The Deep End (4 page)

“What is it?” she asked, wishing she could get that damn magazine out of her mind. “Is something wrong? Something the matter with the pool?” she questioned, though she knew instinctively that the pool was not the issue.

He shook his head. “No. I just thought that if Rogers was around, I’d speak to him for a few minutes. That’s not it,” he continued almost in the same breath. “That’s not why I’m home early. It’s not the pool. It’s me.”

“You? What’s wrong?” She felt herself begin to panic. “Have you been having pains in your chest?”

“No, no,” he quickly reassured her. “No, it’s nothing like that.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I have to talk to you,” he said finally.

Joanne sank into the blue well-stuffed chair at the foot of their bed. She nodded her readiness to listen. He looked at her with the same trepidation that she had seen in his face on that afternoon three years earlier when he had rushed home in the middle of the day to tell her that her father had suffered a heart attack and had been rushed to the hospital. She didn’t know what he was going to say. She knew only that she wasn’t going to like it.

L
ater that night, after her husband had packed some things in a small suitcase and left to spend the night in a hotel, Joanne ran the scene in her mind as Eve would have played it.

She pictured her friend in her place, leaning forward on the blue chair, her red hair falling in attractive waves down the sides of her slender face, her narrow chin resting on the palm of her hand. Now standing with his back to the window, Paul, unaware of the substitution, views Eve as if she were his wife, talks to her as if she were Joanne.

“What is it?” Joanne hears Eve’s image ask. But the tone of Eve’s voice is entirely her own, more casual, less fearful. Curious, almost challenging. “Something happen at work?”

Joanne laid her head back against her pillow and closed her eyes, watching the scene unfold with her best friend in her place, catching the hesitation in her husband’s eyes, feeling the twitch of his lips as they struggle to spit out the words. “I’ve been rehearsing this in my mind for weeks,” he says. “I thought I knew just how to say it …”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Paul,” Eve interrupts, impatience mixed with intrigue, “just say it.”

Paul turns back toward the window, unable to confront his wife directly. “I think we should separate,” he says finally.

“What?” Eve’s gasp carries traces of a laugh. She knows this is a joke, a prelude to an announcement that will undoubtedly please her.

Paul turns slowly back in her direction, his voice steadier, gaining confidence through repetition. “I think we should separate, live apart for a while …”

“All this because I refused to go skiing last winter?” Eve teases. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tad?”

“I’m serious, Joanne,” Paul tells her.

Eve sees that he is. Her back sinks into the softness of the blue chair. For an instant, but only an instant, her eyes cloud over with the hint of tears, and then, almost imperceptibly, her face changes, the set of her jaw hardens, and the clouds are gone, the would-be tears evaporate. Eve stares at Paul with cold, clear eyes, and when she finally speaks, her voice is hard, her words angry. “Do you mind telling me why?”

“I’m not sure that I can.”

“I think you’d better try.”

“I don’t know why,” Paul admits after a lengthy pause.

“You don’t know why,” Eve repeats, nodding as if she understands, which only serves to underline the absurdity of what Paul has just said. “You’re a lawyer, Paul,” she prods. “Come on, you’re usually so good with words. Surely you can think of something, some little reason that might help explain why you’d walk out on a marriage of almost twenty years, not to mention the two daughters of that marriage. I don’t think I’m making an unreasonable request.”

“Please, Joanne,” he urges, “don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.”

Eve is on her feet now, furiously pacing back and forth. “Yes—heaven forbid we make this any harder for you.” She bites off each word abruptly.

“Believe me,” he tries lamely, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because I’d be hurting you more if I stayed.”

The look on Eve’s face is a mixture of scorn and bewilderment. “How could you possibly be hurting me more if you stayed?” she demands, and when he says nothing, demands further, “How?” She stops her pacing, stands directly in front of him, carefully measuring out the force of her words. “Don’t think you’re doing this for me, Paul. You’re not doing this for me. At least be honest. The only person you are doing this for is yourself.”

