“That’s right,” Bob said. He understood that many things would have to be repeated.
“But she still knew I would find her.”
“Well, you didn’t find her,” Bob said. “But she didn’t want you around when she did it.”
Matt’s dog came into the room and slunk under the table. “Have you noticed he doesn’t bark anymore?” Matt asked.
“I have,” said Bob.
“I think he’s either in shock or he’s gotten used to you.”
“Maybe both,” Bob said.
*
On the fourth day Matt stood in his studio looking at his paintings and he said to Bob, “Stupid fucking things.”
Oddly, Bob had been anticipating this. And Bob said now, “You’re not going to be interested in painting for a while, but then you will be again. But, Matt, I’d like to get these out of the house for a time if you don’t mind.”
Matt turned to look at him. “You mean because you think I might destroy them?”
“It’s gone through my mind.” Bob added, “You’re upset these days. That’s natural.”
Matt shook his head slowly. “Bob, are you a mind reader? Because I sort of was thinking of just slicing them up.”
This alarmed Bob. “Okay, I’m taking them. Today. Okay?”
“Sure,” said Matt.
So Bob called a friend who had a pickup truck, and he went to get the truck and drove it back to Matt’s house, and Matt watched while Bob took the paintings—there were more than two dozen of them—and put them into the back of the truck. “Where’re you taking them?” Matt asked, and Bob said, “To my house.”
Bob put them in the upstairs spare room, leaning them carefully against one another, and then he drove back to Matt’s house and found him lying on his bed. “Why are you being so good to me?” Matt asked. And Bob said, “Because I like you.” He added, “I just like you.”
Matt turned over on the bed. “I like you too,” he said.
—
Later, in the kitchen, as Bob was getting ready to leave, Matt’s cellphone went off and he looked at it quizzically and showed it to Bob. “That’s Margaret,” Bob said. “Pick up.”
So Matt said “Hello” with tentativeness, and Bob could hear Margaret’s voice—but not the words—and she was talking to Matt with excitement. “Seriously?” Matt said. “Are you just saying that?” And Bob watched as Matt’s face relaxed and then became almost happy. “Cool,” Matt said. “Yeah, sure. You don’t have to pay me.” They spoke a while longer, and as Matt hung up he said to Bob, “She loves the paintings. She just got home and found them, and she said they were brilliant. That’s the word she used. And she wants to buy one, of a woman who modeled for me about four years ago. Margaret said you guys have the wall for it. Is she just being nice?”
“She’s not just being nice. They are brilliant, Matt. I keep telling you.”
*
As the sun was just leaving the sky that night, William called Bob. “Bob! How are you? What a mess you’ve been through!” And Bob said, Yeah, it was a mess. And William said, “I read the papers and I kept thinking, That poor guy, that poor brother. Jesus, Bob!”
This was moving to Bob. He spoke to William about it at length; William seemed to want to know about Matt, he was interested in the paintings. He was just interested. Not a word about his parasites.
“Lucy comes home tomorrow. She’ll be glad to see you,” William said. He added, “And Bridget comes this weekend.” William’s innocence killed Bob.
—
After William and Bob hung up, Margaret said, “Come, Bob. Look at where I think this painting should go.” And she brought him upstairs on the way to their bedroom and pointed at a spot on the staircase landing. “Right there,” she said. So the two of them went to get the painting of the young woman in her early stage of pregnancy, and Bob saw that Margaret was right. It did, in fact, look brilliant. He texted Matt: In case you’re awake we’ve decided to hang your painting on the stair landing. It’s beautiful. Bob sent a picture of it. And Matt texted back: So cool—
6
And there was Lucy Barton, standing by the fence. She stayed where she was while he parked; he felt a shyness coming from her, and he felt shy himself. He walked to her slowly. “Lucy,” he said, stopping a few feet from her. “Bob,” she said. And he saw her face turn pink. “Ah, Lucy. Man.” And he shook his head, he could not speak. They stood there for a few moments, not looking at each other, and then Lucy finally looked at him and said, “I am so glad to see you.”
The day was sunny, and Bob put his sunglasses on. And then off they went for their walk. Lucy said, “Tell me everything. Tell me every single thing. And don’t leave anything out.”
Bob said, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months,” and she said, “I know.”
“First tell me how the visit with Bridget went,” Bob said, and Lucy waved a hand. “Bob, she drove me a little bit crazy. She’s just—oh I don’t know, she’s just an ordinary—I mean she seems so ordinary—teenage girl, and she was a little bit snotty to me. It was fine. But it exhausted me. Now tell me what you’ve been going through!”
And so Bob told her about the day of Diana Beach’s death, and about how after he’d left Lucy at the airport he’d taken a cab to Matt Beach’s house, pulling into the long driveway at the end of the road. Bob had seen the four police cars and an ambulance. He paid the cabdriver, who said “What’s going on?” and Bob asked him to please just leave. He told Lucy how he had gotten out of the cab just as two policemen were coming through the side door of the house; they had moved slowly, so Bob knew.
—
“Suicide on the third floor,” the policeman had said, nodding toward the house, as Bob approached him. “Classic signs. Note left, door locked from the inside. They’ll be moving her out in a bit. The medical examiner is on her way.” He added, “We heard the shot as we were getting out of the car.”
Bob asked, “She’s gone, though, right?” and the fellow said, “Oh yeah. She’s gone.”
One of the state troopers nodded his head, indicating that Bob should follow him, and Bob had gone into the house with him, careful not to touch anything, and the cop said, “She left this.” On the kitchen table—nothing else was on the table—was a piece of paper, and on it was a handwritten message in quite good handwriting, signed Diana Beach. Bob brought out his glasses and read the note. He memorized it, and now he told Lucy what it said.
—
“Oh God.” Lucy whispered this. Then she said, “Keep going.”
