An Act of Love (30 page)

“Look, maybe you don’t know it, but computer graphics are a thriving industry!”

She interrupted him. “I’m sure they are. I just don’t think Westhurst is the right place to study them. If
study
is the appropriate word.”

She was rejecting him. She had rejected him already. In just minutes, he’d lost his opportunity.

“You’re not even giving me a chance!” he protested.

Annie Sebelius looked shocked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,
shit
! What kind of admissions officer are you? Your mind was made up before I entered this room. You’ve decided you don’t want me, and nothing I can do will change your mind.”

She smiled and leaned forward now, her tone earnest. “Well, Bruce, look at your application. The courses and extracurriculars you’ve taken at Hedden. I really can’t see how—”

“It’s not that you can’t see, it’s that you
won’t
.” She was going to discard him without a second thought. Throw his application in the wastebasket and turn her back on him. Shut him out of this world forever. “Who gives you the right to be God?” he asked. “Who says you have the right to pick and choose and ruin lives? You’re just a fucking withered old ice queen bitch goddess, you—”

“Is everything all right in here?”

Bruce turned. A man in a gray suit stood in the doorway. Bruce’s father stood right behind him, face grim. Bruce suddenly realized that he was standing, leaning on the desk toward Annie Sebelius, who was cowering back in her chair.

Now she rose. “We’re finished.”

“No!” Bruce cried. “Wait a minute. Give me another chance.
Please
. What do you want me to do?” His hands ripped at his tie, yanking it open. “You want alternative? I can do alternative. You want me to write a short story? I can do that.”

“Bruce.” Owen had come into the room and now put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Come on, son. We’ve got to leave.”

“But, Dad! It’s not fair! She won’t even give me a chance! She totally dissed me!”

“Bruce.”

“No! Goddamnit!” Bruce yanked his arm away from his father’s grasp. Turning to Ms. Sebelius, who stood wide-eyed behind the desk, he said, “Well, fuck you! Fuck you and this whole damned fucking school!” With one sweeping blow, he sent a stack of folders flying to the floor.

“Mr. McFarland, do I need to call security?” Ms. Sebelius asked. Her voice was still cool.

Owen hooked his arm around Bruce’s neck and squeezed slightly, pulling Bruce off balance. Pulling him toward the door. “I’m sorry,” he said to Ms. Sebelius. Bruce was
walking sideways, tripping over his own feet, aware of people in the waiting room staring at him, aware that people had even come out of their offices to stare at him as if he were some kind of freak show. Owen continued to pull him along. They went out through a heavy door and suddenly were in the silent well of the back staircase.

“Let me go, Dad,” Bruce said.

“Get hold of yourself, Bruce,” Owen replied and released his son.

They stood there, the two men, surrounded by gray plaster, gray linoleum, gray metal railings on the stairs. They looked at each other.

“Dad,” Bruce began, and broke into tears.

Owen wrapped his arms around his son and let him cry.

Chapter Twenty-three

Late Friday afternoon
Linda was wearing moccasins, and as she came down the stairs her steps made no sound. She entered the kitchen and saw through the door opening into Owen’s study Celeste standing there, her hands caressing the old soft leather of Owen’s desk chair, her face grave with wistfulness.

It was an intimate moment. Linda meant to slip away, to enter the kitchen again, making enough noise to alert Celeste, but just at that moment Celeste looked up and saw Linda.

Startled, Celeste cried out. “What are you doing here?” She whipped her hands off the chair.

“I live here,” Linda replied, slightly amused.

“I thought you were going with Owen. To take Bruce to his interview.”

Linda stared. Celeste did not need to know that just that morning Linda and Owen had fought bitterly because Linda refused to go with him to pick up Bruce and drive him to his interview at Westhurst.

“I’m too angry with Owen right now,” she’d said. “Too confused. How can I stop thinking about Emily? Besides, I would think that my presence would only make him nervous, and today he needs to be totally confident.”

So at noon Owen had gone off on his own in the old Volvo. Linda had come as far as the door with him, where she’d said, “Owen. Wish Bruce good luck for me.”

She’d gone to her study then, and worked, coming down only for lunch, and for a fresh cup of coffee.

Now Linda thought: how perfectly Celeste-like Celeste was being. Caught intruding, she thought it was her right to grill Linda rather than offer an explanation of her own.

“Is there something you need?” Linda asked pointedly. She took a few steps toward the study door.

Celeste shrugged. “Owen told me about an article in
Outside
magazine. About traveling through the Southwest. I thought I might take a trip in January.”

Linda knew the article Celeste meant: hints for women traveling alone. She softened. “His magazines and journals are over on the long table,” she said, silently adding,
as you know as well as I
. “I was just going to make a fresh pot of coffee. Want some?”

“Sure.”

Linda made the coffee. Celeste came out of Owen’s study with a magazine in her hand. With awkward amiability they sat down together at the kitchen table.

“Ready for Christmas?” Linda asked.

“Hardly. You?”

“I’ve got some gifts. I did a mall run last week.”

“When are you putting your tree up?” Celeste asked.

“I don’t know.” Linda sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “Owen and I always go out in the woods to cut one. But we haven’t had a chance even to think about it this year.”

“Yeah,” Celeste said, stirring sugar into her coffee. “This business with Emily and her rape fantasy must be overwhelming.”

Linda stared at Celeste. “Owen told you?”

