Lifelines: Kate's Story (22 page)

Didn’t
this weekend prove he loved her?

A
romantic weekend, all by ourselves. I love you, darling Jennifer.

He
hadn’t said the words, but only because he’d been so busy marking papers and
developing the new Art History course. Jennifer had been miserable, listening
for a call that never came. In desperation, she’d hidden her misery in study,
and she thought she’d managed to pass her exams. The truth was, if she’d kept
seeing Alain as often as during the first couple of months, she might have
failed a couple of courses.

But,
God, how she missed him. She loved him desperately, and tonight they would say
all the missing love words. For the first time, they would have an entire
weekend together, would leave Seattle far behind and escape both their worlds.

She
settled on the big rocker on the veranda. From inside, she heard laughter.
Gail, from the first floor, telling a story to Sandra, the landlady. They
hadn’t heard Jennifer, and she sat quietly in the dark to avoid their
attention. Alain couldn’t help being late, but she didn’t want either Gail or
Sandra to think he’d stood her up. A student would have asked for a few
minutes, or Wendy would want attention. Alain’s wife treated him like a
servant, not a husband.

Jennifer’s
heart stuttered when she heard his car. She stood motionless in the darkness,
watching until it rolled to a stop, and then she flew down the sidewalk. Alain
had popped open the passenger door.

She
put her bag into the back seat and herself in the front.

“Come
here,” he said before she could do up her seat belt. She slid across the seat
to be enveloped in his strong arms. When she closed her eyes and let his lips
settle over hers, he murmured, “God, darling,” and she showed him how hungry
she was for his loving.

A
whole weekend together, just Alain and Jennifer.

Perfection,
and with any luck, the beginning of their first child.

A
pril

Sarah’s
brother owned the local computer store, and when Kate asked him for help, he
sent her a youngster named Andy.

On
Andy’s first visit, he drank six Cokes and ate his way through half a loaf of
bread while he showed Kate how to find death records and property listings. The
records were spotty, with some Canadian cities having records on computer, and
others not. The Seattle detective said he’d determined that Han hadn’t died in
the Continental USA, but she didn’t trust him enough to take his word for it,
so she also searched the western US states.

She
couldn’t imagine her father living in any place as crowded as New York, but she
tried that, too.

The
second time Andy came, Kate served him a big dish of nachos and cheese, and he
taught her how to search credit card records—a process she knew must be
illegal. If she could believe the results, Han Stewardson didn’t have a credit
card from any Canadian or American bank. She asked Andy about bank accounts,
but he didn’t have a magical route into bank records—which relieved her. She
wasn’t comfortable with her willingness to illegally search credit card records
for a trace of her father, and decided she’d watched too many movies where the
good guys broke into computers and security systems.

The
fact that she hadn’t uncovered any sign of Han’s death was good, but Kate found
it hard to believe a modern resident of North America wouldn’t have a credit
card. If he was alive, she was beginning to believe he lived overseas
somewhere.

Andy
didn’t know any way to get into the records of the insurance company who might
be paying Han Stewardson’s disability claim, but he agreed to try. On the
whole, Kate was relieved when he failed.

Kate
typed a third letter to the insurance company requesting information. This
time, she made the request in her mother’s name, as if Han and Evelyn
Stewardson never divorced. Then she went to her mother’s house and asked Evelyn
to sign the letter.

She
should have known better.

Back
home, she forged her mother’s signature and mailed the letter. Afterwards, she
didn’t even tell Socrates.

M
ac
arrived at the therapy session five minutes ahead of schedule, harried from an
argument with his electrical contractor. He couldn’t afford an hour away from
the Taylor Road house: too many jobs almost complete, too many critical
inspections to make certain each subcontractor turned in work to Mac’s
standard.

Rachel
was late again, so he wasted twenty minutes in John’s outer office because of
the counselor’s policy of never seeing either of them alone. John had explained
in their first session that restricting their contact to three-way meetings
helped him avoid taking sides with either Mac or Rachel.

Made
sense, Mac figured. After four sessions, he’d developed a healthy respect for
John Adams, although the counseling wasn’t doing the job he’d hoped. He supposed
he’d expected a magic solution, and there wasn’t one. He and Rachel didn’t
fight these days, but they didn’t talk either. Rachel had been buried in
essay-writing, then exams, although she’d insisted on cooking his meals
throughout. He’d been scrambling to get the final details of the Taylor Road
house tied up, and although they lived in the same house, his wife felt like a
stranger.

When
she arrived at quarter after eleven, John ushered them into the office. Rachel
apologized for her lateness, which she blamed on a traffic snarl-up.

A
traffic jam in Madrona Bay? Mac knew he mustn’t assume lies under every
innocent remark, but this time he knew she hadn’t told the truth. He’d begun to
recognize her habit of deflecting the blame from herself.

He
should challenge her, but although he didn’t understand her, he knew she would
react with outrage and tears, and he’d end up feeling guilty for his
suspicions.

“Today
I’d like to revisit the beginning of your relationship,” said John. “I’d like
you to tell me about your first impressions of each other. Rachel, you first:
what attracted you to Mac when you first met him?”