“All right,” he admits, his own voice rising in anger for the first time. “I’m doing it for myself. Don’t I count for anything?”

“Not a whole lot,” Eve shoots back, seeking to wound, succeeding.

“I’m sorry. What else can I say?”

“You can tell me why,” Eve persists, unwilling to let him off the hook with a simple apology, no matter how sincere the delivery.

His face searches the room for answers, his ears catching the laughter of the outside workers around their intended swimming pool. “I’m just not happy,” he says finally. “I realize how trite that sounds …”

“But do you realize how trite it
is?”
Eve counters quickly. Thrust and parry. “Does this have anything to do
with Barry Kellerman?” (Barry Kellerman is one of Paul’s law partners. About a year ago, he walked out on his wife of eighteen years, leaving her with four small children under the age of ten. After eight months of dating a succession of adorable and adoring young women, he became engaged to a former Miss Erie County, who, at age twenty, is the same age as the first Mrs. Kellerman when he married her.)

Paul seems genuinely puzzled. “What has Barry Kellerman got to do with anything?”

“With the fact that maybe you’re jealous?” Eve offers. “With the fact that maybe you feel you’re missing something?”

“I’m not jealous,” Paul answers too quickly. Eve waits for him to continue. “I
do
feel I’m missing something,” he finally admits. “I’m forty-two years old, Joanne. We got married when I was still in school.”

“My parents helped to support us,” she reminds him.

“You were only the third girl I’d ever seriously dated.”

“You were my first,” she says, knowing it is unnecessary to add “and only.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted another man?” he demands suddenly, surprising her. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like with someone else?”

“You bet your sweet ass I have,” Eve retorts angrily. “Everyone has thoughts like those from time to time. But you don’t break up a marriage, you don’t walk out on two daughters who need their father, you don’t break up a family just because you’re ‘not happy’! Who promised you that you were always going to be happy?”

“I want more,” he offers weakly.

“You want
less!”
she corrects. “One less wife, two less children …”

“I’m still the girls’ father.”

“The way Barry Kellerman is still a father? Whenever it’s convenient to be one? Whenever he can sweep in with some expensive presents and a few shallow words of affection, and take his kids out for a couple of fun-filled hours before bringing them back to Mommy when they start getting on his nerves? He’s not the one who has to deal with the chaos he leaves behind after he’s gotten into his new sportscar and driven off to his new life! It’s Mommy who’s left to deal with all the anger and the confusion that his super little fatherly visits have created.”

“I am not Barry Kellerman!”

“Sorry,” Eve says quickly. “It’s rather hard at this moment for me to tell the difference.”

“I have never cheated on you, Joanne. Not in twenty years,” he tells her.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Eve asks. “When they serve me with my divorce papers, am I supposed to shrug and say, ‘well, at least he never cheated on me’?”

“I never said anything about a divorce.”

Eve stares at Joanne’s husband. “I must have missed something. What are we talking about?”

“We’re talking about a separation,” he explains. “Six months, maybe a year. We could still see each other … maybe go to a movie … have dinner …”

“You want to date?” Eve asks incredulously. “Is that what you’re saying?” He nods, his face reflecting optimism. “You want to go backward? You want me to start dating the man I’ve been married to for half a lifetime?” Eve’s confusion is genuine. For the first time during this confrontation, she is unsure of what to say. “I wouldn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t know who to be.”

“Just be yourself.”

“You don’t want
me!
”

“Please, Joanne, I’m just asking for a little time to think things through. I don’t want to rush into a divorce. I just need time to decide what it is I
do
want, whether or not I want to stay in law, whether or not I want to stay married … I just don’t know anymore. I need time to be alone, to be by myself. I’m hoping that in a few months I can see my way clear to making some concrete decisions, that maybe this separation will be good for us, that we’ll find a way to get back together.”