“Oh, shit.” Celeste flinched and grinned. “I wasn’t supposed to let you know.” She couldn’t hide the fact that she was very pleased that she and Owen had shared a secret.

“How long have you known?”

“Just since the bears. He’s tremendously upset, Linda.”

“We all are.”

“Yes, but … Linda, he
cried
. I haven’t seen Owen cry since he was a child.”

Linda shoved back her chair and rose. “I’ve got to get back to work. Take your time with your coffee.”

Celeste reached out her hand. “Don’t go. Let’s talk a bit, please. You must know I’m concerned. I want to help.” She grabbed Linda’s wrist. “Linda,
please
. You’re going to ruin Bruce’s life with this insane accusation.”

So angry that she could not trust herself to speak in a voice that did not shake with rage, Linda shook her hand free and left the room.

She assumed Celeste would leave then, and she waited at the top of the stairs to hear the kitchen door slam, but the sound did not come for a long time. Celeste was
enjoying her moment of triumph.

When, fifteen minutes later
, the door did slam, Linda hurried to look out the window. She watched Celeste climb into her old truck and drive away. Then she dialed Janet’s number, and as she dialed, she began to sob. With relief, because it would be such consolation at last to confide in her old best friend. With grief, because Owen had confided in Celeste.

An answering machine clicked on with a recorded message. Janet wasn’t home.

Owen didn’t return
until almost ten o’clock.

She was pacing the kitchen and when he entered, she could not wait for him to take off his coat.

“Celeste was here. You told her about Emily.”

Owen stared at her. “Don’t you want to know how the interview went?”

“No!” She was shouting. She meant to shout. “Because, you know what, I don’t
care
how the interview went! That doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as the fact that you went to another woman’s house for comfort.”

“I didn’t go there
for comfort
, Linda.”

“She told me you cried, Owen. You
cried
.”

“I need a drink.” He moved past her through the kitchen, dropping his coat and gloves on a chair, taking down a glass and the bottle of Scotch.

“Owen, you betrayed me.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“Melodramatic! You made me promise not to tell Janet about the most crucial incident in our entire lives, and then you told Celeste!”

“Well, come on, be honest. Didn’t you tell Janet?”

“Of course not! Not when I promised you I wouldn’t!”

Owen slugged back his drink. “Then I apologize. I was certain you would tell her. You tell her everything.”

“I do not tell her everything. And I don’t break my promises to you. I’m amazed that you believe that I do, that you think I take my vows to you so lightly.”

“Fine. You can tell her now.”

“That’s not the point! The point is that you lied to me! You sneaked off and shared our personal family matters with Celeste!”

Owen sighed and sank into a chair. “I did not ‘sneak off.’ I didn’t go over there with the intention of telling her. It just came out.” He looked at Linda. “And frankly, I’m glad I did talk it over with her. I need an ally, Linda, you’ve got to admit that.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’ve got Dr. Travis. You’ve got Dr. Travis, who believes Bruce’s guilty. Now I have Celeste, who believes—and very strongly, I might add—that Bruce is innocent.”

“Oh, I see,” Linda snapped, “so we’re going to line people up and take a vote?”

Owen rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know how we’re going to resolve this, Linda. I wish to God I did.”

Her anger was real and justified, but suddenly Linda understood how it also served as a screen, a wall of furious energy, protecting her from the pure pain around her. She sank into a chair across from her husband.

“How did the interview go?”

Owen looked away from her. “I don’t think it’s the right place for him.”

“You’re back later than I expected. I’ve got your dinner ready. I can heat it up in the microwave.”

“Thanks, but I’ve eaten. I took Bruce out to dinner tonight. I wanted to spend some time with him. Emily’s accusation … has him rattled. He’s pretty upset.”

Linda studied her husband’s face. Owen looked ill. “Did he say anything?”

“Not about Emily.”

“About …”

“He’s just nervous about college acceptances, that’s all.”

“Did something happen?”

Owen hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t. Not while you’re so down on him.”

“Owen, I’m not …” But she let the words disappear unspoken. She
was
down on Bruce. She said, “We’re really at war, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know … 
war
 … that seems a little strong.”

“We’re on different sides. We have to be. We have to admit it. We’re drawing lines. Keeping secrets. Distrusting each other.”

“And you’re going to leave me for Christmas.”

“I’m going to spend Christmas with my daughter. But we have to face the facts. Emily never wants to live here again. What does that mean for you and me?”

“Can Dr. Travis give us any idea how long Emily can keep this up? So we can have a kind of time frame to work with?”

“Wait a minute. I could ask how long do you think Bruce can keep up his lie.” Before Owen could respond, she continued. “You know what I think? I think Bruce will be able to keep up his lie forever, because he’s not losing anything. He’s not going to lose a house, a home, a bedroom, neighbors, horses, all that is familiar to him, all that is
home
. Emily on the other hand is losing all of that. No, let me correct myself: she already has lost all of that. Your son has taken it from her, along with her sense of self-worth, and her ability to respond to men, and her—”

“Jesus Christ, Linda,
get off the boy’s back
!” Owen rose and paced away from the table toward his study door. “I am sick of you riding the kid all the time. You’re wearing him down. You’re wearing
me
down. I’d like to remind you that he’s innocent until he’s proven guilty, and there is
no fucking way in the world
to prove that he’s guilty, and I don’t see why you don’t understand that! Accept it! Tell Emily to get on with her life! I’m sorry she’s got emotional problems, but I’m furious that she’s playing this ridiculous game.”