When Heaven Weeps (34 page)

The bus motored through the city, stopping every block to exchange riders with the street, and Helen took the ride staring blankly out the window. She couldn't afford to break down right here in front of strangers. It was only when she stepped off at Blaylock Street and started the one-block trek to the house that she started fighting misgivings again.

She plowed on, most definitely feeling like a fish out of water now. She had no business doing this. None at all. For one thing, Glenn
would
break her fingers despite his guarantee that she could go as she liked. For another, she had hit him. She had spat in his face.

Then Helen was there, standing in front of the door. She read the sign above:
In living we die; In dying we live
.
I am dying,
she thought. She stood swaying on her feet for a full minute before walking forward. She tapped lightly and then stepped back.

The door opened. Jan stood there, a white bandage around his head. He looked at her, dumbfounded, eyes growing. He was not speaking. It was a terrible moment, Helen thought. Her gut was twisting and her chest felt like it might explode. She wanted to turn around and run. She had no business being here. None at all! Her fingers trembled at her side.

“Helen?”

She spoke, but no words came. She meant to say, “Y
es,
” but only a breathy rasp came out.

“Oh, dear God!” He suddenly leaped into motion and waved her forward. “Come in! Come in!”

Helen hesitated and then stepped across the door's threshold, compelled by his hand. Her skin was burning. She hung her head and looked at the floor while he closed the door and locked it. From her peripheral vision she saw him hurry over to the window, pull the curtain aside, and peer outside. Satisfied, he quickly crossed the room, looked out another window and pulled the drape tight. Then he hurried back and stopped in front of her. She could hear his breathing, hear him swallow. She almost expected his hand to swing for her face. She'd already decided to expect some measure of displeasure. Some harsh words at the very least.

“Helen.” His voice wavered. “Helen.” His hand reached for her face. He touched her chin. Helen closed her eyes and lifted her head slowly, thinking that she should flee now, before it was too late. She opened her eyes.

The skin around his misted eyes wrinkled with grief. “Helen.” He lifted his other hand and took her face in both hands. Oh, the pain in those eyes! Tears slid down his cheeks as he held hers tenderly.

Then suddenly, without warning, his arms were around her neck, and he stepped forward, pulling her to him. He rested his hand behind her head. “Oh, thank you, Father! Oh, my dear, you are safe!” he sobbed. Her nose pressed into his shoulder and she stood there, stunned.

He swayed back and forth, heaving with sobs and blubbering about her coming home. He was not angry? Her mind screamed foul. It couldn't be! She should be punished! It was a trick—at any moment he would throw her against the wall and glare at her.

But he didn't. He just held her tight, lost in his own tears, and he told her that he loved her. He was moaning that now. That she was beautiful and that he loved her.

Helen lifted her hands and placed them slowly around his waist.

The sorrow and relief came like a flood, rising right through her chest and rushing out of her eyes. “I'm so sorry!” she cried. “I'm sorry, Jan.” She kept repeating that and she cinched her arms around his waist.

They held each other for a long time there on the entry tile.

Then they stepped back and her eyes widened at the sight of his shirt. “Oh, my goodness!” she said, lifting a hand to her lips. “You're bleeding!”

He wiped his eyes and looked at his white T-shirt, now stained with red streaks. “So I am.” Then he chuckled and spread his hands as if they were wet, still looking down. “I was just changing my bandages when you came.”

She didn't see the humor but she chuckled with him. It seemed to fuel his own humor and he started laughing. Then they were laughing together. Looking at his bloodstained shirt and laughing together, out of pure, sweet relief.

Helen looked at his face—at his dark skin wrinkled around laughing hazel eyes; his teeth white in his delight, his hair swept back to his collar—and she knew she did not deserve him. Not this wildly handsome man giddy with joy at her return. She swallowed a lump that had gathered in her throat.

She helped him into the bathroom where together they finished changing his bandages. She winced at seeing the cuts and felt tears coming again. They slipped down her cheeks like a cleansing oil and he let her cry softly.

