Bittersweet (16 page)

They waited until the kids came in, talking about nothing in particular, and Doug put the TV on. And when Jessica came home, they turned off the lights and went to bed. India took a shower, assuming he would want to make love to her, and when she came out in a nightgown she knew he liked, she found he was sleeping. He was sound asleep, snoring softly, with his face buried in the pillow. And as she looked at him, feeling
lonely again, she realized it was an appropriate end to the evening. And it made a statement about their life together that nothing else could have.

She slipped into bed quietly, without disturbing him, and it took her a long time to fall asleep that night, as she cried softly in the moonlight, and wished that she were anywhere but here, beside her husband.

D
OUG AND
India spent the day on the beach the next day. The kids and their friends came and went, and that night Doug took them all out to dinner. They had dinner at a funny old steak house where they went every year, usually on special occasions. And they all enjoyed it.

And afterward, when they came home, Doug made love to her finally. But even that seemed different now. It seemed businesslike to her somehow, as though he didn't care if she enjoyed it. He just wanted to get it over with, and when she turned to tell him she loved him afterward, she could hear him snoring. It had definitely not been a stellar weekend for them.

And the next morning, after the children left, he turned to her with an odd expression.

“Is something wrong, India?” he asked her pointedly as she poured him a second cup of coffee. “You've been acting funny ever since I got here.” She hadn't sounded like herself on the phone before that, either.

And as she looked at him, she wasn't sure how much to tell him or what to say. “I don't know. I have some things on my mind. I'm not sure if this is the right time to discuss them.” She had already decided not to broach the subject of her work with him again, until he came up to join them for his vacation. She didn't want to just drop a bomb on him, and then have him drive right back to Westport. They were going to need some time to talk it over, and she knew that.

“What's bothering you? Something about the kids? Is Jess giving you trouble again?” She had been kind of snappy to her mother that winter. It was hard to believe, even for him, that there was more to life than children.

“No, she's been fine. She's been a big help, actually. They all have. It's not about them, it's about me. I've just been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Then spit it out,” he said impatiently, watching her. “You know I hate it when you do this. What's the big mystery? You're not having an affair with Dick Parker, are you?” He was only kidding. He couldn't even conceive of India cheating on him. And he was right. She wouldn't. He trusted her completely. And the fact that she found Paul Ward attractive was something he would never know, and something she didn't need to tell him. She knew her attraction to him was irrelevant and would go no further.

“I've just been thinking a lot about my life, and what I want to do now.”

“What in hell does that mean? Are you planning to climb Everest, or cross the North Pole in a dogsled?” He said it as though it were inconceivable that she would ever do anything worthwhile or exciting. And for
the past fourteen years at least, he'd been right, she hadn't. Except bring up his children. She had become exactly what he expected her to be, “someone he could rely on to take care of the children.”

She decided to cut to the chase then. “You kind of threw me when we talked before we came up here. That night at Ma Petite Amie. I somehow never thought of myself as just a ‘companion, and someone you could rely on to take care of the children.’ Somehow my illusions about us were a little more romantic.” It hurt to even admit it to him, but that was what had started it all, that and the fact that he was adamant about her not working, and refused to understand her feelings about it, or even hear them. But in spite of that, she found it hard to say it to him.

“Oh, for chrissake, India. Don't be so sensitive. You know what I meant. I was just trying to say that after seventeen years of marriage, or fifteen, or probably even ten, you can't expect a lot of romance.”

“Why not?” She looked at him squarely, and felt as though she were seeing him for the first time. “Why can't you have some romance after seventeen years? Is it too much trouble?”

“That stuff is for kids, and you know it. It goes away after a while. It's bound to. You get busy working and supporting a family and catching the six o'clock train to come home at night and when you do, you're dead tired and you don't even want to talk to anyone, let alone your wife. How romantic is that? You tell me.”

