“I still don’t understand why I shouldn’t …”
“Because he’s the husband of the woman your husband ran off with. That’s just for starters. On a more practical note, think of the effect it might have on your children. Think about the fact that this is a small town and people will talk, especially about something as juicy as this, so you better think about your professional reputation and your career. But mostly think about your settlement, which is a good one and which you could blow right through the roof if you do something to make
Gary really angry before we get it signed, sealed, and delivered.”
“Why would my seeing Marc make Gary angry?”
“Think about it, Lynn. Take a few days—a few months—and think about it. The territorial imperative, or whatever it’s called. If the situations were reversed, how do you think you’d feel? At the very least, Gary might suspect your motives. And he’d be right.” Lynn opened her mouth to object, but Renee ignored her. “Lynn, Marc Cameron is hurt. He’s confused. Frankly, he sounds like a kook. What man in his position actually picks up a phone and calls the wife of the man his wife ran off with?
Why
does he want to see you again? Think about it. He’s been screwed. And what better fantasy fulfillment than to get back at the man who screwed him by quite literally screwing that man’s wife? Lynn,” she said, lowering her voice and taking a deep breath, “he’s a very angry man. He may not even realize on a conscious level what he’s doing. He may not be deliberately setting out to hurt you, but what difference does it make if he hurts you nonetheless? Do you need this?”
“You don’t think that there’s an outside chance that Marc … that this man just finds me attractive?”
“I think there’s
every
chance that he finds you attractive. Why wouldn’t he? You’re a lovely, bright woman, and he’d have to be blind not to find you attractive. But, Lynn,
you
don’t really have anything to do with this.” Renee pushed her chair back, then walked around to Lynn’s side of the desk. Lynn thought in that moment how pretty her lawyer would be if only she’d lose a few pounds. “Lynn,” Renee began, not allowing Lynn’s eyes to wander from her own, “one day you’ll
meet a man who will find you attractive for all the right reasons. But not this one.” Renee Bower carefully studied her client’s clear gray eyes. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” There was an equal mixture of incredulity and resignation in Renee’s voice.
“I don’t know,” Lynn replied honestly after a silence.
“Can you at least wait to see him again until after we get the separation agreement signed?”
“I’ll try.”
“Try hard.” Renee paused and Lynn realized that she wasn’t quite off the hook yet.
“What?” Lynn asked.
“I think you should talk to someone.”
“Someone? What do you mean?”
“Someone professional.”
“I am talking to someone professional. I’m talking to you.”
“To a psychiatrist,” Renee said plainly. “And don’t tell me I’m overreacting,” she continued, just as Lynn was about to. “Lynn, you’ve handled this whole divorce thing up to now very well, maybe even too well. There are a lot of pent-up emotions in you. What harm could it do to talk everything over with someone?”
“Your husband needs the business, does he?”
“My concern at the moment is not with Philip. He’s doing very well, thank you. How about someone in your own office?”
“Don’t you have to get to the airport?” Lynn asked, then checked her watch. Renee Bower did the same, understanding the subject was closed.
“Jesus, yes, I better run.” She didn’t move.
“Is something wrong?”
Renee threw her hands up in the air. “What the hell. You don’t have the corner on craziness. My sister tried to kill herself last night.”
“What? Oh my God!”
“Yes, that’s what I said.” For several moments, Renee stood absolutely still. “Kathryn always did know how to get my attention.”
R
enee studied the disembarking passengers as they pushed through the swinging doors into the arrival area at the Fort Lauderdale airport, wondering if Kathryn would be among them. The woman who called last night—Renee still couldn’t remember her name—had promised to drive Kathryn to the airport and make sure she got on the plane, but what could she have done had Kathryn simply refused to go?
Renee followed the slow gait of a middle-aged man as he greeted his anxious-looking wife with a distracted hug, and found herself smiling as a teenage girl flew into the arms of her eager grandparents. Renee liked watching people, guessing the nature of their relationships. She projected that the distracted middle-aged man was returning from a convention in New York, to which he’d also brought his girlfriend, the woman who had marched through the swinging doors just ahead of him and never once bothered to look back. Now the man was smiling wanly at his wife who was peppering him with questions about his trip, as eager as her husband to maintain the charade of their marriage. Renee wondered how long it
would be before they ended up in an office like hers, possibly even across her desk. Would she recognize them if they did?
