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Chapter 37

Val was snatched from her desultory reading of the paper by Carolyn’s name. Neal had asked, “Do you think Carolyn’s getting better by now?” He was sitting beside her on the sofa.

“I hope so,” she answered, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

Monday Night Football ended to staccato shouts by the announcer and statistics across the screen. “Homework time,” Val said, squeezing his shoulders again. “What’ve you got?”

“Math.”

“Ugh. Be a good kid and do it out of my sight.”

Neal obediently went off to his room, and as she had for days, she went to bed early. Sleeping meant the absence of thought, and she ached with the misery of her thoughts. Amid the desolation of all the recent days, this day had contained a bleakness all its own: the phone call from Carolyn.

“I want you to know,” Carolyn had said slowly, “that I’m fine…but I need time. I need to get myself back together. To sort things out.”

She could visualize Carolyn; she had seen her speak on the phone several times with that unconscious habit of clasping a hand to her throat as if to physically control the tone of her voice. Val answered carefully, “I understand. I should tell Neal something. He asks, he—”

“Say I’ve gone away to recuperate for a while. It’s the truth, anyway.”

“Will you let me say one thing?”

“Right now I just—”

“One thing, that’s all. The last time we were together I was…I damaged whatever we—”

“Please, Val.”

Her body weakened at the soft sound of her name, with memory of the beach house, of Carolyn breathing that name. “Carrie—”

“Please don’t. I can’t talk anymore.” And she had hung up.

She could never have imagined this need—that Carolyn’s absence would bring her to the desperation of repeated phone calls, even laying siege to Carolyn’s house. That she would so totally abandon pride. And now it was over. Carolyn was gone. There was no one to whom she could voice her anguish, except perhaps Alix, who had returned from Houston four days ago—surprisingly, still with her Helen. She had spent a long evening with Alix, had spoken of Carolyn—how could she not, when Neal would talk about little else? But she had not revealed herself. Why submit to further mortification, debase herself by confessing to Alix how stupidly she had lost Carolyn?

That she was totally responsible was beyond challenge. The accumulated humiliation of a lifetime had driven her into a heedless resolve to somehow trample Paul Blake; instead she. had damaged the tender shoots of the love Carolyn had offered her, and her own emergent new self.

She must end this paralysis, somehow function again. Her work? Yes, that was always there. She could not and would not stop working; financial necessity as well as ingrained professional habit dictated that she work daily at her craft. But the usual controlled excitement of applying paint to canvas had paled into effortful drudgery.

What about Susan’s suggestion that she conduct evening classes at the gallery? She had refused then; an art class was a minimal source of income at best, not worth the time involved; and her approach to art was probably too iconoclastic and personally focused. But the assertiveness in her work that Susan had spoken of as a frequently missing ingredient in women’s art—perhaps that could somehow be communicated to novice painters. She could explore Susan’s ideas further, at least…She might even come into contact citing new talent…other women…Tomorrow she would call her father, go see him. Take Alix with her. Dad had always liked Alix. Renew acquaintance with artists and art-loving friends scarcely seen since she had moved into the Robinson’s guest house. Jacques, Monica, David…She smiled, thinking of how the Robinsons would have viewed with slack-jawed amazement her artist friends, especially Monica with her graveyard makeup. Yes, she had been neglecting her friends and that whole aspect of her life for months. Ever since Carolyn.



Why not a party? As soon as possible? This Saturday, she decided. Planning a party and contacting old friends might help distract her from this pain. Oh God, this pain…

 



Date: 2015-02-03; view: 532


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