“I figured out that if I let myself be just what they said I was, a wacky artist, I could do anything I wanted, so I did. I did whatever I felt like.” And eventually, since he never bothered to study, he got expelled from one school after another. He had dropped out of school finally in his senior year, and never bothered to graduate, until his wife forced him to get his diploma once they were married. But school had meant nothing to him. It was just a place where he was tortured for being different. According to Liam, no one except his mother had ever recognized or cared that he had talent. Art was not an acceptable occupation in his family. Only sports and academics mattered, and he didn't qualify in either, or even attempt to. Sasha wondered if he had had an undetected learning disability to be so resistant to school. Many of her artists did, and it had been a source of deep unhappiness for them, compensated for by their artistic talent. But she didn't know Liam well enough to ask him, so she didn't, and just listened to his story with compassion and interest.

He insisted that he had known he wanted to be an artist from the moment he came out of the womb. Once on Christmas morning, before everyone got up, he had painted a mural in their living room, and after that he painted the grand piano and the couch. The shirt was obviously just a more recent version of the same form of art. He had been seven on that fateful morning, and couldn't understand why no one liked or appreciated what he'd done. His father had spanked him, and in a somewhat disconnected but emotional recital, he explained that after that, his mother had gotten very sick. She died the following summer, and from then on, his life was a nightmare. His only protector, and the only person who loved and accepted him, had vanished. Some nights, they didn't even bother to feed him. It was as though he had died with her. And art became his only comfort, and outlet, his only remaining bond with her, since she loved all that he did. He told Sasha that for years and sometimes even now, he felt as though he was painting for his mother. There were tears in his eyes when he said it. Everyone else in his family acted as though he was crazy, and still did. He said he hadn't seen his father and brothers in years.

He had met his wife, Beth, during a ski trip to Vermont, after he left home at eighteen and was painting in New York. He had married her at nineteen, when he was painting and starving in Greenwich Village. She had worked like a dog, according to Liam, and supported him ever since, much to her family's chagrin. They were as conservative as his family and didn't like him either. They hated him for his lack of responsibility and inability to support their daughter. He and Beth had three children, two boys who were seventeen and eleven, and a little girl who was five. They were the light of his life, and so was Beth, until she went back to Vermont, to her family, the previous July.

“Do you think she'll come back?” Sasha asked with a look of concern. There was something so gentle and vulnerable about him that it made her want to put her arms around him and fix everything for him. But she knew from experience with other artists that the messes they created in their lives were often damn near impossible to fix. His relationship with his family sounded as though it was beyond salvation, and probably not even worth trying. But it tugged at her heart when she listened to him talk about the lonely childhood he'd had and then about his wife and kids. He seemed lost without them, and Sasha sensed much left unsaid. Liam looked at her honestly in answer to her question about Beth returning, hesitated for a moment, and then shook his head.

“Probably not.” He sounded convinced. He believed now that Beth was gone forever.

“Maybe when she knows things are looking up for you financially, that might make a difference.” For some reason she couldn't fathom, for Liam's sake, she wanted Beth to come back. Sasha wasn't as sure Liam did. He looked sad about their separation but seemed to accept it as inevitable. They had been married for twenty years, and it obviously hadn't been easy. Mostly for her. He looked like a man who had committed a crime, felt deep remorse, but knew he couldn't change it.

“That wasn't the problem. The finances, I mean.” He seemed to be clear about that, and Sasha couldn't help wondering what the problem had been. They were eating their pasta by then, with a very good French Bordeaux.

“What was?” Maybe the kids had put too much strain on them. Sasha wondered if it was that. Or simply the inevitable grind of time.

“I slept with her sister in June.” He looked sad and sounded hoarse as he said it, and in spite of her best efforts not to, Sasha looked shocked. If nothing else, it was incredibly stupid, to betray a woman who had held down countless jobs to support him and their three children for twenty years. And Xavier had said she was a nice woman. Maybe Liam wasn't such a nice guy. His confession was certainly an indication of that.

“Why did you do that?” she asked him as one would a child.

“We got incredibly drunk while Beth and the kids were away for the weekend. I told her when she got back. I figured Becky would. They're twins.”