“Not very. But I'm not talking about being tired, Doug. I'm talking about feelings. About loving someone and making them feel loved. I'm not even sure anymore
if you love me.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it, and he looked uncomfortable and more than a little startled.

“You know I do. That's a ridiculous thing to say. What do you expect me to do? Bring you flowers every night?” He looked irritated by what she was saying.

“No. But once a year would be nice. I can't even remember the last time you did that.”

“Last year on our anniversary. I brought you roses.”

“Yeah, and you didn't even take me out to dinner. You said we could do that next year.”

“I took you out to dinner a few weeks ago, at Ma Petite Amie, that's what started all this. It doesn't sound like such a great idea to me if this is what it leads to.”

“I'm just looking at my life, and wondering what I gave up my career for. I know I gave it up for my kids. But did I give it up for a man who loves me and appreciates what I did?” It was an honest question, and now she wanted an honest answer from him.

“Is that what this is about? You working again? I already told you that's impossible. Who's going to take care of the kids if you go back to work? It doesn't even make sense for us financially. We'd spend more than you'd make on a housekeeper, who probably wouldn't even take decent care of them. As I recall, India, your work brought in a few prizes, and practically no money. So what kind of career is that? It's a career for a kid fresh out of the Peace Corps, with no responsibilities and no reason to find a real job. Well, you have a real job now, taking care of our children. And if that's not glamorous enough for you, and you think you need to start running halfway around the world again, you'd
better take a good look at what you're doing. We made a deal when you came back to New York. We'd get married and you'd work until you had kids, and then it was all over. It was nice and clear, and you didn't seem to have any problem with it, and now, fourteen years later, you want to switch the deal on me. Well, you know what? You just can't do it.” He looked as though he were about to storm out of the room, but she wouldn't let him. Suddenly her eyes were blazing. He had no right to do this to her. And he had never even told her that he really loved her. He had diverted the subject completely.

“What right do you have to tell me what I can and can't do? This is my decision too. And I lived by our ‘deal’ as best I could. I did it fairly, and gave you plenty of value for your money, mister. But I'm not happy with it now. I feel as though I gave up too much, and you don't even give a damn about it. To you, it was just some kind of insignificant hobby you think I was pursuing. At least that's what you say and what you act like. If I'd stayed in it, I probably would have won a Pulitzer by now. That's no small deal, Doug. It's a big deal, and
that's
what I gave up to clean up after our children.”

“If that was what you really wanted, then you should have stayed wherever the hell you were, Zimbabwe or Kenya or Kalamazoo, and not come back to marry me and have four children.”

“I could do both if you'd let me.”

“I never will. And you'd better get that loud and clear now. Because I'm not going to keep having this discussion with you. Your career, such as it was, with or
without a goddamn Pulitzer, is
over
, India. Do you get that?”

“Maybe it's not my career that's over. Maybe something else is,” she said bravely. There were tears running down her face, and she was choking back sobs, but Doug wasn't budging a millimeter from his position. He didn't have to. He had a career and a life, and a family, and a wife to take care of his children. He had it all exactly the way he wanted. But what did she have?

“Are you threatening me?” he asked, looking even more furious. “I don't know who's putting these ideas into your head, India—if it's that fruitcake agent of yours, Raoul, or Gail with her whoring around, or even Jenny up here playing doctor—but whoever it is, you can tell them to forget it. As far as I'm concerned, our marriage rests on your holding up your end of the bargain. This is a deal-breaker for me.”

“Z am not your business, Doug. I am not a deal you're making with a client. I'm a human being, and I'm telling you that you're starving me emotionally, and I'm going to go crazy if I don't do more with my life than just drive Sam and Aimee and Jason to school every morning. There's more to life than just sitting on my ass in Westport, dying of boredom and waiting to serve you dinner.” She was sobbing as she said it, but he appeared to be entirely unmoved by it. All he felt was anger.

“You were never bored before. What the hell has happened to you?”