As for the teenage girl giggling inside the protective grasp of her grandparents, Renee surmised that she was the product of a broken home. Her grandparents, probably on her father’s side, hadn’t seen her in several years. Her mother had finally given her reluctant consent to the reunion, and the girl and her grandparents were almost beside themselves with joy.
Renee realized she was staring and looked away, thinking that Philip was probably right when he said that her profession was starting to color her attitude to life. When he first made this observation, Renee had been defensive, even hurt. “Isn’t yours?” she had asked, peevishly.
But maybe he was right, Renee thought now. It was true that in her world everyone was either on the verge of or recovering from a divorce. Even in her fantasies, she thought, watching the middle-aged couple push past the teenager and her grandparents and disappear down the hall. Why couldn’t life be simple? Why couldn’t we all just live happily ever after, the way the storybooks promised? Who needed reality when reality was usually so damned unpleasant?
Not my reality, she assured herself quickly. I married the handsome prince. I’m living my fantasy. Give or take a few pounds.
Three more people burst through the doors into the arrival area, two women and a young, sulky-looking boy, not more than ten years old. Sisters, Renee quickly deduced. One never married, the other newly separated, bringing her reluctant son to Florida for a brief holiday
before the custody battles began. Possibly a bribe. “See, sweetie, isn’t Florida beautiful? Stay with Mommy and we’ll take lots of trips like this.” Renee turned away. Philip was definitely right.
She wondered what Philip was doing. He had told her this morning that he would try to accompany her to the airport, that she should phone when she was ready to leave. But when she called, his secretary informed her, in clipped British vowels, that Dr. Bower was tied up with a patient and could she please call back in five minutes. Renee had waited, called again, been given the same message, and then waited until she would be late for her sister’s plane if she waited any longer, dialing her husband’s number one final time only to find it busy. Then she left. She was almost twenty minutes late getting to the airport, but luckily so was Kathryn’s flight. Renee looked at the row of telephones against the far wall and thought of calling Philip yet again, hoping he wouldn’t be angry that she hadn’t waited. It occurred to her briefly that it was she who had reason to be angry, but she quickly dismissed this thought from her mind.
Renee looked back at the swinging doors and saw a woman several years older and several inches taller than herself step through them and stop. The woman was very pale, the color and consistency of skim milk. Her thin blonde hair hung lifelessly around the sides of her hollow face. This woman has suffered a recent tragedy, Renee thought, walking closer. She’s been married for almost two decades to a man she loved very much, a man who recently abandoned her, not through divorce but through death. She has no children (having suffered at least three miscarriages), no career (her husband having been her
career) and now, as she can see it, no reason for living. And so, last night, she telephoned her sister and a few friends to say goodbye—her friends assumed she was going to Florida to visit her sister; her sister assumed she could call her in the morning—and then she settled inside a nice hot bath and calmly slit her wrists. Her friends found her at just before midnight and rushed her to the hospital where she was bandaged, scolded, and released. The wounds weren’t very deep, the doctor told her matter-of-factly. He said she was depressed, and prescribed Valium and sent her home.
Renee studied the bandages on the woman’s slender wrists and fought the sudden urge to throw up.
“Kathryn,” she said softly, and drew her older sister gently into her arms.
Renee felt as if she were hugging an apparition. There was no weight to the person she held in her arms. There was no substance. Kathryn pulled back slowly and looked deeply into her sister’s frightened face. Renee said nothing, watching as tears formed in her sister’s still startling green eyes, realizing that she was crying as well.
“You’re so thin,” Renee said, her voice breaking as her sister tried to smile, a tear curling around her upper lip and disappearing into her mouth. “How was your flight?” she asked, not wanting to probe too deep too fast.
“We ran into some turbulence,” Kathryn whispered, obviously an effort to speak. “I’m still a little shaky.”
