Robert Fischer kept one eye on his wife the entire flight. He had an entire stack of proposals to read and review before they landed in Los Angeles, but he couldn't keep his mind focused on the numbers long enough to make any progress.
After the sixth hour had passed without a word from Ariadne, Robert finally cleared his throat and took her hand.
"Are you okay?" he asked. Ariadne jumped, clearly having not been paying attention. She turned her head to look at him and smiled, nodding. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side, placing his palm on her cheek.
Ariadne closed her eyes and rested her face in Robert's hand, fighting the tears she knew were coming. Robert leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly, lingering a little longer than he usually word, something not lost on Ariadne, who began to fidget.
"Ari, we don't have to go if you don't wa-"
"No," she interrupted, sitting up straight. "We're already on our way."
Robert sighed, running his hands over his face and into his hair, tugging at the graying roots in frustration.
"I know, but we could drive up the coast, visit your parents," he said, crossing his legs. "We could just turn around in the terminal, not even go through customs."
"Robert, we're not flying fourteen hours to turn around and go home."
"I'm just saying, if you'd like to-"
"It's okay." Ariadne forced a smile, before heaving herself out her chair. "I'll be right back."
Robert smiled a small smile, following her down the aisle with his eyes. He turned his attention to the milky horizon out the window, not hearing her when she sat back down. His eyes grew heavy and he was almost asleep when she cleared her throat.
"Can we talk?" she asked. Robert coughed, and turned his head.
"I thought you didn't want to talk until we got back?"
"Robert-"
"If it's what you want, then fine, but we don't have to decide right now."
Ariadne sighed and leaned away from him, looking out across the aisle. "Fine."
Not twenty-four hours ago, the news had come, sending Ariadne into hysterics and Robert into crisis mode.
Robert walked down the hall towards his and Ariadne's bedroom, thumbing through a file when he heard a choked sob come from his wife's study. Stopping, he turned and pushed the door open in time to see Ariadne hang up the phone and put her head in her hands.
"Ariadne, are you okay?" he asked, walking over and kneeling next to her chair. Without answering, she slipped out of the chair and into his arms, knocking him off balance and sending them both to the ground.
"Ro-Ro-Robert, we have to g-g-go home," she snubbed, her voice barely audible through her cries. Robert leaned back against the desk, kissing her head and smoothing her hair.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"A friend of m-m-mine just died."
"Oh," Robert said simply, unsure of what the appropriate response was. He could see she was sad and yet, in five years she had never mentioned any friends from home. "Who?"
"Arthur," she hiccupped, resting her head against his chest and curling her fingers around his arms.
They sat there for a long time, Ariadne's tears finally stilling after an hour or so, her breathing slowing as she fell asleep. Robert carried her to bed as the sun set, casting long shadows down the halls of the palatial mansion and warming their bedroom through the giant picture window. He pulled her shoes off and tucked her under the down comforter before leaving quietly.
For a long time, he just walked from one end of the house to the other, racking his brain for any memory or mention of an Arthur and, long after the home grew dark, he finally decided he didn't know who the man that had Ariadne so crushed was.
Tucked into bed, Ariadne was lost in a dream filled with memories of Arthur, with no sign of her husband.
She walked down a long, empty street, lined with dying trees. A cold wind played at her bare shoulders and before long, snow had started to fall. He started as a pinprick in the distance, coming into sharper focus until he was right in front of her. He had started taking his coat off before she even got to him, draping it around her shoulders when she stopped.
"You died," she said plainly. Arthur nodded, crossing his arms. "Why?"
"That's an odd question."
"I mean, why'd you give up?"
"It wasn't like I had a choice, Ariadne. I had stomach cancer, not a paint swatch."
"You were going to wait for me, Arthur," she said. Arthur sighed.
"Ariadne, I waited six years and I was dying for four of them, you knew where to find me."
"I couldn't leave Fischer."
"You couldn't leave Robert," Arthur said gently, stepping closer. "You married the man, not the mark."
"It should have been you."
"Perhaps."
Ariadne turned over in bed, sighing loud enough that Robert heard her in the hall. He stopped pacing and crossed the room, lying down on the bed next to her. Her hair had fallen over her face and he couldn't help but notice how dark the circles under her eyes had gotten. He reached out and gently swept her bangs back, leaning into kiss her when she grunted and flipped over. He sighed and shoved out of bed, returning to padding the halls.
He toiled around for another hour or so, making a call to his pilot to arrange their trip home, packing their bags and having a drink (double Scotch, no ice) on the back porch. Somewhere around midnight, Ariadne woke up.
"You packed my bag?" she asked, yawning as she walked out onto the balcony. Robert nodded, taking a sip of his drink. He nodded towards the Mei Tei on the table he'd made for her. She smiled and sat down next to him, pulling her legs up Indian style.
Neither one of them said anything until their drinks were empty. Ariadne moved into Robert's lap, nuzzling her head in between his shoulder and chin. He kissed her temple and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Tell me about him," he said. It was part morbid curiosity, part panic that drove him, for he wasn't sure what he was about to find out but he needed to know.
"He was a researcher I worked with in Paris," Ariadne said, choosing her words carefully.
She knew she was already on thin ice taking him home with her for Arthur's funeral. Since being married five years ago, Ariadne had spent nearly every minute in fear that Robert would find out, that it would ruin everything she had worked so hard.
Their marriage was motivated by guilt on her end. After returning to Paris, she'd been unable to get Fischer out of her mind and became obsessed with his well being, all the meantime carrying on a relationship with Arthur. When she'd made her first move towards a relationship with Robert, Arthur had been gone before she'd woken up the next morning.
