture for him, and he hoped David was pleased with himself. He'd never felt so wretched and worthless and criminal in his whole life as he did in those three days.

Day Four.

That was the night that things looked up. That was the night they said something to each other. Jack remembered leaning against the cast iron railing, as always, awaiting the next silent night to enflame the affliction of his innards. But it was that day that a sort of antibiotic lessened the pain. He remembered the creaking of the door handle, and he remembered his brow furrowing in wonder, because Evangeline was already in bed. His mind recalled the soft, uneasy:

"I just thought I'd say good night."

Jack had waited impatiently for Evangeline to respond, but she was pathetically wordless with shock. That irritated him. It would start the whole process over. But just as the door began to swing with awkward, expectant sluggishness, she jumped to her senses:

"No, don't! Don't ... don't sleep in there tonight."

"Evangeline - "

"Please! Please don't make me suffer through another night alone."

If he could've, Jack would have shouted at David to just join his wife, for the love of God, in that precarious silence as husband decided to mend the relationship. Then he heard the door close quietly, and heard the footsteps shuffle into further into the room. There was a lot of soft, rustling noises as David apparently undressed. After a while, this suspicion was confirmed, because Evangeline took the risk of whispering:

"You look so good, David. Like our wedding night."

There was a weighty sigh heaved, and Jack heard the springs of the mattress creak with the mass of his body. He had to strain his ears, but just barely he heard Evangeline's plead:

"Darling, make love to me."

And Jack bit his lip, hoping against hope that the next thing he heard would be moans of pleasure and reconciliation.

David had become cruel.

To both Jack and Evangeline. Not that he realized that his cruelty - despite its justice - was aimed at Jack as much as it was at Evangeline when he murmured:

"No."

There was a silent moment of shock. Then: "No? David, when you came in here, I thought - "

"No," her husband repeated. "No, I don't want to. I really don't see anything all that appealing about you right now."

And so the feeling crept vengefully back into Jack's system. There was only one redeeming hope in that night, and that was the fact that neither one of them left the bed. Each stuck to his and her side of the bed like a war post, but neither left. That's why Jack almost talked to them on the fifth day. He wanted to tell them it was ridiculous to live that way. He'd forgotten it had only been three days since he'd been with Evangeline, and David was being comparably forgiving, considering the circumstances.

Then he'd have to explain how he knew, though.

The fifth night passed similarly. But the sixth night; the sixth night, Jack decided he would not have to listen outside their window any longer. He was relieved of that portion of the guilt - that portion of the guilt that screamed that he had ruined a friend's marriage. He felt better after the sixth night.

It hadn't started out promising.

It had begun with something worse than silence. It started with a coarse squabble. Something about sheets ... or pillows, or something ...

"Just get out of the bed, then! You don't want to sleep with me, you don't even really want to share the bed with me! So why don't you go back to the living room?"

"Because I wasn't getting a damned minute of sleep out there! Maybe you should go to the living room! I bought the damned bed, I should at least get to sleep in it!"

"Then you can sleep in it! Why don't you stop trying to be such a gentleman for five minutes and just kick me out onto the street? That's what you want to do! Why don't you just say it? Why don't you just say I'm a whore? That's what you're really saying, anyway!"

"Oh, now you want me to call you a whore!"

"You've been saying it all week! I just wish you'd say it out loud!"

"Why? Why would that make you happier?"

There was a soft pause, and Jack could hear Evangeline's breath gathering in a sob. Then, quietly, almost inaudibly, she choked out her explanation. He understood what she meant. It was the same reason he'd wanted David to hit him, the day they were discovered.

"Because then I'd feel like I got what I deserved."

Jack wasn't sure what happened in the silence that followed until he heard Evangeline suck in a much-needed breath. Another silence. Then the mattress creaked heavily, and he could hear their breathing from the fire escape. He couldn't help the immature chuckle in his throat. For some reason it really hadn't registered in his mind that David having a wife meant David had sex.

Sometimes, Jack still felt like he was seventeen.

