"I cheated on my wife." He thought it might feel cathartic to say the words aloud. That some of the guilt he'd been feeling, since he'd dialed Lizzie's number, listened to her excited then confused unreturned greetings before putting the phone back in its cradle, might be alleviated with the simple admission. But it isn't. He just feels worse.
"You?!" He watches as Vic's face goes from disbelief and an indignation that touches his vanity to something else. He can see her view of him shifting for an instant as she considers the possibility that he is a different man than she's imagined him to be. Her head moves almost imperceptibly to the side and her eyes narrow slightly. He feels the full weight of her consideration, like he's one of those reflections in a fun house mirror. A slight shift in her gaze and his character distorts violently, an inflated belly here, tall skinny arms useless at his sides, head reduced to a pinpoint on overbroad shoulders. She's right of course. He's not the man she thinks he is.
But he finds that watching her think the worst of him is harder than he'd imagined so he adds, "I called up Lizzie Ambrose last Friday night after work." He's confiding in Vic again and he's not really sure why. They haven't known each other long, at least not relative to his other relationships, Henry, Cady, or even Ruby. And they couldn't be any more different. She was all heat and flame, a steep contrast to his ice and snow. Though he supposes putting your hand on either for too long could get you burned. Maybe that's the reason he keeps unburdening himself again and again to his deputy.
"I didn't misdial it. I heard the phone ring at the other end. I just…I just hung up. Felt like I was cheating." He holds her gaze and his breath, not sure what he's hoping for. What does he want from Vic? Absolution? Punishment? Understanding? He knows she must be able to see the desperation in his eyes, his vulnerability. But he can't seem to look away, to protect himself from her judgment, finds he doesn't want to.
The last thing he wants is pity, but that's what she gives him. "You're kidding me, right?" At least her pity is served with a big helping of sass, which he's learning is a Vic specialty. "You're not kidding me," she sighs exasperated. "Walt, you're talking about your deceased wife," He flinches despite himself, "The one who would want you to be happy." Absolution. Is he happy or disappointed? "Is that why you were drinking? Guilt?"
Guilt. Grief. Fear. There is so much to drink for, he thinks to himself. And for a minute he wonders what it would be like to really confess to Vic. His tar black secrets and sins, a stark contrast to the green Wyoming prairie grasses and wide blue sky, laid bare for her to see. But that would be too close. Her flame is already starting to lick away at his ice, melting him like a clump of snow on a bright sunny day.
He's not ready to rediscover what will be left of him on the day that ice melts, there is still too much to do. So he kneels before the bedside table and shifts his attention to the case at hand. As he stares down at the Sublettes' smiling faces shoved unceremoniously into a drawer, he ponders what secrets they were hiding. Many dark things may hide beneath a crisp white blanket of snow, but Spring always comes in the end. Snow will melt. Truth will out.