“Identical?” Sasha found the story fascinating but pathetic, and she got sucked into the drama with him, as he told it. Just as she had with the stories about his parents and brothers. She wasn't even sure why yet, or if he deserved it, but she liked him. And wanted to help him. But she was horrified by his betrayal of his wife. To Sasha, it spoke of a lack of moral fiber that upset her a great deal. But there was also a childlike innocence about him that made one want to forgive him, no matter how serious the crime.

“They're not identical, but close enough. Becky has been after my ass for years. The next morning, I couldn't believe I did it, but I did.” He looked as though he were going to cry as he said it. And when he told Beth, he had.

“Are you an alcoholic?” Sasha asked him somewhat sternly. He was certainly doing a good job on the wine, but he didn't seem drunk to her.

“No. Just stupid. Beth and I have been fighting a lot for the last year. She wanted me to go out and get a job. She was sick of working and starving for art. And her parents kept telling her to leave me and come home. Her father is a carpenter, and her mother is a teacher. They think my art is shit. I was beginning to think so, too. Until today.” He smiled at Sasha gratefully. He was hard to resist. Even after hearing his confession of adultery, it was hard to be angry at him. He was right. It was just plain stupid. And in spite of it, there was something innocent and likable about him. She couldn't explain it rationally, she felt drawn to him as a person, and even as a man.

“What does Becky do?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

“She's a bartender in a ski resort. She makes a hell of a lot of money, and screws a hell of a lot of guys. She's always wanted me. And maybe I wanted her, too. I don't know. Twenty years is a long time with one woman. I was a virgin when I married Beth, and I never cheated on her till now.” But even he knew it was wrong. “There's no decent excuse,” he said to Sasha honestly. “It was a rotten thing to do.”

“Don't you think eventually she'll forgive you?” For his sake, Sasha was hoping she would. He was a decent, ingenuous guy, who had only made one mistake, although admittedly a big one, in twenty years. And supporting all five of them single-handedly couldn't have been fun for Beth.

“I don't think she'll ever forgive me. She's been jealous of Becky all her life. Becky always gets the guys. And Beth got me, three kids, and a lot of work. I've never made a decent living. Beth supported us all these years, and believed in me the whole time. Until I slept with Becky. I called her and the kids at Christmas, and she said she's filing for divorce. I can't blame her. She's had it with me. At least I'll be able to send her some money now. She deserves it after all these years.” He was a decent guy, just somewhat disconnected from reality, maybe even because he was artistic. She had heard much worse stories before his. But the way his marriage had ended saddened her for both of them. It was a terrible waste, and a shame. Everyone was paying the price for his mistake.

“How long has it been since you saw your kids?”

“Not since she left. I couldn't afford to fly back. And her parents would probably kill me. Her father is pretty pissed.”

“She told him what happened?”

“No. Becky did. She hates me too. She wanted me to leave Beth and marry her. She said she's always been in love with me. Some weird shit happens sometimes with twins. Or at least it did with them. Beth says that Becky has resented her all her life. She's a gorgeous woman, and no guy has ever wanted to marry her. She got pregnant at fifteen and her parents made her give the baby up for adoption. I think it screwed up her head. She tried to find him when he turned eighteen, about six years ago, and she found out he had died about two years before in a head-on collision. She's a mess. I think she blames herself. Maybe she hates Beth because she has three terrific kids. I don't know. It's pretty complicated stuff.”

“It sounds like it. Sounds like you walked into a minefield with her last June.”

“I know I did. Beth says Becky set me up. She's been waiting twenty years to do it. Three bottles of cheap white wine, and I blew twenty years of marriage with the most decent woman in the world.”

“Why don't you fly to Vermont and talk to her? I can give you an advance, Liam. I was going to anyway.” He looked like he needed it, even before she knew he hadn't seen his children in six months.

“It's too late,” Liam said simply. “She got back with her high school sweetheart. She says they're getting married as soon as our divorce comes through. His wife died last year and left him with four kids. He has some money, he runs a ski resort, and he's willing to support Beth and my kids. Sounds like a better deal to me than being married to a wacky artist. She seems to think so too.” He seemed unhappy, but was philosophical about it.