Chapter 14

Carolyn flung herself onto the bed in the guest bedroom to stare dry-eyed at the ceiling. She could hear Paul in the yard cursing as he searched out the flaming coals she had scattered; he was so close to her window that if she lifted her head she would see him. She did not want to look.

Val blames herself, I’m certain she does. Whatever was said has to be his fault. I may not know her well enough to be sure, but I do know him.

Suddenly she rose, straightened the yellow print bedspread, and then her own skirt and blouse, and walked out of the house.

Twice she knocked on the door of the darkened guest house, and soon made her way disconsolately up the path. Jerry Robinson had come out of his house and stood in his driveway, peering at her with his watery, timid blue eyes. “Mrs. Hunter and the boy, they left a few minutes ago.”

“Thank you.”

“Heard you folks in your yard a bit ago. Seemed like some commotion.

Nosy old man, she thought furiously. “Nothing of any consequence,” she said, and brushed past him.

“You and Paul, you come over soon now,” he called after her.

Paul sat on the sofa watching television. “I suppose you’ve been over there apologizing.” His tone was aggressive, heavy with resentment.

“They’ve gone out,” she said tensely. “I didn’t have a chance.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke with clear precision. “But there are things you don’t realize. I’m sure she’s a dyke. What she really wants is—”

“Shut up! That’s enough!”

His voice was a lash: “Don’t raise your voice to me.”

“I’ll do what I damn please! Don’t you say one more word!” Her shout escalated to a scream. “Val Hunter is my friend. It was your idea to meet her—”

“I don’t like her, Princess. I can’t help it. I just can’t stand her.”

He had spoken with surprising softness, almost apologetically. Disarmed, she lowered her own voice. “You have no right to dictate my friends.”

“I’m not trying to. I can’t stand that particular woman.” He grinned with obvious effort. “Could you try someone else?”

Partly mollified, she adjusted her tone but said stubbornly, “She’s my friend and she’ll continue to be, if she’s willing after the evening she spent here—”

“You’re convinced everything that happened was my fault. But I took so much shit from her—”

She stalked over to him, her anger a flame. “Tell me all about taking shit, why don’t you. Lake Michigan wouldn’t hold all the shit I’ve had to take from the stupid leering clowns at your office parties. Smile, you tell me. Be gracious.” Her voice had risen sharply, her words approaching incoherence. “What’s good for the goose—if you need lessons how to take shit and smile—”

He held both hands over his head in surrender. “So be it. Can we make peace?” She sat at her end of the sofa, frustrated and still furious. “Are we going to have dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” she said unforgivingly. She was looking at the gray painting on the wall, trying to calm herself. He went into the kitchen, quietly made himself a sandwich.

Later that silent evening, he followed her into the guest bedroom. “Aren’t you carrying this a bit far? Did I commit a capital crime?”

“I want to be alone. Is that a capital crime?”

His expression was both wary and baffled. He nodded, and left.

Her anger slowly dissipated; she thought of returning to their bedroom. But she was fully stretched out—spreadeagled—enjoying the unaccustomed freedom and spaciousness. Irresistibly, she drifted into sleep, pushing away any thoughts of him. The final image in her consciousness was Val in her white dress, her tanned body radiant with health and strength.

The next afternoon Val was not in the pool. But she answered Carolyn’s knock immediately, standing in the doorway in her usual shorts and T-shirt. Her smile was quick, and wry. “I don’t know how to break this to you, Carrie, but your husband and I have fallen in love.”

Carolyn’s attempt at a laugh was weak. “What can I say? I don’t understand what happened or why—”

Val shrugged. “Bad chemistry.”

“You don’t really know him—he’s different from what you saw. When I first met him he was so needy, like a lost little boy. It’s still there in him—” She broke off. It was useless to explain what Val could not see. Perhaps no one except herself really saw Paul. “Val…I hope we can still be friends.”

Val nodded. “I’m glad you still feel that way. We’ll do the best we can under the circumstances, okay?”

She saw that Val did not give her credence, that the words were rote politeness. Carolyn said quickly, “Do you have a barbecue? Can I invite myself over for dinner tonight? I’ll bring the steaks we were supposed to have last night. How does that sound?”

“It sounds good.” Val grinned. “Neal will be very glad to see you again. Can we go back to your house? I think I’d like a swim.”

Carolyn called Paul at his office to explain. “I’ll leave some chicken cordon bleu warming in the oven, honey,” she said softly, in a peace offering; the dish was one of his favorites.

“Fine, Princess,” he said calmly. “See you later.”

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 550