“Rub my head?”
“Yes, rub your head and put my face in your neck.”
“That would make it . . . very crowded in here.” His breath quickened.
“Don’t think about that. Think about—I want you to picture a square. A square made up of sixty-four other squares. Half of them dark and half of them light.”
An empty chessboard.
“Now put the pieces on the board. With the white pieces closest to you, sweetheart. Can you do that?”
George nodded.Fool. She can’t see you.And he needed her to keep talking. Phoebe. His light, his life. Desperately, more than anything, he needed her to keep talking.
“Yes,” he said.
“You go first, darling.”
“I-I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. Close your eyes. We’re in your study in town, all right? It’s Monday evening. You’re done with your business for the day and it’s time to play chess. With your best and oldest friend in all the world.”
“I’d rather play with my wife.”
“Oh, George. Oh, sweetheart, darling, yes. Play with your wife.”
“What are you wearing?”
A pause. “Right now?”
“In my mind. In my study.”
“I’m wearing one of my good-girl dresses, all right? Pink. High-necked. Nothing distracting.”
“The one with the little bit of lace at the elbow?”
“That old thing?’ She laughed. “I’m surprised you remember it. Yes, I’m wearing that one.”
“And how is your hair?”
“Tumbling down, of course.”
“And are there biscuit crumbs on the carpet?”
“Heaps of them. You’re quite grumpy about it, and I’m giggling. George, I want you to concentrate on the game.”
“Yes.”
“Make your move, sweetheart.”
He summoned the chessboard to his mind again although he longed instead to keep the image of Phoebe in her pink dress there instead.
“I’ll take out my King Pawn two squares.”
“I’ll do the same.”
He pictured the two pawns out in the center of the board, facing each other. Tilting at each other.
“I’ll take my King Bishop out to the fourth square at my Queen’s Bishop.”
