Possessions (65 page)

Yes, you would. And I didn't.

The questions that had haunted Katherine before rushed back with Elissa's words. Why hadn't she known more? Why hadn't she asked questions about Craig's past, and their house, their bills, their finances? Why hadn't she forced herself into his silences?

Maybe because I didn't really want to. Or didn't want to enough. Maybe it was more pleasant not knowing. Not worrying. Like a little girl.

The silence was stretching out. “Tell me about Craig,” Katherine said. “You know him better than I do.”

“That's true,” Elissa responded frankly. “He was pretty relaxed and easy around here. Like somebody who's been locked into a suit and a tie all day, very proper, and then he comes home and puts on an old T-shirt and jeans—and kind of slurps his soup?”

“Locked in,” Katherine echoed.

“Well, it was more like he felt
burdened.
He said you needed somebody to look up to, who'd protect you from things that were ugly or scary, and he couldn't always do that. Though I must say you look a lot more able to take care of yourself than he made you out. I might have guessed he was exaggerating. Anyway, he said when you two met, you were so innocent all you wanted was love. You didn't ask how much money he made or anything about the future—or the past either, for that matter; you didn't ask a lot of questions about his so-called orphan childhood; you were just happy to love him and have him love you. He was pretty impressed with that except he thought it made you awful vulnerable. But it was a powerful
force on him; it was why you were the only woman he was in love with.”

She was so matter-of-fact that Katherine was embarrassed. “He didn't love me enough to be honest with me.”

“He loved you too much to be honest with you. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Were you a virgin when you met him?”

“Yes.”

“Well that explains part of it. He always talked about you as if you were a virgin in everything—not just sex, but getting along in the world.”

“But that's nonsense,” Katherine said. “I'd been to college; I had a job; I had friends . . .”

“Not to hear him tell it. He kept saying all the things he'd taught you, the kind of life he gave you. I had this crazy idea that he sort of thought of you like his sister—you know, kind of frozen at her age? So, he had to believe he was first in everything, I guess: not just your bed. But then he was always afraid he'd make a mistake and you'd be disappointed in him and stop loving him.”

“A mistake in what?”

“How he behaved. Acting like his family, showing his anger.”

“But he wasn't an angry person. The times he did get angry, he usually controlled it and it passed.”

“It didn't pass. It dug in deeper. He said all the men in his family were like that. He remembered his grandfather, Hugh, roaring at him about something real silly, like picture postcards, I think, and then there was Derek—the all-time champion of anger. And Craig was like them but at the same time he was afraid of angry people. Scared to death of Hugh and Derek, and Derek's father—Curt—and even himself. He was scared of being angry.”

Restlessly, Elissa stood and moved about the room. “Do you know, I could tell you the story of every Hayward all the way back to Hugh's grandfather? I know every piece of jewelry Hugh bought Victoria; I know the color of the dress Jennifer wore when she graduated high school; I know . . . oh, damn, I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“It's all right. I was just thinking—he told you the things
he missed, the people he loved and couldn't forget. After fifteen years.”

“He didn't love all of them, you know; and they didn't all love each other. He told me about Derek's girls and how Jennifer cried—”

“Derek's girls? Jennifer?”

“That was the last time they were in Menton. They had their own apartment, sort of, with bedrooms around a kind of playroom, and there was a garden with a wall, and a door in the wall, and Derek would sneak girls into his bedroom. Didn't Ross tell you? He knew about it. Jennifer didn't, until one night she found out and ran into the garden, sobbing, and no one could get her to stop, not even Craig. And the next day, when they went home, she left behind a necklace Derek had bought her in Monte Carlo. She didn't like it anyway, Craig said; it was black. Death around her neck, Jennifer called it. So she left it there. Derek was furious—he'd paid a lot for it—but
he
wouldn't take it home, so it stayed there. That was only about a week before she died. Scary, isn't it?”

Katherine recalled a black necklace, coiled in a jeweler's box, in the playroom of the villa. Everything is a circle, she thought, coming around to its beginning. And when Craig comes back, the circle will be complete.

