Michael’s Wife (20 page)

“And then what? Take you back as my loving wife because you're Jimmy's mother? And because you'll condescend to take me, too, to get Jimmy?” he said, a shadow of a smile on thin lips. “It won't wash, Laurel. There was never a flimsier excuse for a marriage.”

“We could try.” It came out as a choked whisper. She wasn't sure she'd really said it until his pale eyes widened and the smile vanished. Somehow she'd caught him by surprise and herself as well.

“Hey! Can I join the family swim?” Claire came up beside them in her pear-shaped tank suit. She looked from one to the other. “Oops! Didn't mean to interrupt a
domestic
squabble.” Getting no answer, she climbed down the ladder into the pool.

Laurel returned to her place beside a sleeping Jimmy, tears of embarrassment in her eyes.
Why did I say that?
She looked over her shoulder to find Michael's eyes still on her. She'd shaken him, too. No. She was imagining things. No one ever shook Michael.

Claire stayed in the pool only long enough to get wet and then took the chair next to Michael's. Laurel sat with her back to them, making a pretense of toweling her hair.

“I really am sorry if I interrupted anything.” Claire didn't sound sorry.

“We'd just finished a very interesting conversation,” Michael answered.

Laurel felt her cheeks burning. Was he laughing at her? He proposed nightcaps and left the courtyard to get them.

“Why isn't Jimmy in bed?” Claire said behind her.

“He's afraid to have me leave him. He doesn't like it here.”

“He liked it all right before you came along. And he never got his eye blackened around here either.”

“That was an accident, Claire. He fell off his tricycle.”

“My, you're just tearing into everybody tonight.”

When Michael returned, it was to an atmosphere of cold silence. But he and Claire were soon reminiscing, with long silent spells in between. They had little to reminisce over, Laurel noted with satisfaction.

“Is Paul overworking you?”

“Oh, you know how he gets when he's this close to something. But it's exciting. We think he's figured a way to transplant saguaro. He's been trying to for years. And that big one in the lab garden has been diseased. Well, he's about cured that; it'll be another year before we can be sure. It's really our test case. But it could be the end of the decline in the saguaro population.”

“What's he going to do, run around and doctor every saguaro on the Sonora?”

“No, but this book might get the state and conservationists interested in a mass transplanting and disease-control program. You can't save them all, just stop ‘this race toward extinction' as he calls it.”

Michael was silent for a long while, the ice tinkling in hisglass as he swirled his drink, and then in a hesitant manner that was unusual for him he asked, “Is it just me or … has Paul aged this summer? This work seems to be affecting him strangely. I don't suppose Janet's making it any easier for him.”

“They argue more, at least she does,” Claire said. “She likes to be the center of attention and right now that cactus is more important to him than any human being could be. Do you know he talks to it? He feels so responsible for saving them … if this experiment fails.…”

Laurel gathered up Jimmy and as many towels as she could manage and left them without saying good night.

She was still awake when Jimmy crawled into her bed. She snuggled close to him. Somehow, unintentionally, in her blundering way, she had won a small victory that night. She'd given Michael something to think about.

14

Laurel was sure of it the next morning when Michael invited her to go to mass.

They seemed like a family for the first time, sitting in church with Jimmy between them, other families around them. And Laurel waited for something familiar to happen, to stir an old memory. But everything seemed wrong. The service was in English, the rest of the congregation stumbling as much as she through their responses, having to read out of little books provided in each pew.

The congregational singing was off-key, a robed choir leader trying to lead them through it. She seemed only a little more lost than everyone else.

No memories came back to her that morning, but she knew a certain happiness as unfamiliar as the church service. She was a part of something—a group, a family. This happiness lasted until dinner. For Janet had yet another bomb in her arsenal.

Sunday dinner, with the red and gold brocaded tablecloth that looked like a drapery, the brass candlesticks, and everyone present, even Jimmy propped on his books beside Laurel. It was the first they'd seen of either Janet or Paul since the previous morning.

