Coe Review

uilding and have a craving for more alcohol, but my promise to Rebecca
rings in my head. In the car I bat the pine tree-shaped air freshener hanging
from the rearview mirror, and it swings wildly before sailing to the floor.
Rebecca calls out for me when I open the front door. The bedroom light
glows at the end of the hallway, and I slip off my shoes and walk towards it.
A familiar piece by Mozart plays in the living room and, as I stop for a drink
of water, I pick up the fragrance of a vanilla-scented candle. Throughout the
years Rebecca has been the one to create romance in our marriage, in spite
of her disappointments. The candles, the music, a special blouse. I enjoy her
efforts but don't like the baggage they create when our lovemaking is over.
An orgasm is no match for the emptiness and guilt that follow.
I remove my pants, socks and turtleneck and lay them on a chair in
the bedroom. Rebecca is lying beneath a peach-colored sheet, her breasts
perfectly displayed on top.
"Did you get it?" She says this quietly.
The computer!—I left it in the car. "Yep, it's in the living room."
This lie gets added to the others from this evening, a ring of half-truths
that surrounds my head like tangle of thorny vines. I walk over to the bed,
drop my boxer shorts, and sit next to Rebecca. She smiles like a shy, college
freshman, and the innocence that once charmed me now makes her seem
naive and simpleminded. She takes my hand and places it on her right breast.
The gesture feels mechanical; my hand is limp and detached. I want her to
not want me. I want to be with Annie instead. Rebecca gathers my fingers
and passes them over her nipple and under the flesh that flattens against the
sheet. She gently guides me around the warm slope of her skin, and then
repeats the process. I can't resist the promise of sex and slide my fingers
under the weight of her breast. Bending over to kiss it, I then freeze.
"Rebecca, I feel something."
"You're supposed to—I'm trying to turn you on."
"No, not that. I feel a lump. Right here. Give me your hand."
I press her fingertips into a knot the size of a pea.
"You're right, Dennis! My God, it's a lump."
She probes the area, as air rushes in and out of her mouth. A tear
squeezes out of the corner of her eye and cascades down her cheek. Another
follows and her eyes glisten.
"Remember what happened to my sister? She died when she was thirtysix.
And then my aunt—she was only forty. Jesus, I thought I was safe. Hold
me, Dennis, will you? Just hold me."
I lie next to her, pull the sheet over us, and take her into my arms. The
music stops playing in the other room, and Rebecca whimpers against my
64 The Desert Between Us