Chapter 2

Iris,


You were the one who asked me the question. When you said that you were worried about my loss, I realized that that was what it was -- a loss. It meant more to me than the death of almost anyone else.

So how did I lose it?

Do you ever doubt that your husband loves you less than God? Of course he loves you a thousand times more. He will never tell you this. A religious man never admits it, but for a wife well-loved, he mourns her so deeply that God can never compare. That was the last question. That is how I knew it would be all right.

But how did it get to that question? We have been friends for six years, and there is so much that you do not know. I often wished I could tell you.

What shocks me the most is that I managed one whole year in Vernier with nothing and nobody, but two months into the next I met the two most important people in my life. First, I met Ben.

And then there was Iris.

Vernier College is at the bottom of an Appalachian mountain—it’s the college’s prettiest feature. In the fall it disintegrates into paintstrokes and in the summer it is a heavy green mass. The campus is two hundred miles away from Durham, the nearest big city. Pristine and isolated, Vernier is a pulsating heart that eats itself far away from civilization. When I lived there, a bus left campus once an hour from 1 PM to 7 PM. During this time, we were permitted to do light grocery shopping. The bus driver always checked identification before we were allowed to embark.

The closest town was Jobstown—we joked that it was hardly a town, and there were no jobs there. Half an Aldi’s, I think. A grandmother running a used bookshop out of her basement. A tea shop run by a young woman from Britain who makes the most wonderful mango chutney, Wensleydale and romaine sandwiches. One morning I realized that I ran out of sanitary napkins and had to go shopping. Phoebe wasn’t around, and by this time I became irritated with her anyway. Ever since the Langleys spoke, she was distant.