The atmosphere was strained, but Michael was more relaxed, more talkative than she'd ever seen him. He drew Paul out of his sullen silence and soon had his brother talking animatedly of his hopes for the saguaro, the work he'd done on the big cactus in his fenced laboratory. When he could talk of his work, Paul seemed less detached. Claire joined in and Laurel asked questions. The tension eased.

Even Janet listened attentively. She'd groomed hard to bring back the butterfly illusion, but the summer's toll still showed on her face.

It wasn't until Consuela had cleared the table and begun to serve the iced dessert that there was a lull in the conversation and Janet spoke up. “Did Evan Boucher get ahold of you, Laurel?”

“Yes, he stopped by one afternoon.”

“When was this?” Michael asked curtly.

“One Sunday when you and Jimmy were at the zoo.”

“That reminds me.” Her sister-in-law had a triumphant expression that didn't seem in keeping with the shambles she'd made of the weekend. She placed her spoon on the plate under the sherbet glass as a signal for everyone to begin. “Someone else has been calling for you here.”

“For me? Who?” Laurel felt the tension seep back into the room.

“I didn't know exactly how to handle it until I'd talked to you.” She tasted her dessert, looking around the table to be sure she had everyone's attention.

She did.

“And I told him you were out and I didn't know when you'd be back.”

“Him?” Laurel felt her face growing hot.

“Yes. He's called several times. I didn't know if you wanted me to give him your new address. He sounded … oh, rather uneducated. He wouldn't leave a number.”

“Who was it?” But she knew. There was only one person it could be. And she knew what Michael would think. She could feel his stiffness next to her without even looking at him.

“Well, let's see if I can remember.” Janet made a pretense of concentrating. “Ummm … McBride, yes, that's it, McBride. Harlow McBride … no … Harley. Harley McBride! Do you know him?”

“Yes.”

“Any relation to the Florence McBrides?” Paul asked, and when she didn't answer, he turned to Michael. “You know, the old man who hung himself on the Milner ranch when Father closed the place? No, maybe you weren't home then. It's been some time ago. Had six children, I think.”

“Harley is his son,” Laurel volunteered. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing did. She was sunk. She wished she'd told Michael about Harley, but he'd always cut off any discussion about anything that had happened before the night he'd found her in Raymond McBride's motel.

They left immediately after dinner, a cold dangerous Michael driving as if the car were a jet with no traffic to skirt. Laurel had visions of herself under a sheet like poor Maria, pieces of hair and flesh.… She was too frightened and defeated to explain anything, knew it would be useless to try. She hoped that Jimmy, asleep in the back seat, would be spared as Michael had been on that fateful ride so long ago.

When the state patrol car pulled them over to the side of the road, Michael got out to talk to the patrolman. Laurel waited for him to take a swing at the officer. He was in that mood she didn't trust. But after a long and seemingly polite conference Michael returned without a ticket.

“Just a warning?” She couldn't believe it.

“Yes.” It was the only word he spoke to her on the long drive home.

In fact, he said little more than “yes” or “no” to Laurel for the next week. He came home before dinner, played with Jimmy, showered, and left carrying a light sport coat over his arm. Laurel and Jimmy ate alone, the faint smell of Michael's after-shave lingering to remind them of him, to remind Laurel that he was probably not dining alone. Her small victory had been short.

Saturday morning she woke with a headache so intense it made her dizzy. She'd lain awake until Michael came home, trying to cry, to release the leaden pressure that had built up all week.

Michael and Pat had driven off together that morning in Michael's car, wearing twin flight suits. His working hours kept her in constant confusion. He worked some weekends and then was off a day or two during the week. Sometimes he flew at night. Her only clue to whether he left for the base or just to get away from her was the clothes he wore.

Through the kitchen window over the sink, Laurel watched Jimmy and Sherrie splash in her new wading pool as she washed the breakfast dishes. Myra walked across the yard, bent and splashed water on them. She turned and came to Laurel's door.

