Death Kit (29 page)

The door opens again, to admit just the head of one of the nurses. “Visiting hours are over. Come back tomorrow.” Diddy stepped over to the bed, brought Hester's right hand to his lips, said a husky good night to Mrs. Nayburn, and stepped rapidly into the hallway corridor.

Once out in the street, Diddy looks at his watch. Five minutes after eight. He's missed most of the cocktail party from seven to nine o'clock at the Green Room of the Congress Hotel: biggest hotel in the city and four blocks from the Rushland. But has (now) really no excuse for not turning up at the company's banquet to celebrate the end of the conference. Nine o'clock in the Terrace Room of the Congress. No point in offending Reager and Watkins, with whom he'll have to spend tomorrow morning doing the television program. Diddy gets in a cab, returns to the Rushland, shaves again and changes his suit, and arrives at the Congress a few minutes before the hour.

Pretending not to notice Jim, signaling him from one of the long tables that he's saved Diddy a seat. Diddy finds a seat near some men in the production department whom he scarcely knows, and managed to eat most of his dinner without speaking either to his neighbor on the right or to his neighbor on the left. Diddy, hungry, entertains the fantasy that he's eating for Hester, who's probably on liquid nourishment; as well as for himself. He'll be strong for both of them tonight.

*   *   *

Saturday noon, after “Your Community,” Diddy is outside the two-story building that houses Channel 10. Shaking hands with Watkins, Reager, and the others. Receiving their compliments on his performance at the conference, particularly his contributions during the early sessions. And their wishes for a pleasant trip back to New York. Diddy forces himself to be silent.

“Taking the plane or a train, Harron?” asks Watkins.

“Train.”

“Take the Privateer,” said Reager. “That's the crack train between here and New York. No train does that trip as fast. It leaves here at two-forty, so you should have plenty of time to make it.”

“I know the train,” said Diddy. Feeling bold. “I came up on it.”

The temptation to talk about the events at the beginning of the week has subsided. It's not the story of Incardona which swells up in Diddy's throat, rises, then thrusts itself behind his teeth. Pushing to come out. The words that want to spill through Diddy's mouth (now) concern the future. We all look rather genial this morning. Diddy feels his soul is lacquered with milk. It would be a pleasure to tell his bosses and colleagues what he really intends.

Don't. What use would that be?

Diddy returns to the Rushland, and first stops off at the desk. Instructs the clerk to prepare his bill. Then he goes up to his room, and packs his suitcase.

Of course, he's not going to the station to catch the Privateer. Is he insane? No. Diddy carries his suitcase downstairs, pays his bill, goes outside the hotel, and has a cab hailed. Once inside, he tells the driver to drive to the Warren Institute. “What I really mean is around the Institute.” Asks if he can recommend a decent hotel in that neighborhood.

“I'd try the Canada,” says the driver. “Unless you're looking for something real cheap.”

Fine, says Diddy. Let's go.

Passing Monroe Park, high afternoon, Saturday, November (now), the day after a rain. Yesterday's rain and wind have practically swept the remaining autumn leaves from the trees.

Single with shower and bath?

In less than an hour Diddy unpacked and installed. One bed, and a larger room than he had at the Rushland. Pleasanter, too, than the other hotel, because (now) he's out of the center of town. From his window, a good view of the park. And beyond the park, Diddy can see two towers of cream-colored stone, the principal buildings of the Warren Institute.

Two-thirty. Diddy calls the hospital, is told he can visit Hester briefly around six o'clock. Time for a two-hour nap. Leaving time enough to accomplish one more piece of business. At five-fifteen Diddy sits at the small glass-topped desk opposite the foot of his bed; writes another letter to Duva, requesting a sick leave. During the week of the conference, Diddy explains, he has undergone a series of tests at the Warren Institute to try to learn more about his old virus infection which had laid him low again just a month ago. This morning has gotten the reports on the tests; and the doctors have prescribed a course of treatment to effect a permanent cure of the recurring infection, for which approximately ten days' hospitalization is required. Diddy will need to remain upstate for at least another two weeks.