Elissa talked on, quoting Craig, showing Katherine a shelf of his wood carvings in her bedroom, and his plans for the breakfast room. She made lunch, still talking about Craig; they ate in the living room, talking about Craig, and after lunch Elissa brought out a photo album of the two of them. They had made a marriage, Katherine realized, and in the small, cluttered room, listening to the love in Elissa's voice, she understood why Craig had not been able to give it up.

Finally, she said, “I have to leave soon; my plane is at five. But I want to ask you something.” She paused. “I'm grateful for everything you've told me, and I believe you when you say you haven't seen Craig, but I think you must have heard from him. I think he needed you too much to cut himself off—the way he did me.”

Elissa's eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for saying that. I thought you'd hate me and think I was trying to ruin your marriage; I didn't think you'd understand. But I needed him,
too, you know. I still need him—he was my friend and my son and my brother and my lover and my husband—I'm sorry, but he was—all at the same time and I miss him . . . oh, hell and damnation.” She wiped her eyes. “Anyway, I swear I haven't heard from him. I kept thinking I would; there'd been times before when a few weeks would go by and he couldn't get here, so I kept thinking he'd show up and everything would be back to where it was—but it never happened. I'm still waiting. Silly, maybe, but that's how I am. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Still waiting.”

“Of course.”

“To live with him?”

“I don't know. I don't think we can live together again.”

“But you're still waiting. Even though you haven't heard anything either.”

“Well, yes we did—” Katherine stopped at the look on Elissa's face. She was terrified. She had talked on and on, filling the hours, giving Katherine no chance to say she had heard from Craig. And now, seeing that terrified look, Katherine couldn't bring herself to tell Elissa that Craig had called Ross, wanting his wife back. “He sent me roses,” she said. “On my birthday.”

Elissa's face cleared. “White ones, I'll bet. Craig told me you liked white roses.”

“Did he,” Katherine said dryly. “Didn't he ever talk about anything but his family—his two families?”

“He talked a lot about Eskimos. Didn't he talk to you about them? He loved the kind of life they led: harsh, uncomplicated, close-knit. That was how he saw it. He and Hank used to talk about Eskimos all the time.” “Hank?”

“Hank Aylmer. He travels to Eskimo villages in Alaska and Canada and buys soapstone sculptures to sell in the States. You met him; Craig told me you did.”

Katherine stared at her. “I'd forgotten,” she said slowly. Hank Aylmer. A long time ago, Craig had said Hank Aylmer had invited them to go with him on a buying trip to Eskimo villages. Scattered all over, he'd said; a real sightseeing vacation. Scattered all over. Hank Aylmer traveling from village
to village, from one province to another
—mailing money to Craig's family from a different post office every month.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Hank. Where is he?”

“Home, last I heard,” Elissa replied. “But he doesn't know anything about Craig; I've asked him.”

“Home? Where?”

“Calgary,” said Elissa. “The other side of town. Do you want to call him?”

“Yes!” Excitement was stirring in Katherine. Of course Hank knew where Craig was. If he hadn't told Elissa, it was because Craig had asked him not to. But he would tell Katherine; he would tell Craig's wife. “If I can use your phone . . .”

“Here's his number. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said, and dialed, tightening her grip on the receiver when he answered.

“Hank Aylmer here.”

“This is Katherine Fraser, Hank. We met a few years ago, if you remember. My husband introduced us. Craig Fraser.”

There was no response.

“Hank?”

“Right here. Katherine Fraser, did you say?”

“Hank, don't pretend with me. You remember the name and tribe of every Eskimo from Alaska to Hudson Bay; you remember me, too.”

A rumbling laugh came over the wires. “Right, then, I do. And your two little ones—Jennifer and Todd, right?—how are they?”

“Fine. They'd like to see their father.”

“Well, now. Well, now. Sometimes we lose track of friends, Katherine. I haven't seen Craig for an age.”

“Where is he, Hank?”

“Can't say. I know he left Vancouver some time back—”

“Fifteen months ago.”

“Right, then, it was that long ago. But I can't say where he is now, you know. I don't keep track of him.”