They didn't talk about Glenn that night. They did not talk about what had happened or about what they would do. They each had their own problems, that much needed no voicing. Instead they talked about the fact that the pool needed to be cleaned, and about Ivena's roses, and about why Cadillacs were really no better than Fords, a subject about which both were undeniably clueless.

And they laughed. They laughed until Jan insisted that he would split a stitch if they didn't control themselves.

THE NEXT morning drifted by like a dream for Helen. She'd slept in the suite downstairs and risen to the smell of bacon. Ivena was busy over the stove, smiling and humming her song. That song she'd said was the priest's favorite. Ivena had placed three settings about the table.

“Hello, Ivena,” she said, coming up behind.

Ivena whirled around, incidentally flinging grease across the kitchen. “Helen! Oh, come here, child!” She waved her forward. “It is so good to have you home.”

Helen stepped forward, unable to suppress a wide grin. “Good to be home,” she said. They hugged each other and Helen helped by mixing up some orange juice. They ate breakfast together and laughed about things Helen could not remember, but they were certainly funny at the time.

She wandered about most of the morning, slowly disconnecting herself from the past, spending time with Jan and Ivena, pinching herself from time to time to make sure this was not some long hallucinogenic trip she'd taken. But it was not. It was all real. The rose Ivena had brought smelled like a real rose, the ice clinked in the afternoon stillness, the tea tasted sweet to her tongue, the leather furniture felt cool to the touch, and the light sparkled in Jan's hazel eyes whenever he looked at her, which was at every possible opportunity. In all respects it proved to be a perfect morning.

They ate lunch together, the three of them, suspended by an air of unbelief at being together. And Jan could not seem to keep his eyes from her. When she finally excused herself for a nap, a shadow passed across his face, as if it were a great disappointment. She was falling in love with him, she thought. Not just loving, but falling. She couldn't remember feeling so strongly for one man. It was a good emotion.

HELEN'S RETURN came like a breath of life to Jan. He thought of it as her homecoming, even though this was obviously not her home. Actually, it felt like it should be her home. He had spent the night in peaceful sleep, wondering at the effect this one woman had on him. She had gone back to Lutz, yes. And she had spit on Jan, but none of that seemed to bear any weight in his mind. Instead he found himself dizzy over her choice to return here. She had chosen to come back!

Helen was now in
his
house, wandering around on those bare feet, shy, yet curious, spreading an air of expectancy wherever she stepped. And he was wondering why he should be so lucky to have her in his house.
Father, Father, what are you doing? What on earth have you done with this meddling of yours?

They talked only once of Glenn Lutz, and then only in the context of the danger he might pose. Jan wanted to call for police protection, but Helen would still have none of it. Glenn would not be a problem, she insisted. She'd come to tears when Jan had pressed for her reasoning and left it at that. Poor Helen! Poor, poor dear! Ivena held her for a few minutes and brought comfort. It would be all right— the police already knew of the attack and not even Lutz would be so mad as to try a repeat. So Jan told himself. But he did check the window every hour just to be sure.

Thoughts of the movie deal came only sporadically. He had talked to Roald midday and the man seemed pleased with himself. Everything was back on track. Just get better, Jan. We miss you.

After lunch Helen excused herself to the apartment for a nap. Ivena announced that she too must leave for a few hours. Her flowers needed her touch. Jan found himself alone in the house, reading through parts of
The Dance of the Dead
, trying to guess what Helen thought as she read.

The doorbell suddenly echoed through the house, startling Jan. A salesman, perhaps. He set the book down, walked to the door, and pulled it open. Karen stood there. Karen! Dressed in a pure white blouse and a navy skirt, stunning and more beautiful than ever.

Jan felt his jaw drop and he barely had the presence of mind to close it before speaking. “Karen!”

“Hi, Jan. May I come in?”

Come in?
Jan glanced back into the house instinctively. “Are you okay? Is there a problem?” she asked.

