November Sky (22 page)

Chapter 20

Living at Chris’s actually did distract me a little from my messy situation. She kept her word not to push me about why I didn’t want to live with Nick anymore. Instead, we talked about work, we cooked together, we watched movies, and she dragged me to the gym, where I discovered, thanks to my murderously aching muscles the next day, that I was completely out of shape. Fitness training was very good for my figure. Combined with my normalized eating habits, it produced a nice twelve-pound weight loss.

Ostrich-like, I stuck my head in the sand, and lived from day to day, intentionally deferring any thoughts about my future. My nightly brooding was countered with mild sleeping pills. I still refused to accept calls or messages from my husband and got a new number, just to be safe.

For a while I worried he might simply pop up in our office, and yet I longed for him at the same time. But week after week went by without a word from him. That was odd. I was annoyed at myself. I couldn’t disentangle myself from Nick. Not in my thoughts, not in my feelings. I wondered how he felt, whether he was finally getting professional help, and I opened the paper every day with a queasy feeling. I knew that it would be in the paper if something ever happened to him.

I’d called Mira right after moving in with Chris. She had been so supportive of us that it would have been indecent not to reach out to her.

Her secretary put me through to her right away, but Mira didn’t make it easy for me.

“Laura, so nice to hear from you,” she said sarcastically. “In case you’re interested, Nick is still alive and has accepted a new role in a prime-time film. In spite of his grief at your losing the baby and leaving him, he’s pulled himself together and is soldiering on.”

I’d squandered her initial good impression of me. She pitied Nick and blamed me for his misery. Her aggressive undertones allowed me to respond just as bluntly.

“Mira, did he tell you what happened the night before I lost my child? Why I left him?”

Her brief silence showed me he had not, but she quickly put two and two together. “Oh, God, Laura. I’m so sorry. What did he do this time?”

I shook my head until I realized she couldn’t see me. “The details aren’t important. Suffice it to say, I lost the baby after the last rescue operation. I’d like you to understand why I left him. Nick is the love of my life, and I can’t imagine being with another man. But I can’t and won’t save him from himself for the rest of his life.”

“Will you divorce him?”

I didn’t know. That decision would force me to contact him again. I didn’t want that under any circumstances. And just the idea of informing him about the end of our marriage in a lawyer’s impersonal letter made me shudder. Never in a million years!

“Mira, right now I don’t know what to do. But something inside me says that as long as I stay away from him he won’t do anything stupid.”

We both knew exactly what that meant. When I hung up, I felt glad I’d found another person with some understanding for my “heartless” behavior. Mira wished me all the best.

I threw myself into my work.

A new client who’d attended one of my seminars called me up to make an appointment. “I’ve suddenly inherited a rather large amount of cash from a distant relative and have to decide how best to invest it. I don’t trust what my local bank is offering, so I’d like to get some independent advice.”

Tamara Selhoven brought a gust of fresh, moist air into the office with her as she shook out her umbrella. She accepted my offer of a coffee and sat down, fully relaxed, in a leather chair in our conference room. She ran both hands through her reddish-blonde curls and flashed an unself-conscious smile when I brought the coffee. She was one of those people who made you feel at ease in their company right off the bat because they were so obviously comfortable in their own skin.

It took an hour and a half to make an inventory of her assets; I asked about her situation in life and financial goals so I could show her the different possibilities. Her casual statement that she was self-employed and worked as a psychologist stuck with me, and when our discussion was over I bit the bullet and said, “You know, your profession fascinates me. I work all day with numbers, exchange rates, and dividends—things that can be easily calculated. I imagine it’s not very easy to get involved with new people and their problems all the time.”

Her green eyes sparkled in amusement.

“That’s pretty much the gambit everybody uses who wants some professional advice from me. Let’s hear it. What do you want to know? But I warn you, if it’s something complicated, you’ll need to make an appointment.”

The long-burning problem in my mind probably came under that last category. But I went ahead anyway with a super-short version.

“One of my friends loves her husband very much but left him because he repeatedly tried to kill himself, each time very suddenly and for no apparent reason. He always managed to arrange it so she arrived just in time to save him but is violently opposed to seeing a therapist. She hasn’t the strength now to keep sitting on a powder keg, so she left him. And now she’s constantly wondering if she made the right decision.”

Tamara Selhoven’s pretty face grew serious as I talked. “Strong stuff, what your friend has gone through. It sounds to me like he wanted to keep putting her love to the test. He presumably has no confidence that the people he loves will stay with him. But speculating is no use without knowing the precise background. Your friend should stay away from him until he confronts his problem himself and grapples with it through therapy.”

