Chapter 26

Sitting at the table, sifting through the multitude of sections that comprised the Sunday Times, he drank coffee and ate the English muffin Carolyn had prepared for him, and listened to the sounds of her preparation for leaving. Before, over the weekends, she always took her bath in the evening, an hour or so before they went to bed, and came out to him wearing a robe and smelling deliciously of bath scents, to curl up on the sofa. Bathing on a weekend morning…to go off like this without him.

Not since the death of his mother had he been so helpless, so unable to act. Every night since Monday she had slept in the guest room. As usual she had prepared his dinner, but left it warming in the oven; he had worked late all week because he could not be in the house with her. Could not bear her chill formality when she was there, yet could not bear his anguish when she was not there—when she was with Val Hunter. He did not even know where Val Hunter now lived.

“I hope you’re not wandering around this late at night in a dangerous part of the Valley,” he had said at midnight on Wednesday when she came home. It was both a warning and a probe for information. But she had not replied.

Three times this week she had been gone late into the night, as if she no longer cared about her own lack of sleep, as if he no longer deserved the slightest consideration. Each night he waited up for her. They did not exchange even brief news of their workday; they did not mention—or even allude to—their quarrel. Careful about continuing to demonstrate his own affection, he touched her in the casual ways he always had—an arm around her when he came into the kitchen for ice—all the physical habits of all the days of their marriage, hoping to convey that this part of his love for her was too ingrained in him to change, regardless of the degree of their estrangement.

He had lost essential, crucial control. He was in the weakest position he had ever been in with Carolyn—he held a poor hand of cards, and must play them carefully. No matter what the cost to him in pain, the next move must be hers—or he would lose more than he could ever recover.

Ride it out, he told himself, as he had told himself every day that week. When the cards were this bad, you held them close to the vest, and bluffed. There was nothing else to be done.

This would blow over. It had to. A friendship of only a few months duration against years of marriage? Correct balance had to reassert itself. His side was weighted with eight proven years of loving and caring.

He’d overreacted to the Hunter woman. Used an atom bomb when anything else would have done as well with less fallout besides. He didn’t believe today’s psychobabble, but Carolyn was indeed going through a life phase, some kind of hysteria peculiar to women. A little fling at independence was what she actually wanted, so let her get this out of her system and then they would go on as before.

He had to stand firm and soon everything would be all right again, everything would gradually return to normal, like it was before. In the future he would be more careful—give Carolyn more leash. When they got transferred out of this loony bin of a city—and he would do his best to make that happen soon, even accept a lateral transfer—he would be certain to immediately seek a wide circle of acquaintances, have more social life. She would have her women friends, all she wanted. But there would be no more Val Hunters.

Whatever the attraction in this relationship, it would pall. Val Hunter was perfectly capable of sexual aberration—the woman was masculine enough to wear a suit and tie—but Carolyn was a completely normal woman who was only temporarily fascinated by a freak. If Carolyn was confused right now, she would eventually belong to him again. Because there was real substance here. He had a close friendship himself—twice this past week he’d talked to Harve in Chicago, betting that the Cubs would reach the World Series—and no friendship, no matter how close, could challenge the powerful bonding of a good marriage.

Yes, ride it out. Be patient. Behave like a saint. No, like a martyr who was allowing a willful wife to do anything she wanted. As soon as Carolyn relented, as soon as she decided to be conciliatory, he’d figure out ways to soothe all her ruffled feathers, make everything up to her, solidify his marriage once and for all. They would be closer than they had ever been.

Gazing across the living room dimmed by closed drapes, in the silence of his house he strained for any sound of her. A wave of chill brought gooseflesh to his arms, and he admitted his fear: To love was the ultimate risk. One he had taken blindly, without knowledge of the stakes. Was this what his mother, with her death, had tried to teach him?

He had not learned—had not even seen the warning. He had loved again, and this time with every molecule of his being. To lose Carolyn…he could comprehend such a loss no more than he could comprehend his own death.

Carolyn came into the room and he looked at her, his chest tight with pain. She wore a short-sleeved shirt the color of lime, one he had not seen before, and dark green denim pants. Without makeup—just the barest touch of lipstick—she looked very young, her blow-dried hair thick around her face, the ends curly and unruly. He could not remember when she had ever looked more beautiful to him.

He said with difficulty, “Take your car. That heap she drives, you’ll be lucky to make it around the corner.” He thought he saw a softening in her face, the beginning of a smile.

“I’ll suggest it,” she said. “You look tired.”

“Long tough week.” He managed a smile. It was as much as he was willing to concede.

“I’m tired too.” She leaned over to quickly kiss his forehead, her hands braced on his shoulders as if to resist if he pulled her to him. “Be back this afternoon.”

The scents of her bathing filled him with anguished longing. He clasped her waist; but his hands moved gently on her as he kissed her forehead. He would not be so dishonest to wish her a good time. “Be careful,” he said.

As she walked away he closed his eyes, thinking of her silky nakedness pressed into him, her arms holding him.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 633