Rafferty turns to look out through the window at the darkening street. “Pretty much all of it.”
ON THE SIDEWALK outside the coffeehouse, Rafferty forces himself to bring it up. “Listen, I know you don’t want to discuss this-”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Arthit says. His voice is remote, toneless. “But it won’t do any good. There’s nothing I can do.”
“What does that mean? You’re her husband. You can talk to her. Get it on the table.”
“It doesn’t belong on the table. She’ll lie to me. She’ll tell me she doesn’t like the pills, that they nauseate her or something. What am I going to do? Contradict her? I’d sit there nodding, hating myself for making her tell me a lie.” He passes the back of his hand over his forehead, erasing a sheen of sweat. “Because when you get right down to it, it’s actually none of my business, is it? What could be more personal than the decision to stop living? Is there any action that belongs more completely to the person who commits it? It’s Noi’s life. She shared it with me, but I’m not the one to tell her she has to continue to live it when it’s just one wave of pain after another.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rafferty says. “It feels like I should be able to do something.”
“And I’m grateful for the thought,” Arthit says. “But you’ve already got more than you can handle.”
Rose starts to laugh when she smells the pigpen.
Her reaction startles Rafferty, and he’s further surprised to see a grin put dimples in Dr. Ravi’s face. The swan cart has carried them in grim silence across the grounds thus far, even when they drove past a dramatically lit Garden of Eden. Rose is in agony over what she’s wearing, a white, flowing, two-piece outfit she bought to meet Rafferty’s father in. He thinks she looks beautiful, but she behaves as though she’s wrapped in a rice bag.
But the pigpen makes her laugh out loud.
“How long?” she asks, wiping her eyes. “How long since he had it cleaned out?”
“
“Oh,” she says, half gasping for breath, her fingers splayed over her heart. “This is enough, Poke. You can take me home and my evening will be complete.”
“No you can’t,” Dr. Ravi says. “There’s something you’ll want to see.”
“What?”
“A surprise. You’ll love it. I promise you, it’s going to be worth it.”
Rose says, “I doubt it.” She looks down at herself and tugs at the sleeve of her blouse with an intensity of loathing that Rafferty can hardly comprehend. They are obviously deep in female territory.
“Besides,” Dr. Ravi says with the secure air of someone who knows he’s got a first-class closer, “Khun Pan would kill me if I allowed someone as beautiful as you to leave without at least an introduction.”
Rafferty says, “What do you mean, ‘at least’?”
“He’s jealous?” Dr. Ravi asks.
Rose drops her sleeve like a rag that’s been dipped into something disgusting and says, “He can’t believe his good fortune.”
“I can’t either,” Dr. Ravi says.
“Hey,” Rafferty says.
“And here we are.” Dr. Ravi pulls the swan to the bottom of the broad marble steps leading up to the front porch. The double doors have been thrown wide, and even at this distance Rafferty can feel the cool air pouring out. A small orchestra is cricketing away inside, and he hears the usual party montage of conversation, laughter, and ice cubes hitting glass. Two women wearing, as even Rafferty can tell, several thousand dollars’ worth of clothing apiece float across the doorway on a cloud of privilege.
“Absolutely not,” Rose says. “I can’t go in there.”
“Oh, come on,” Rafferty says. “You look beautiful. And, Jesus, look at me.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Ravi says. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman in the house.”
“What I’ll be,” Rose says, “is a dark-skinned, big-footed peasant girl wearing a dust rag.” She puts a hand on Rafferty’s arm. “Poke. I want to go home.”
“Well, well,” someone says from the top step. Rose turns at the sound of the voice, and her jaw very discreetly drops.
“You
Rose says, “Oh, my.” Her nails dig into Rafferty’s arm.