“People don’t separate to get back together. They separate to get divorced.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Paul, don’t be naive. You’ve seen what’s happened to other people. You saw what happened to Barry and Mona Kellerman. A separation takes on a life of its own. Then you’re not only dealing with whatever problems you started out with, you’ve also got the separation to contend with. If we have problems, then you have to stay and try to work them out. You have to start talking to me, telling me what’s bothering you instead of trying to insulate me all the time. My parents did that to me, and they were wrong. Because they spent their lives trying to protect me, and then all of a sudden they were gone, and now you’re doing the same thing, and it isn’t fair.”

“You’ll be fine,” Paul interjects quickly, feeling her growing panic transferring to him. He rushes to reassure them both. “You’re strong, stronger than you think. You’ll cope the way you always do—beautifully. In fact, you’ll probably start having the time of your life. I’ll have to wait in line …”

Eve’s voice goes suddenly flat. “Please don’t tell me how I’ll be.”

There is silence while each contemplates what is left to say.

“I thought I’d find an apartment close to the office,” Paul announces as a loud argument erupts outside between two of the workers. “You and the girls will stay put, of course. I’ll continue to pay for everything. Anything that you need or want, just let me know. There won’t be any problems about money, I promise you that.”

“Until you meet someone else,” she informs him caustically. “The world is full of women struggling with the ‘no money’ problems their ex-husbands have left them after they’ve gotten over their initial guilt.” She shakes her head. “Guilt is an amazing thing.” There is another long, uncomfortable pause while each waits for the other to speak. “Who will tell the girls?” Eve asks, hearing Robin arrive home.

“I will,” Paul concedes.

“When?”

“Whenever you like.”

“We’re doing what
you
like this afternoon,” she reminds him.

His voice is suddenly as cold as hers. “Now, then,” he says, hearing their daughter moving around in the kitchen directly underneath them.

“Lulu’s over at Susannah’s,” Eve tells him.

“Would you mind calling her for me?” he asks.

“You’re the one who wants to speak to her,” Eve replies flatly. “You call her.”

Paul nods.

This image remained as Joanne opened her eyes to stare into the darkness of the night-filled room.

None of it had happened that way.

She had said nothing. Nothing at all. She had simply sat there and listened as Paul tried to explain himself, tripping over his confusion, apologizing, trying to force some sense into his words. She hadn’t opened her mouth, hadn’t moved except to swipe at unwanted tears. She had sat immobile, unable to look into his eyes. She had made no protest, launched no soft-spoken appeal or blistering counterattack. She had simply listened, and in the end, she had phoned Lulu at Susannah’s house as Paul had requested and asked her to come home. She had remained in their room while Paul had repeated to their two children his intention to leave home, and when they had reacted later, after he had gone, their anger had been directed at her, not at the man who had left, just as she had known it would be.

“It’s not my fault,” she had wanted to tell them, but she didn’t, feeling somehow that it was.

Joanne pulled herself out of bed, feeling smothered by the empty space beside her. She stood by the window and stared down into her backyard, the blackness of the starless night mercifully hiding the empty pit the workers had left her. She shifted in the direction of Eve’s house next door, the lights surrounding Eve’s patio bright and accusing. Pulling the curtains tightly closed, she picked up the telephone and dialed, hanging up when Eve failed to answer after eight rings. It was late, she realized, remembering that Eve had told her that she and Brian were attending some police function that night. She wondered what time they would be home, saw by the clock on the bedside table that it was almost midnight already.

Lulu was asleep, or at least she had pretended to be asleep when Joanne looked in on her earlier. Robin was at a party.

Moving like an automaton, Joanne crawled back under the covers of the king-size bed she and Paul had purchased shortly after moving to this house some twelve years ago, after almost eight years of sleeping on a mattress on the floor in their older, smaller home in Roslyn. Up the ladder of success, she thought, feeling her life reduced to an unpleasant statistic.

Her parents had lied to her, she thought, trying not to see their faces behind her closed lids. They had promised knowledge and stability with the coming of age, if not in so many words, then by their very presence as adults. She would grow up, their smiles had silently promised, and the world would be hers. She would have control over her actions, over her fate. She would make decisions; she would vote; she would be secure in a world that was fixed and permanent.