"What did he research?" Robert asked, his voice loud in her ears. " Architecture?"
"Land grants," Ariadne lied, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Permits and stuff like that."
"You must have been close with him to be so upset," Robert said, hoping his voice didn't betray him. The thought of her with someone else made him ill.
Ariadne climbed out of Robert's lap and walked back into their bedroom without answering. Robert sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He'd done it again, said something completely innocuous and, because she told him nothing, it had been offensive.
"Ari," he called after her, picking up their glasses and following her inside. "Honey, I-"
"Why, Robert?" she asked, walking out of the bathroom. She'd changed into her pajamas and piled her hair on top of her head. "Why do you have to assume I have all these secrets?"
"What are you talking about?" Robert asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Ariadne crossed her arms.
"You always think that I'm hiding something from you, why do you always act like that?"
"I really don't know-"
"You must have been really close," she mocked, putting her hands on her hips. "Why can't I be sad about my friend dying without you thinking I fucked him?"
Robert winced; he hated when she swore. "Ari, I don't think that. I was just-"
"Because I did, Robert. A lot, and if you hadn't swept me up, I'd be there right now, instead of stuck here. He is twice the man you'll ever be, and if you think I don't regret leaving every single day, you're sadly mistaken."
Robert's mouth was hanging open. He had no idea what he'd said to make her so mad.
"Ariadne, I love you."
"No, you don't," Ariadne said, pointing her finger at him. "You love being married, it has nothing to do with."
"Why would you say something like that?" he said, his chest tightening. "Ariadne, I would do anything for you, haven't I made that obvious?"
"You haven't done anything for me that didn't benefit yourself, including marrying me. You needed a wife to keep up appearances, you are so concerned with vanity. Arthur wasn't-"
"He didn't love you like I do. I don't know anything about him and I can assure you of that," Robert replied, standing up and crossing the room to her. "Ariadne, you can't talk to me like this just because you're mad."
"Oh, fuck you, Robert," Ariadne spit back, turning to walk away. Robert grabbed her elbow and jerked her back around.
"Stop it!" he said, his voice raised. He pulled her to him, their faces an inch apart. "I will not let you cheapen our marriage just because it makes you feel better!"
"Good Lord, Robert, cut the shit, and please let go of me, you're hurting me."
"Not until you apologize, this is ridiculous. I'm doing everything I can to get us there. I know what you're doing, I see what you're trying to do, and I won't let you. I'm not going to let you use you grief as a motivator to drive a wedge between us."
"Robert, you're hurting me, please let go," she repeated, tears in her eyes. Robert leaned his head down and looked her straight in the eye.
"Just tell me you're sorry," he said, loosening his grip. He dropped his hand to her waist, resting it on her hip.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears spilling. Robert stood there, wordless, as she hurried out, rubbing her arm and choking back sobs.
He felt terrible, the worst he had since his father died six years ago. How had it turned into this? How had summers in Bali and winters in Paris turned into a weekly screaming match? He hated that he was losing control of the situation, a quality Ariadne often picked on.
As he crossed the house, following Ariadne, flashes of half remembered memories played through his mind. Their wedding in Napa, trips to Hong Kong, their first home together, the baby they lost. It was all surreal, like a lifetime ago.
Sighing, he followed her out into the living room.
She had sat down on the couch in front of the fireplace and was crying silently. He took a seat on the couch next to her.
"I want a divorce," Ariadne said, her voice wavering. Robert couldn't keep the shock off his face. "Robert-"
"No, no way, why? You can't make a decision like that right now-"
"I'm not happy, Robert, I haven't been for a while."
Robert mouthed wordlessly, his face hot. "Ariadne-"
"Can we just talk about it when we get back?" she asked, putting her hand his knee. "Please?"
"I guess," he agreed, not standing to follow her when she left the room again. It was clear she was trying to avoid him.
He sat in the living room for a long time, thinking about whether or not he should even begin to consider a lawyer; he was pretty sure that he would bend to whatever she wanted, since he knew it wasn't about the money. Ariadne was independently wealthy, something she had never explained to him, one of the many things on the list of things she never explained to him.
The money. How she found him, in Bangor, Maine, of all places. That gold bishop she always carried. It seemed like it was connected and, at the same time, all of things he could imagine weren't good and he didn't like the idea of his wife being one of the bad guys.
He heard Ariadne lock the front door, the last thing she always did before bed, and decided he would go to. He said nothing to her when he came into their bedroom, closing the door with his foot and heading into the massive walk in closet they shared. He shed his chinos and Oxford and tossed them in the hamper before stepping into old cotton pajama bottoms, the first thing she'd ever bought him.
"You can't sleep in a two thousand dollar suit, Robert," she'd laughed. They'd been stuck in Los Angeles on a flight that had been canceled. She'd gone over to the clothing store across from the gate they were waiting at and bought him a pair of plain brown pajama bottoms. He wore them to that day.
They climbed in bed, simultaneously turning their lights off and pulling the covers up. Ariadne turned away from Robert with kissing him goodnight. He sighed, and turned too. Half an hour passed and just as he was about to slip into a restless sleep, she turned over and wrapped herself around him.
"I love you," she mumbled. "But I'm not happy."
He sighed and nodded. "We can talk about it when we get home."
"Goodnight, Robert."
Robert replayed the scene over and over again during the first six hours of their flight home. When the reality of it finally sunk in, he turned to face his wife, cleared his throat, and took her hand.
"Are you okay?"