“No. No, of course you can come in.” He stepped aside. “You just . . . I just . . . Come in, please.”

She held his eyes for a moment and then stepped past the threshold and into the living room. Jan closed the door. “Roald told me what happened. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, really.”

She reached up and touched the head wrap very gently. “How bad is it? Shouldn't you be lying down?”

“Just a surface wound. I'll be fine, really.”

“You sure?” She searched his eyes, genuinely caring, he thought.

“Yes. Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Yes, that would be nice
, she said, and her voice carried sweet and lovely and terrible to Jan. He cut straight for the kitchen and pulled out a glass.
Yes, that would be nice
. Four years of affection were carried by that voice. He poured her a drink of iced tea and returned to the living room.

“Here you are,” he said, handing the glass to her. They sat—he on his chair, she on the adjacent couch. Her brown hair rested on her shoulders, curling delicately around soft cheeks. Her eyes avoided him in the silence, but they were speaking already, saying that she wanted to make amends. That she was sorry for her outburst and that her life was miserable without him.

Then they were looking at each other, frozen in the heaviness.
She's thinking that I'm fixed by her beauty,
Jan thought.
She's thinking that I'm speechless because of my deep love for her.
Her perfume was musky and strong.

“Jan.” Her eyes were moist. “Jan, I'm sorry. I am so sorry.”

“No, Karen. No, it's I who should be sorry. I had no right. I don't know what to say—”

“Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips and smiled. “Not now. And just know that if my imagination went wild it was because of my love for you. I would never hurt you. I don't want to hurt you.”

Jan sat still, immobilized by her words. What had Roald told her? That Jan had sent Helen away? Yes, that's what he'd told her. Anything less and Karen would be demanding to know where Helen was. She was not a weak woman.

But he could see that she'd been deceived yet again. And she deserved far more. He had to tell her now. But the words were not flowing so easily.

“You were being mugged and here I was imagining that you were off with this woman.” She laughed. “I should've known you better—forgive me. You were in the hospital and I was off steaming like a silly schoolgirl.”

Roald had made the situation impossible. Now she was making it unbearable. And to make matters worse, Jan just smiled. He should have frowned and told her some things. Instead, he was sitting there smiling like a gimp.
Yuk, yuk, how silly of you, Karen.

“I called the studio and explained what happened to you. They extend their best wishes.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I . . . Thank you.”
Now, Jan! Now
. “Maybe you should tell that to Roald. I'm not sure he's so understanding.”

“Oh, I don't know. He's just concerned for you. The logical one, you know. For him it's a simple matter of mathematics. Deals like this come to the church only once every decade or so—you can't blame him for overreacting when something looks like it might interfere.”

“He threatened to withdraw his support,” Jan said.

“He did, did he? You see, he is overreacting. And maybe I had something to do with that. I think I convinced him that you had gone off the deep end with this woman.” She smiled apologetically. “It was plain silly.”

Now, Jan. You must tell her now!
“Yes, but it still concerns me. Am I supposed to think that every time Roald doesn't agree with something, he'll threaten to withhold his support?”

“No.”

“So then why would he make such a statement?”

“I'll talk to him about it.” She paused. “But he
was
faced with this nonsense that I fed him. You shouldn't be so hard on him.”

“Perhaps. But I don't see his right to threaten me. What if it were true? What if I had fallen for . . . well, for a woman like Helen, for example? Am I to assume that if I step over the wrong line I will be punished like a child?”

“No.” Karen had tightened slightly. Or maybe it was just his imagination. “No, you're right. Like I said, I'll talk to him.” She lifted her glass and let the liquid flow past her lips. She was lovely; he could not deny the fact. And she was a strong woman, though not strong enough to let his comment about Helen pass, hypothetical or not.

She spoke, smoothing her skirt, looking down. “It isn't true though, is it, Jan?”

“What isn't true?” he asked. He knew of course, and his heart was hammering in his chest.

“You're not in love with this woman.” She looked at him. “With this Helen.”