“You see him every month. He gives you money and you mail it to me, always from a different town.”

“Well, now, that's . . . very imaginative. I wish I could help you, Katherine, but I can't.”

“Hank, I want to see him. I want to talk to him. Would you tell him that?”

“Katherine, you're jumping to all sorts of conclusions.”

“All right, don't answer. Just listen. Tell him I got the roses he sent for my birthday; thank him for me. Tell him I want him to come to San Francisco. He knows where I live; tell him I'm waiting for him. Are you listening?”

“Right, but you mustn't get your hopes up, Katherine.”

“Just listen. Tell him the three of us are waiting. Just the three of us. Remember that, Hank; it's very important. Tell him it's just me and the children. No one else.”

“You mean you're not bedded down with anybody, is that it?”

She sighed. “That's it. You'll tell him?”

“I didn't say that. I was just clarifying what you said.”

“And I want him to come to San Francisco! Will you tell him that? Please, Hank; if he won't tell me how to come to him, he'll have to come to me.”

“Right.”

“You'll tell him that?”

“If I see him, I'll tell him.”

“When?”

“Katherine, if I see him, I'll give him all your messages. That I promise. More than that I cannot do. Right?”

“Right,” Katherine said.

“Goodbye, then, and give my regards to those fine children.”

“I will.” She hung up the telephone, staring into space.

Elissa came to the doorway. “He didn't know anything?”

“He wouldn't say. I left a message with him.”

“For Craig to call you?”

“For him to come to San Francisco. I have to see him.”

Elissa reached out her hand. “If he shows up . . . and you decide not to get together again . . .”

“I'll tell him you're waiting.” They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I wish we could be friends,” Elissa said.

Katherine gave a small smile. “I think we are, don't you?” Moving swiftly across the room, she laid her cheek briefly against Elissa's, then turned and went to the front door. “Thank you,” she said, and later, flying home, she silently thanked Elissa again—for making her acquainted, after ten years of marriage, with her own husband.

*   *   *

Once again the days and evenings were spent at her worktable. More confident with each piece, Katherine worked more quickly than ever before, and when an idea came to her and she began to sketch it, she knew immediately whether it belonged with the jewelry she was selling now, or whether it was so striking and distinctive that it had to be put aside in a separate folder, kept on a shelf above her table, marked “Henri Flambeau.”

“I'll never sell to the top people here,” she told Victoria at dinner a week after she had seen Elissa. “They won't take a chance on me. And the small stores I'm selling to now won't buy my so-called ‘far-out' designs. So when I have enough of them, I'll see what I can do in Paris.”

“You don't need Paris,” Victoria said tartly. “I intended Henri to offer you a second country; your first reputation should be made here.”

“Not with Herman Mettler talking about me.”

“He won't do it forever; he's too indolent and self-centered to pay attention to anyone else for very long.”

“But I haven't got forever; I'm barely making enough money now, and I promised Jennifer and Todd we'd look for a larger apartment. And I'd like to take a trip, just the three of us, over Thanksgiving.”

“To avoid a family dinner,” Victoria declared. “Why are you so foolish? Why can't you and Ross be together while you resolve your dilemma?”

“We're not ready,” Katherine said.

“Nonsense! Love isn't like a roast turkey that is or is not ready. It simply is, and you must let it guide you. Why don't I call Ross now? He can join us for dessert.”

“No,” Katherine said. But she was smiling, thinking someday she'd tell Ross Victoria had compared them to roast turkey.

There was no word from Craig, nor from Hank Aylmer. Ross did not call and she did not call him. Reluctantly, Victoria honored her request and did not invite them to dinner on the same nights, so there was no place they might run into each other. Without him, Katherine's days seemed choppy: everything that happened was cut short because it could not be shared with him—a newspaper item, one of Todd's wild fantasies, a special piece of jewelry. She would feel a surge of longing,
and then frustration over his allowing Craig to slip away, and then impatience because Craig had not called—until the space around her worktable was crowded with feelings and images and voices, clamoring to be heard.