“I've grown up. The kids don't need me as much anymore. You have a life. And I need one too. I need
more than I have right now. I'm lonely. I'm bored. I'm beginning to feel as though I'm wasting my life. I want to do something intelligent for a change, other than waiting to be of service. I need more than that. I put my own needs aside for fourteen years. Now I need just a little something more to keep me going. Is that so much to ask?”

“I don't understand what you're saying. This is crazy.”

“No, it isn't,” she said desperately. “But I will be if you don't start to hear me.”

“I hear you. I just don't like what I'm hearing. India, you're really barking up the wrong tree here.” It was rare for them to fight, but she was completely overwrought now, and he was livid. He was not going to give an inch on this subject, and she knew it. It was hopeless.

“Why won't you at least try to let me do a couple of assignments? Maybe it would work out. At least give it a chance.”

“Why? I already know what it would be like. I remember what it was like before we were married. You were always up a tree somewhere, using field telephones and dodging snipers. Is that really what you want to do again, for chrissake? Don't you think your children at least have a right to their mother? Just how selfish are you?”

“Maybe half as selfish as you are. What kind of mother are they going to have if I have no self-esteem and I'm pissed off all the time because I'm so goddamn bored and lonely?”

“If that's what you want, India, then find a new husband.”

“Do you really mean that?” She was looking at him in utter amazement, wondering if he would dare to go that far. But he might. He seemed to feel just that strongly about it. But her question, and the look in her eyes when she asked it, sobered him a little.

“I don't know. I might. I need to think about it. If this is really what you want, if you're willing to push it this far, then maybe we both need to rethink our marriage.”

“I can't believe you'd sacrifice us just because you're not willing to compromise, and think about my feelings for a change. I've done it your way for a hell of a long time. Maybe it's time to try mine now.”

“You're not even thinking of the children.”

“I am. And I have for a long time. But maybe now it's my turn.”

She had never said anything even remotely like that to him. And he certainly wasn't going to tell her now that he loved her. In fact, as he listened to her, he was almost sure he didn't. How could he? She was violating the deal she'd made with him, sacrificing their children, as far as he was concerned, and jeopardizing their marriage. As far as Doug was concerned, there wasn't much to love there.

And she was desperate to make one last stab at making him understand her. “Doug, what I did wasn't just a job. It was kind of an art form. It was a part of me. It's how I express myself, what's in my mind, my heart, my soul. It's why I never stopped carrying my camera. I
need it to let a kind of light shine through me. What you see with your eyes, I see with my heart. I've given that up for a long time. Now I just want a little piece of it back again, like part of me I gave up, and just found I miss too much. Maybe I need that to be who I am. I don't know. I don't understand it myself, I just know that all of a sudden I realize it's important to me.” But she also realized it wasn't to him. That was the bottom line for her husband. He just couldn't understand what she was saying. He didn't get it. And he didn't want to.

“You should have thought of all that seventeen years ago when you married me. You had the choice then. I thought you made the right one, and so did you. If you don't feel that way now, then we have to face it.”

“All we need to face is that I need a little more in my life. Some air, some breathing room, a way to express myself and be me again … a way to feel that I matter in the world too, and not just you. And even more important than that, I need to know you love me.”

“I'm not going to love you, India, if you pull this kind of bullshit on me. And that's all it is, as far as I'm concerned. A load of bullshit. You're being a spoiled brat, and you're letting me and our kids down.”

“I'm sorry you can't hear what I'm saying,” she said, crying softly, and with that, he left the room, without saying a word to her, or reaching out to touch her or take her in his arms, or tell her he loved her. At that moment, he just didn't. And he was too angry to listen to her for another minute. Instead, he walked into their bedroom and packed his suitcase.

“What are you doing?” she asked when she saw what he was doing.

“I'm going back to Westport. And I'm not coming up next weekend. I don't need to drive for six hours in order to listen to you rant and rave about your ‘career.’ I think we need a breather from each other.” She didn't disagree with him, but she felt abandoned by him when she saw what he was doing.