I accompanied her to the door, where she picked up her umbrella, stepped out into the corridor, and offered me her hand. “Good-bye, Frau Vanderstätt, and many thanks for your knowledgeable advice.”

Before she departed into the pouring rain, she gave me a penetrating look. “Stop beating up on yourself. You did the right thing. At a certain point you’ve got to protect yourself first.”

My halfhearted attempts to look for an apartment were quickly torpedoed by Chris.

“Why do you want to move out of here? We’ve got enough room, get along very well, and you’re helping me pay off what I owe you without using cash.”

I had insisted that she charge me one half of her rent, and so the situation was mutually beneficial. So I stayed on. Time seemed to pass faster than usual, as it always did at the end of the year. The beginning of December was frigidly cold. The temperature dropped past freezing and heavy snowfalls followed, temporarily bringing city traffic to a standstill.

Christmas Eve was spent at my parents’ farm with my brother and sister and their families. Until then I’d managed to avoid the whole Christmas hullaballoo completely. I stayed away from the Inner City and its lavish Christmas lighting, the holiday decorations on the department stores, and the smell of cinnamon, bratwurst, and gingerbread that wafted along the alleyways in the Christmas market. Chris and I didn’t decorate the apartment, because neither of us would be there over the holidays. Chris was going skiing in Austria with friends. She’d encouraged me to go along, and I was close to taking her up on it but my big sister laid a guilt trip on me when I asked her advice.

Anna argued over the phone that I could go skiing whenever I wanted, but it was unthinkable not to spend Christmas Eve in the bosom of the family. “Lars, Sissi, and I are going to his folks’ in Hamburg on Christmas Day. And Peter’s coming with Helen. Mama has already caught Christmas fever and is decorating, cooking, and baking like mad.” She lowered her voice. “Laura, I know it will be difficult, but give your heart a bit of a kick. We haven’t seen you for a long time. You won’t recognize Sissi—she’s grown so much.”

Though sympathetic, my sister hadn’t a clue what it would take for me, as a single person, to spend this emotional evening with three happily married couples—my parents for more than thirty years—and Anna’s enchanting little girl without going crazy completely. I would be wrestling all evening with the overpowering memory of last year’s wonderful Christmas Eve when Nick and I went to midnight Mass. With the solemn atmosphere, and his full-voiced rendering of “Silent Night” at the end of the Mass, I’d burst into tears from my feeling of happiness. On the way home Nick asked jokingly if he really had bellowed way too loud. This year I let the rest of the family go to church while I babysat Sissi.

Before leaving for my parents’, I’d received an oversized Christmas card from Nick that played “Last Christmas” when I gingerly opened it. Fortunately, the note simply wished me happy holidays. It was signed by his parents and Hanna, too. I hastily rummaged around in my desk drawer for a nondescript card showing a photograph of a fir branch with a Christmas ornament and a burning red candle. I scribbled with ballpoint some equally neutral wishes to Nick and his family. I felt rather stupid when I mailed it. What a farce! These polite gestures and meaningless clichés hurt more than screaming at each other.

I was relieved when the holidays were finally over, Chris returned, and the daily routine set in again.

Chapter 21

I scurried through the supermarket aisles one Saturday morning in the middle of January, shopping for a dinner party Chris and I were hosting that night. As I stood in line at the cash register, I glanced at the colorful magazine covers on a shelf in front of me. A sharp pain stabbed me in the heart. Nick was on the front of a glossy magazine, laughing beside a stunning girl in the snow. A radiant blue sky, snow-covered firs, and mountains formed the backdrop. They weren’t touching, but as was usual in gossip mags, just standing together with his current costar, Naila Danner, was enough to imply an affair. “A Movie Love Now for Real” it screamed in bold type. The next line read, “Dominick Vanderstätt finds new bliss after separating from his wife.”

It wasn’t jealousy that the picture aroused but a painful, almost unbearable yearning for Nick, for his tenderness, his laugh, his nearness. Without thinking, I grabbed the magazine and put it on the conveyor belt. With the groceries in the trunk, I sat in the car and tortured myself by studying the picture in detail. Nick looked incredibly good, and yet his face looked thinner, the wrinkles from his nostrils down to the corners of his mouth were deeper, and if you knew him as well as I did, you could spot a melancholy look in his eyes even when coupled with his charming smile. In two smaller pictures inside he also seemed thoughtful and aloof, not at all as if he’d just fallen in love. If Naila actually was trying for a relationship, she’d have to look somewhere else. Maybe she’d find the patience to bring him around, though. How’s it so nicely put?
Little strokes fell mighty oaks.
The mere thought that he might be with another woman at some point crushed me.

