Free The Magician's Assistant by Ann Patchett

sometime.” Mrs. Fetters got up from the bed.
    “Plenty.”
    The three of them left the bedroom. The tour was over.
    “It’s perfect,” Mrs. Fetters said. “Every last thing. How long have you lived here?”
    “Just over a year,” Sabine said, speaking for herself.
    “You put a house like this together in a year?”
    “Parsifal lived here for five years before me,” she said, again, peering over the edge into the mire of complications. “It’s his house. He was the one with the taste.”
    “So how long were you two married?” his mother asked. “I should have asked you that before. I don’t even know how long you were married.”
    “A little less than a year,” Sabine said, stretching out her six months. “It was after I moved in.”
    Mrs. Fetters and her daughter looked at Sabine suspiciously, as if suddenly she was not who they thought she was.
    “We worked together, we were together for twenty-two years. We’d just never seen the point in getting married before. I’m afraid I’m not very old-fashioned that way.” She did not wish to lie or explain. It was, after all, her life. Her private life. “I haven’t even offered you anything to drink. Let me get you something. A soda, a glass of wine?”
    “So why did you end up getting married? What changed your mind after all those years?”
    Sabine put her hand on the banister. These people didn’t know Parsifal. They did not know his name. If there were questions to be asked, she should be the one doing the asking. They were probably wondering why the money was all hers, why she had the house, an interloper married less than a year. “We were all getting older,” she said. She heard her own voice and it sounded clipped, nearly stern.
    Mrs. Fetters nodded. “Older,” she said. “I for one am getting older.” They all at once understood that the family reunion was over. Everyone had seen more than they had planned to see, no one had gotten what they wanted. “Bertie, I think it’s time we headed back to the hotel and got rested up.”
    “You’re welcome to stay,” Sabine said, following some code of social interaction her mother had drilled into her from birth. She could not help herself.
    “I’m tired,” Mrs. Fetters said. “It’s bad enough that I have to ask you to drive us to the hotel.”
    Another trip in the car seemed a small price to pay for getting her privacy back. Sabine already had her keys in her hand.
    “I told the travel agent I was willing to pay more for something safe,” Mrs. Fetters said when Sabine pulled up in front of the downtown Sheraton Grand. “For what this place costs I think I ought to have a guard standing outside my door. Do you think this is safe?”
    “You’ll be fine here,” Sabine said. “I can come in, make sure you’re checked in okay.”
    Mrs. Fetters held up her hands. “I wouldn’t think of it. You’ve done too much as it is. I know it was hard on you, going out to the cemetery. I’m afraid I was just thinking of myself.”
    “I wanted to go,” Sabine said.
    For a minute they all just sat there. Finally it was Bertie who opened her door. “Well, good night, then,” Bertie said.
    “If you need anything...”
    “We’re fine.” Mrs. Fetters looked at her, everyone unsure of how to part. Finally she patted Sabine on the wrist, a gesture of a distant aunt, a favorite teacher. They got out of the car and waved. Sabine waited until they were safely inside before punching the gas. The BMW could exit parking lots at record speed.
    Parsifal’s family, his mother and sister, and Sabine had not invited them to sleep in one of the guest rooms. She had not offered them the enormous amount of food that was waiting in the refrigerator. Would it have been too much to be a little bit nicer? She gunned the engine and cut deftly into the left lane. Let them catch her. Let them try and take her in. She pushed the button down on the power window and let the wind mat her hair. Nights like this, the