“You’ll lie down as soon as we get home.” Renee took Kathryn by the elbow, hoping to maneuver her toward the baggage claim area, but Kathryn’s body refused to move. Her eyes stared blankly at some vague point in the distance.
Renee studied her sister’s delicate face, not sure how to proceed. Kathryn’s green eyes were still her best, most prominent feature, although they were temporarily rimmed with red, and her high cheekbones were still model-perfect, all the more pronounced because of her obvious weight loss. But even without any makeup, even in her distracted state, Kathryn was undeniably beautiful. Arnie’s death had been a terrible shock. Again, Renee’s eyes traveled the length of her sister’s frail arms to her gauze-covered wrists. Why? she wanted to ask, but said only, “Kathryn, we have to get your luggage.” Then transferring her own queasiness to her sister: “Are you all right? Are you going to be sick?”
Kathryn’s eyes focused on Renee with an intensity that caused Renee to pull back, bring her arm to her side. “You didn’t tell Mom and Dad, did you?”
Renee shook her head. “No. I thought you could call them later …”
“No!”
“After you’re settled.”
“No!”
“Just to let them know you’re here.”
“I don’t want them to know I’m here. I don’t want them to know what happened.”
“Kathryn, they’re our parents.”
“Please.” Kathryn’s voice was verging on hysteria. Renee noticed several people in the vicinity turn in their direction.
“Okay. Okay,” Renee agreed. “Whatever you want.”
“I don’t want them to know. You know how upset Mother will be. You know how it will disappoint Daddy.”
Renee nodded, guiding her sister to the baggage area, thinking that their mother would be upset only so far as
Kathryn’s attempted suicide might upset their father, and that their father’s disappointment would be summed up in a silent stare, as if he’d known all along it would come to this, as if her depression was a personal affront, as if … as if … That silent stare had spoken volumes throughout their childhood. It projected disappointment of almost biblical proportions. Renee understood Kathryn’s reluctance to confront it even as she understood that Kathryn would have to confront it sooner or later.
“What color is your suitcase?” Renee asked, watching the luggage as it paraded past her on the turnstile.
Kathryn looked perplexed, then blank. “I can’t remember,” she said finally. “I didn’t pack. Marsha packed everything. She’s the one who phoned you, the one who took me to the airport. I don’t remember what color my suitcase is,” Kathryn said again, bringing her bandaged wrists in front of her eyes to hide the tears.
“It’s all right. We’ll find it.”
Kathryn wiped at her eyes. “The doctor wasn’t very impressed with my wounds,” she said, almost casually. “He said he didn’t think I really wanted to die.”
“Thank God for that.” Renee took her eyes off her sister only long enough to scan the bags that were tumbling onto the moving ramp. “Is that it?” Renee directed her sister toward an old navy-and-brown canvas suitcase that looked vaguely familiar. “Kathryn, is that your suitcase?” she asked again, before reaching over and pulling it off the ramp. She checked the name. Kathryn Metcalfe Wright, the tag read. “Are there any more? Do you remember how many suitcases your friend packed?”
Kathryn shook her head. “I think just one.”
Renee half carried, half rolled the heavy bag out of the terminal, her other arm tightly wrapped around her sister’s waist. Reaching her white Mercedes—a gift from Philip on their last anniversary—she threw the bag into the trunk and led Kathryn to the passenger door. “Get in,” she said gently.
Renee pulled the car out of the airport terminal and onto the road leading to I-95. She patted the top of her sister’s hand gently, as if she were touching a fragile piece of china, and watched as her sister’s eyes closed. A few minutes later, she heard Kathryn’s soft, steady breathing and was relieved to discover that she had fallen asleep.
“Hello? Is anybody home?” Renee called as she guided her sister into the mirrored foyer of her condominium. She saw Kathryn wince at the sight of her own reflection, and quickly ushered her sister down the hall into the living room. The ocean sprang into immediate view. “I guess Debbie went to the beach,” Renee said, seating her sister on the white sofa facing the floor-to-ceiling window, hoping her voice didn’t betray the relief she felt at finding the apartment empty.
“This was a terrible time to do this to you,” Kathryn said.