Enraged at myself, I pulled it together.
You left him, so it’s no business of yours how and with whom he spends his free time.
Somebody behind me honked, and I jumped. I threw the rag on the seat beside me, buckled up, and turned on the ignition. The radio came on with the motor, and I gasped when a man’s voice pleaded “Return to Me” in a yearning tone. Was the whole world conspiring against me today?

The impression grew stronger when I arrived at Chris’s and was putting the milk and butter in the fridge. My cell phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up warily and was relieved to see it was Mira and not Nick, as I’d both hoped and feared. I said hello, wondering what she wanted. We hadn’t spoken for months. Was she calling to tell me that Nick was getting over me by consoling himself with somebody else?

She came straight to the point, as always. “I’m calling at Nick’s behest. I hope you don’t believe the stories the press has been fabricating. At any rate, they’re not getting it from me. He’s far too busy to get involved with women.”

Too busy with what? Suddenly, my fears were at the forefront again. I almost shouted into the phone.

“Mira, what’s going on with him?”

She recognized her mistake. “Don’t get excited; he hasn’t tried to hurt himself. But he’s different from what he was, much more serious because—”

“Why are you calling me, Mira? What does he want? A divorce?”

Mira took a deep breath. “He wants to meet you.”

Never. No way. If a grainy photo could make me lose my cool like that, then his physical presence would really flatten me. I knew all too well how he affected me and my untrustworthy body. I’d be wrapped around his little finger again. And then I’d be right back where I started.

Mira wasn’t through yet. “It’s not about reconciliation. His parents want to tell both of you something, and they want you to be there together.” She lowered her voice. “Angela and Jürgen are doing really poorly. I hardly recognize them. They asked me to implore you to come. It’s vital for them. And I can tell you this much: It has nothing to do with your separation.”

I cursed my soft heart as I quickly capitulated, unwilling to refuse their request. “OK, but just this once. When and where?”

I was in the car, feeling very nervous and cold. I’d parked and switched off the motor some time earlier, but hadn’t mustered the courage to move. I stared at the large windows of the brightly lit restaurant where, thanks to Mira’s mediation, I would meet my husband and in-laws. I’d agreed to it on the condition we’d meet on neutral territory, not in the house that was so redolent with common memories. They accepted. I could see that Nick had parked three rows ahead and was already inside.

I pulled myself together, got out of the car, and reviewed how I’d behave that evening—I’d be friendly and noncommittal, making it clear that my presence tonight changed nothing regarding my separation from Nick; and, above all, I would not be snowed by Nick’s charm or powers of persuasion. Shivering, I hurried to the front door and entered the unostentatious dining area, where elegantly simple silver table settings, white china, and glasses shimmered in the candlelight. The place was almost full. The warmth, the tempting smell of food, and the lively medley of voices struck me.

I saw Nick and his parents at a back table and was startled at how much my in-laws had changed. Angela, whose hair was always done perfectly, had casually piled it up, and there was a distinct, broad, gray stripe at her hairline. Although she wore a well-cut expensive suit and makeup, she looked as pale as death and at least ten years older. Jürgen looked even worse. His round little tummy had vanished completely, and he looked almost gaunt. His face was a mass of deep wrinkles. And although he smiled when he struggled to his feet as I arrived, the dark shadows under his eyes gave him a tired and despondent aspect. Nick leapt up and came toward me with eyes beaming.

“Thank you for coming.”

Before I could stop him, he’d taken me in his arms. If I were to obey my unreliable gut feeling, I would have passed the whole evening there. I gave him a brief squeeze and pushed him back a little with a heavy heart. He, too, looked somewhat carried away. I immediately felt enormous sympathy for the whole Vanderstätt family. I intuited that the situation between Nick and me wasn’t the sole reason for the bad shape my in-laws were in.

After I’d said hello to his parents and we’d all ordered—though food seemed rather beside the point—Jürgen cleared his throat.

“You are surely wondering why we found it so important for you to be at this gathering, Laura.”

My silent nod confirmed it, and I tried not to look too often at my husband, who sat opposite me. He eyed me with a heart-rending look of longing. When I did glance at him, all the wonderful moments of our brief marriage tumbled in my head like in a kaleidoscope. I recalled snuggling up to each other in bed, felt again the incredible, steady attraction between us, and the countless, beautiful moments we shared. The awful events faded completely away, even though they had distressed me so much that it ultimately led to our marriage breakdown.

I pulled myself back from my memories to listen to Jürgen, who was discussing some very unpleasant medical examinations before stopping in midsentence. Angela’s face was drawn and she looked as if she was ready to burst into tears, but she pulled herself together and took her husband’s hand.

She looked at me straight on. “To make a long story short, it’s been determined that Jürgen feels so badly, not because of a flu, but because he has an acute form of leukemia. He’s getting chemotherapy, and his prognosis for a remission is not bad. Even so, this does not mean a cure but a reduction of his symptoms. They don’t know how long a remission could last.”