Downstairs. Diddy buys a stamp from a machine and puts the letter in the mailbox in the lobby. Has a sandwich at the drugstore on the corner. Walks across the park. The sun has already set, and the park is practically empty. Notices two little girls, about eight and ten, on the swings. Bright, strong, fleshy, seeing children such as he and Hester will have one day.

As he enters Hester's room, Mrs. Nayburn starts up awkwardly. “Be back in a few minutes, lovey.” And darts out of the room.

Diddy standing near Hester's bed, ill at ease. “How are you?”

“Stronger.” She's propped up again on the pillows.

Good.

He sits next to the bed, in the chair which the aunt has just hastily vacated; still warm from her body. Hester doesn't say anything more. Nor, when Diddy takes her hand, does her flesh seem very alive. He fears she's angry with him for Mrs. Nayburn's departure. “Darling, I'm sorry for what happened now. Sorry, I mean, if it's upset you. Or if I've made your aunt unhappy.”

Hester turns toward Diddy. The thick white bandages cover so much more of her face than the dark glasses did. He's vaguely alarmed that (now) he can't read her expression at all.

“But you do understand how I feel, don't you?” Diddy continues. “I'm so eager for us to be alone.”

“I'm afraid we'll be too much alone when we live together. You may hate that.”

“Never,” Diddy says ardently. “Try me.”

“I will,” said the girl, “try.”

“That's all I ask.”

“But you must remember that I warned you.”

“I promise to remember.” Diddy wanted to hold her, but she looked so thin and fragile. He senses something wrong. A different sadness from yesterday. “What's the matter, darling?”

“Did you come to say goodbye?”

Diddy laughed joyously. “No! No! What are you talking about?”

“Aren't you going back to New York now? Isn't the conference over?”

“Sure, the conference is over. The last thing I had to do was this morning. But that doesn't mean I'm going. You don't know me, Hester. I'm staying right here. So I can see you every day. In fact, I've moved out of my hotel downtown this afternoon and taken a room nearby. I can even see the hospital buildings from my window.”

“How long can you stay on?”

“I'm staying until you leave. Until you leave this room and go down that elevator, and we walk out of here together. Which reminds me. After they kick me out of here this afternoon, I want to go and find your doctor and see how long he wants you to remain in the hospital. Has anyone given you a date yet?”

“Two or three weeks, Dr. Collins said.”

“Good. Then, after you're discharged, whenever you feel strong enough to travel, we'll go back to New York.”

“But how can you stay up here?” Hester exclaims plaintively. It sounded like tears, filling those poor wounded eyes behind the thick bandages. “You'll lose your job, Dalton.”

“Leave it to me,” said Diddy soothingly. “I've thought of a good excuse already. After eleven years, I'm not going to be fired for taking a couple of weeks' leave of absence.”

“But then, when we get to New York, you'll go back to your job? Right?”

“Honestly, I don't know.” Which is the truth. Already, Diddy not sure he ever intends to return to Watkins & Company. The prospect of leaving Hester alone in the apartment each day while he goes to an office seems unthinkable. Her physical safety, for one thing. And Diddy's sheer possessiveness, and incipient jealousy of the whole world. No, don't underestimate that.

Not having any private income, he will need to work to support them both. There must be some job he could do at home. But all that can be settled later. No need to rush to a decision. While he and Hester get settled in New York, he may need his old job. Hence, his letter of this afternoon. This decision is the decision to stall.

“You've never lived in New York, have you?”

The girl shook her head.

“You might not like it. The air is filthy, strangers are rude, even nasty, there's a lot of noise. But the city may please you or interest you anyway. And if it doesn't, we'll move elsewhere. To another city, or to a small town. Or out of the country altogether.”

“Can you do that? Are you rich?”

“No,” said Diddy. “But I can always manage. When I want to be, I'm a very practical guy.”

Knocking on the door. And the aunt's voice, asking querulously if she should come in (now). “One more minute, Mrs. Nayburn.”

“Dalton, you shouldn't do that. Let her in.” But this time Hester was smiling slightly.

Diddy took heart. “Darling, I will. But you must promise to urge your aunt to go home within a few days. I want to be the one to take care of you, understand. I've already told Mrs. Nayburn that I would contribute as much as I could to your hospital bills. I wish I could pay for the whole thing. So, please tell her soon to go. Promise me that.”