The rest of the time, he felt much older than he was. He'd felt like that for as long as he could remember; when he was ten, he'd felt twenty, and now that he was twenty-seven, he felt fifty-five. If he should die a young man, it would only be in body. Jack wondered where all the good days had gone, if there had ever been any good days. He remembered being friends with David, when they were teenagers, but then David went back to school, and it all just ... it ended. And right after that, it seemed, all of his other friends moved on, too. Bumlets and Racetrack and Snoddy got married really quickly; rumor was each had gotten their present wives "in trouble." Someone said Skittery and Blink were in jail, and Mush had gone out West and taken some land in Nebraska or somewhere. Spot had a bar in Brooklyn, and Boots played saxophone for a band in Harlem. And before he knew it, everyone was gone.

He was a kid trapped in a man's body.

David was right. He didn't have any idea what was his for the taking and what wasn't. He was the only one who hadn't moved on. He'd been living in the past, and he hadn't even known it. He hadn't been trying to settle down, or move on, or whatever. He really hadn't cared that Evangeline was a married woman. He was avoiding adulthood. Maybe, then again, he'd been an adult his whole life.

Why didn't he just die?

Jack let out a long sigh as he considered all this, stirring his coffee lackidasically. Lazily, his eyes travelled to the sunlight streaming in through the door, and he snorted at himself. "Tibby's." He was probably the only one who still came here. Jack came here instinctively, and he hadn't even taken the time to notice that the people who passed in and out of that door were strangers. The man who owned the place wasn't even the same. Tibby's son now ran the restaraunt. Jack wondered vaguely if the original Tibby was dead.

"Mind if I sit down?"

The voice itself made him jump, and his eyes travelled in surprise to the unreadable blue eyes, so familiar and yet so very foreign.

"Be my guest."

"That mean you're paying for my coffee?"

"Don't kid yahself."

He laughed, and it made Jack laugh, too. Suddenly, it occurred to him that he wasn't seventeen anymore, and he shouldn't be laughing with David. This was supposed to be awkward.

"I figured I'd find you here," David told him, rather plainly. Jack's brow lifted.

"Why's that?"

David cleared his throat, glancing away. Jack wasn't sure what made his question so uncomfortable for his friend.

"I - I'd see you here. Drinking your coffee. I don't know why I never stopped in to have a cup with you ... "

Jack's gaze jumped up to his in surprise. "What madeja stop this time?"

David shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack."

His friend stared at him, mouth agape. When he finally managed to regain himself, he demanded, "Why? What'dya got to be sorry for? Damn, I should be the one appologizin'! I - Dave, I'm - "

"I'm sorry I never invited you to my wedding."

The phrase stopped Jack mid-sentence. He watched David a moment, but the young man still wouldn't return his gaze.

"I'm sorry I never introduced her to you, or had you come and help me pick out the ring. I'm sorry you weren't there, Jack, and I'm sorry I made sure of it."

Jack took a deep breath, allowing the silence to grow between them. David's eyes glanced up to his questioningly, and Jack finally managed:

"I'm sorry things went the way they did."

The ghost of a smile hovered over David's face, and he nodded wordlessly. Meekly, Jack asked:

"Ever'thin' okay? Between you and ... Evangeline?"

David met his eyes, and let out a sigh. "Not ... completely. But they will be. Soon."

Jack nodded his understanding, whether he comprehended or not. David's gaze flitted a glance to the clock, and he began to get up.

"I've got to be at the factory in fifteen minutes."

Jack's eyes drifted to the dial now, too, and he nodded knowingly. "I got about twenty 'til I gotta be at the grocery."

David stood, not really moving. It was as if he expected something, or was trying to say something. Finally ...

"Then maybe I'll be seeing you?"

Jack glanced up from his coffee, being sure he caught David's eyes dead on. His stomach twisted nervously, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if he didn't say it. If he didn't at least suggest it ...

"David, do you wanna have coffee with me? Tomorrah morning?"

His friend smiled, as if with relief, and nodded. It made Jack smile, too. A lot of things were over, he realized. A lot of things that would never come back. Some things are worth abandoning, but other things, Jack knew, weren't meant to die. Some things, marriages and friendships and other things of love, were meant to be renewed, if they had to be, and kept by the faithful.

fin