“Hey, you wouldn't have some iced tea, would you?”

“Bring the jar in.” Laurel dried her hands and pointed to the glass jar on the patio where the desert sun had brewed tea for her, a trick she'd learned from Myra.

“We're going to have to bring those kids in early. It hasn't cooled off since yesterday.” Myra sugared her tea and lit a cigarette. “You don't look so hot.”

“I woke up with a headache.”

“Mike doesn't look so good either.”

“No.” And then to change the subject because she didn't want to discuss Michael, she said a little lamely, “They're enjoying the new wading pool. I wish I'd thought of it, keeps them cool.”

“Yeah,” Myra said, turning to look at them. “Sherrie hates to take a bath, but I can't get her out of that pool. Kids.”

“I wonder if they'll become hippies someday. We're always scrubbing them, making them mind, thwarting them. I wonder if they'll rebel.”

“Probably. But they won't be hippies. Hippies will be establishment by then, another generation that made this awful mess of the world. They'll have some new kick of their own—God help us all!” Myra giggled and then turned serious. “But that's not what I came to talk about.”

“I thought you had a reason.”

“Laurel, Pat asked me to talk to you. I told him it was none of our business. But he's honestly worried about Mike. They've been friends for a long time.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh … I'm not very good at this … but Mike has.…” She brushed imaginary ashes off her shorts. “We don't know anything, you understand. We don't want to pry. Mike has never discussed his personal life with us, not even Pat.” Myra talked rapidly, to get it over with.

“Pat told me after you moved in that he'd gotten the idea that your husband had once had an unlucky love affair or something. Mike seemed down on women. But Pat didn't know about you or Jimmy. This was overseas. And then when Mike got back here, he seemed to be getting over it, enjoying himself more.” Myra had to relight her cigarette. Her hand shook.

“And then I showed up?”

“Yeah. The base grapevine has been sizzling ever since; he was getting pretty popular. But he's changed since you came here, Laurel—crabby and moody at the base and not getting enough sleep, drinking. He's tied into student pilots for no reason. It's not like him. And this last week he's pulled a couple of boners in the air himself that could have piled him up.”

“And Pat thinks it's my fault?”

“Well, things aren't right around here. But I told him that lots of men have family trouble … I wish I didn't get myself into these things.”

“You've gotten this far; you might as well finish it.”

“Do you realize he's been out with a different woman every night this week? The strange part of it is, you don't seem to care. That's a lot of man you've got there, Laurel. I could name a number of gals who'd love to be in your shoes. If you don't patch things up pretty soon, you're going to lose him one way or another.”

“If I told you what the problem is, you wouldn't believe it.”

“I don't want to know. I just want you to do something fast before you ruin a good man. He's up for major, you know. And if he keeps on like this … well.…”

“Thanks for telling me, Myra.”

“It wasn't easy. But look at you. What I've just told you … and there you sit in that cold, detached world of yours. Don't you care?”

“Yes, I care. I don't want to ruin Michael. Tell Pat I'll try to think of something.”

“I'm going to say one more thing and get out of here as fast as I can.” Myra leaned against the glass door, her hand on the handle. “You're a looker, Laurel. A gal like you ought to be able to get around a man. If you'd just warm up a little.”

That night Laurel fixed tacos for dinner. She always made enough dinner for Michael, too, and she and Jimmy often ate his portion for lunch the next day. But Michael ate his own tacos that night.

He came home with a paper sack full of liquor bottles, mixed them each a drink and then went in to watch television with Jimmy. He looked exhausted.

It wasn't until they sat down to dinner that she spoke to him. “Myra came over today for a heart-to-heart. She thinks I'm ruining you.”

“A man doesn't get credit for doing anything for himself anymore.”

“She says you've been seeing other women.”

“
Other
women?”

“Michael, I want to explain about Harley.”