“I promise.” Hester lifts her mouth for Diddy's kiss.

Then Diddy went to the door, and opened it. Mrs. Nayburn, red-eyed, weeping, her gray hair untidier than ever, was swaying on the other side of the threshold. Suddenly, Diddy was overcome with remorse. How unjust he'd been to the woman, and how petty he'd been in himself. She was never a person to him, just a creature. Something looked at under a microscope. Not seeing that she really loved Hester, truly suffered over her. Why had he been so spiteful? So possessive since the first moment he saw Hester? Already on the train, from the beginning, he'd aimed to take complete possession of the girl. Which required caricaturing the aunt, and trying to discredit her with Hester.

“Forgive me!” The tears he should have wept yesterday, after the failure of Hester's operation, flooded Diddy's eyes. Opening his arms to the elderly woman, he embraced her. “Forgive me.”

*   *   *

The relief and exaltation of tears wept in concert. Like the joys of common interests. Diddy wishes Hester could see them next to her bed, he with his arm around Mrs. Nayburn's shoulder. But drowsy as she is, she must know what's happening.

Minutes later, iron-voiced Gertrude enters Hester's room. Making the expected announcement that our patient's too weak to have any more visiting that evening. Diddy, leaning over Hester's bed to kiss her goodbye, whispers that he will take Mrs. Nayburn out to dinner and devote the rest of the evening to her. Hester nods. Suddenly she does seem too tired even to speak.

When they leave the hospital, Diddy is busy looking for a cab. Doesn't notice that the aunt is crying again. When he does, the words sound wrong. “Please don't. We mustn't be any less brave than Hester is.”

“I know,” wailed the woman. “I just can't help myself.”

In the cab, Diddy gives the address of a steak house downtown. “You haven't really seen the city yet, have you, Mrs. Nayburn?”

“No,” she whimpers. “I just go back and forth from the hospital to the rooming house.”

Diddy accepted the reproach graciously. “That's going to change now, you'll see.” Putting his arm around her shoulder. “You know, I'd like to call you Jessie. It would help me feel closer to you.”

“That's nice, Dalton. Or you could call me Aunt Jessie.”

“Maybe I will some day. I don't have any living aunts. I had one once, though, whom I liked very much. She was my father's sister, Anne, but I didn't even know her name until I was grown up. From the way I heard the adults pronounce it, I'd always thought her name was Aunt Dan.”

Mrs. Nayburn's face was clearer (now). “What happened to her?”

“Ran away to California with a married high-school teacher in our town when I was nine. My father and mother never mentioned her again, and later I heard that she'd died.”

“Families are a wonderful thing,” sighed Mrs. Nayburn.

“Well,” said Diddy almost laughing, “I wouldn't go so far as to say that.” When Mrs. Nayburn didn't make the conventional protest, and even smiled faintly at what he'd said, Diddy felt immensely relieved. If he hadn't actually misjudged her, she wasn't as simple and predictable as he'd thought.

In front of Cavanaugh's. “I think you'll like this place, Jessie.”

“I'm not very hungry.”

“You will be, you'll see.” Appetite comes with eating, doesn't it? Diddy will set the good example.

Clam chowder, a sirloin done medium for Mrs. Nayburn and rare for Diddy, salad with Roquefort dressing, hot apple pie, and coffee. That's not exactly not being hungry. Mrs. Nayburn is a greedy eater. But if the woman's mouth is busy with food most of the time, Diddy, habitually slow and fastidious at the table, has the advantage. Can do most of the talking himself this meal.

“Goodness, I didn't know I was so hungry.” Between mouthfuls, brushing a strand of gray hair from the corner of her mouth.

“I told you so. Now you'll start feeling better.” Diddy, remembering Mrs. Nayburn's bulging bags of food on the train, senses something unpleasant in his stomach. Which he strives to fight down.

“Aren't you hungry, Dalton? It's a shame to waste such a good meal.”

“Don't worry about me. I always dawdle over my food.” He took a forkful of salad. “My mother used to say I was the slowest eater she'd ever seen.” Why this impulse to bring up his family at the slightest pretext?