I wanted to ask something, but she waved me off. “But all this is only a preamble for what we want to tell you and Nick.”

Now she looked at her son, almost anxiously. “Nick has given us much support lately in spite of his own problems: He came to the examinations with us and dealt with the doctors, and I’m unendingly thankful to him for it. And now he’s offered, as a blood relative, to donate bone marrow to Jürgen. A stem-cell transplant could bring about a complete cure.”

She took a big swallow.

I looked at Nick in alarm. How dangerous was the donation? Could it kill him? Was it a new ploy to kill himself? This time legally and out of altruistic motives? Nick knew me very well. He smiled his assurance, and this time I let him take my hand and squeeze it. As always, when he touched me a warm shudder ran down my spine.

“Don’t worry,” said Nick. “The donor’s health is minimally at risk. I just want my father to be healthy again, and a relative as a donor is the best way to go because the tissues match.”

Angela sighed. Was I mistaken, or had she turned paler? Then she seemed to steel herself and turned to look at Nick with pained regret.

“Nick, I’m so sorry. Jürgen asked me time and again since you were a child to finally tell you the truth. But I’ve never been able to manage it. I wanted to suppress it. You are my child and always will be. But now, given your selfless offer—” She sobbed, lowered her eyes, and said softly, “Your donation is as good or bad for Jürgen as anybody else’s from the donor bank. You are not related to us by blood. We adopted you when you were nine months old.”

There was a deathly silence as two waiters placed our dinner on the table and were completely ignored by us. They gave us brief, unsure looks before disappearing without a word. Angela looked like she was about to fall off her chair. Jürgen had put his arm around her and looked at her lovingly and with concern. Nick looked as if he was in shock. He sat there, frozen like a statue, his uncomprehending gaze directed at Angela. Now I understood why his parents asked me to be there. They were hoping I’d help him cope with the news. Angela and Jürgen needed their spiritual reserves to fight my father-in-law’s illness. But Angela gathered up her strength, slowly stood up, and went over to Nick. She gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, darling, don’t be angry with me for not telling you before.” She glanced over at Jürgen, who nodded his assent. “We tried for so long to have a child the natural way. When I finally got pregnant after many years, it turned out that I could not bear a child. I had two miscarriages. And when we got you through Child Welfare, it was a dream come true. Nick, you are our son. We love you and have treated you like our biological child in every way.”

Never had I loved Nick more than at that moment. When Angela touched him, he awoke from his petrified state. He looked at his mother. He was working it out inside. Finally, a feeble smile appeared.

“I’m not angry with you. You’re wonderful parents. I could not have asked for better ones.” He took Angela’s hand before getting up. “But you’ll certainly understand that I’d like to be alone right now to digest this. Laura will take you home.”

We protested but he acted as though he didn’t hear us and left for the exit with quick strides. An insistent voice pounded in my head,
Go after him right now!

Angela’s voice echoed my thoughts, and she said with an undertone of anxiety, “Laura, please don’t leave him alone. Jürgen and I will pick up the tab and take a taxi home. Get him to talk. Don’t let him shake you off, no matter what. Go now, or he’ll drive off!”

Without a good-bye, I jumped up and ran to the exit. I grabbed my jacket off the cloakroom hook and slipped it on as I raced to the parking lot, shouting Nick’s name. Thick freezing rain whipped my face like little flying needles. I could barely see him as he slowly headed for his car, his head down and hands buried in his pockets. I ran after him. My heart beat like a jackhammer, and my insides were in a knot. What the hell would he do in this state of mind? I tried to put myself in his shoes, to imagine that the family I grew up in was not my real family.

I knew it would affect me, yet I wasn’t a child anymore: I was an adult and knew the enormous love people could have when lovingly raising a child other than their own. I could also understand to some degree Angela’s hesitation to tell Nick the truth. I imagined it would be terrifically difficult to find the right time and the right words. But would Nick, the person affected, think the same way?

Lost in thought and concentrating on watching Nick, I didn’t pay attention to the icy surface. I slipped and fell on my posterior with a shout of alarm. A snowsuit would have been more suitable for this weather than my thin silk sweater, pencil skirt, stockings, and elegant, heeled leather boots. I was freezing cold in spite of my down jacket. That was the price of my damn vanity that made me want to accentuate my slim figure.

I sorted out my limbs, checked to see that they all moved, and determined that, apart from my stinging coccyx, apparently nothing was affected by the fall. Now I had to pull myself up very fast—Nick would get into his car and drive away. I was awkwardly craning my neck to look toward his car when I was startled by a large figure looming out of the driving sleet.