“Richard
is his name,” corrected Rachel. Then she wrapped her arms around her midriff,
and watching her, Mac caught the flavor of the Rachel he’d first met, the
receptionist he’d almost knocked down when he threw open the door to his new
lawyer’s office without realizing she stood in its path.

She’d
gasped and he’d caught her before she could hit the carpet. She felt small and
fragile in his arms and he hadn’t let go of her soon enough, because he
couldn’t stop staring into her eyes.

Rachel
said dreamily, “The first thing I thought ... he’s so strong. That’s what I
remember.”

“Strength
is important to you?” asked John.

“Of
course.”

“Why?”

Rachel
shrugged, but answered, “Because when I looked into his eyes, I knew he’d look
after me, that he would give me everything I needed.”

Mac
remembered her hand on his bicep as he mumbled an apology for his clumsiness.
He remembered her hair shimmering as she tilted her head.

“It’s
all right,” she’d said, “you didn’t let me fall.”

Look
after me. How many times had she said those words?

“Mac?
What about you? What first attracted you to Rachel?”

“Her
hair. Her eyes.” The frightened gazelle look. “I almost knocked her down the
first time we met. She ... I wanted to protect her.”

Rachel
smiled, and in that smile, Mac saw his marriage with utter clarity for the
first time. They’d made an unspoken bargain: Rachel wanted a father to protect
her, and Mac wanted a family. Because of Jake’s example, Mac realized, family
meant having someone to look after, and so he’d married a child. At
twenty-nine, Rachel wanted a caretaker, not a partner. No matter how hard Mac
worked at being her husband, she would always be a child. No wonder she hadn’t
wanted a pregnancy. Infants required consistent maternal devotion. Rachel was
too focused on Rachel to give anything to a baby.

He
thought of his mother, the graphic memory of her walk to the waiting taxi. In
his memory, admittedly distorted by childhood and the passage of time, his
mother’s urgent form bore an uncomfortable resemblance to his wife. Long hair ...
fine bone structure ... the inability to nurture another.

For
the first time, he wondered about his mother’s thoughts as she hurried away
from husband and son.

Rachel’s
voice penetrated his inner journey.

“...might
not admit it, but Richard knows it’s true.”

John’s
gaze shifted to Mac, who had no idea what Rachel was talking about. But,
finally, he saw his wife clearly. Rachel Hardesty was intelligent and talented,
but she would never grow up.

As
for Mac—he had a choice. He could keep his vows and spend his life coping with
a spoiled child, or he could leave.

J
ennifer 
could feel the fullness of Alain’s baby in her belly. Two weeks ago they’d made
love in the resort’s big double bed, then afterwards in the hot pool. After so
much deep loving, sharing their souls during Jennifer’s most fertile period, of
course they’d made a baby.

He
believed she was on the pill, so on Friday night, and again Saturday, she’d
taken a pill out and flushed it down the toilet, just in case he checked.

He
wasn’t suspicious of her.

His
trust made her feel guilty about her deception, but she knew the baby would
make Alain happy. He wanted children, and Wendy couldn’t give them to him
because the doctors said it would exacerbate her MS. Once Alain knew about
their child, he would leave Wendy to marry Jennifer. As for Wendy, she would be
happier once free of her sterile marriage. Alain would look after her financially,
he would want to, and Jennifer would support his dutiful care to his ex-wife.

She
should be looking for another summer job to replace the one she’d lost when the
library’s budget was cut, but she couldn’t think of anything but Alain. This
Saturday he would meet her at the apartment. She would go early, with wine—she
wouldn’t drink any, of course. She’d make dinner, something special.

Friday
morning she was on her way out to shop for that special dinner together when
the phone rang. She dashed back up the stairs and caught it on the fourth ring.
Alain! She hugged the receiver to her, treasuring his voice. Soon they would be
together forever. She pressed her free hand over her belly and smiled.

Alain
said, “I can’t talk now. I’ve an appointment with a student any minute—he’s
actually late already.”

“You’re
at the University?” He never called from his home. He didn’t want to make Wendy
uncomfortable by talking to his lover in her presence, although his wife knew
he saw someone else. Jennifer loved the way Alain was so wonderfully sensitive.

“I’m
just going shopping for tomorrow night.”

“Darling,
I’m sorry.” His voice was low, intense, regretful. “About tomorrow ... I can’t
make it.”

“Alain,
no!”

“It’s
Wendy’s cousin. He’s flying into SeaTac tomorrow, and I have to pick him up
from the airport.”

“You
can come later; I’ll have dinner ready for you. Candles—”

“Darling,
I’m as devastated as you, but for Wendy’s sake I must keep up appearances. And
truly, I think it’s best for you, too.”

“For
me?” She didn’t know if her nausea meant panic or morning sickness. “What do
you mean, best? I can’t bear us to be apart.”

“I
feel the same, darling, but it’s selfish of me to take your time when you need
to focus on your job search.”

“But
I can’t—”

“Regardless
of my own selfish need to be with you, it’s best this way. You’ll be able to
spend the weekend doing up resumes.”

She
was filled with sudden suspicion. “You said Wendy’s cousin, but you didn’t say
his name.”

“Jennifer—”
Alain laughed and said, “You don’t imagine it’s another woman?”

“No,
of course not.”  She twisted the coil of the phone cord around her index
finger. “I wanted you all to myself this weekend.”