Summer's End (36 page)

“When does that stop, or does it?”

“Usually almost exactly at four months, but this time it seems to have dragged on. I’m four and a half, and still sleepy all the time.”

“So enjoy it and be glad you don’t work.” But she wasn’t. She wished that she did. It would give her something to think of while she didn’t paint. She still hadn’t been able to start her work. Something stopped her every time she sat down. Her thoughts would shift instantly to Pilar or Ben, or she would find herself panicking about the baby. Hours would drift by while she did nothing but sit, staring blindly into space.

They brought Kim’s little red MG up to the door. With a groan Deanna got in as Kim tipped the valet and slid behind the wheel.

“I’m going to have to give up driving with you in a couple of months.” Her legs were cramped almost up to her chin and she laughed, as did Kim.

“Yeah, I guess you’d have a hell of a time getting into this thing with a belly.” They both laughed again, and Kimberly drove off, turning left out of Cosmo Place and then left again, until she made a sharp right at Jones to avoid some construction blocking the street. “We might as well drive past Nob Hill.” She glanced over at Deanna with a smile, and they sat together in silence. Deanna was longing for her bed.

They had stopped at a stop sign when she saw them. For a moment she marveled at how much the man looked like Marc, and then she realized with a start that it was he. She felt herself gasp. Kim looked sharply at her, then in the direction she was staring. It was Marc with an elegant woman draped in a magnificent dark sable coat. They were wrapped in each other’s arms. He looked like a much younger man, and she looked especially beautiful with her hair loose and full and a bright red dress peeking through the coat. She threw her head back and laughed, and Marc kissed her full on the mouth. Deanna stared.

As the woman pulled away, Deanna suddenly saw who she was. It was the girl from the airport —the one she had seen him with the night Pilar died. She suddenly felt as though all the air had been squeezed out of her until she had to gasp for breath. They climbed into his car. Deanna clutched Kimberly’s arm.

“Drive, please. Let’s go. I don’t want him to see us … he’ll think….” She turned her head away from the window, wanting to see no more, and as though by reflex Kim stomped her foot on the gas. The car lurched forward, and they sped toward the bay as Deanna tried to settle her rapidly whirling mind. What did it mean? Why was the girl there? Was it … did it … had he … but she knew all the answers, as did Kim. They had sat there for five minutes, silent and staring, in the little red car. It was Kim who finally spoke first.

“Deanna, I—I’m sorry. Is there … shit! I don’t know what to say.” She glanced at Deanna. Even in the darkness she looked terrifyingly pale. “Do you want to come home with me for a while until you calm down?”

“You know what’s very strange?” She turned to Kim with those huge, luminous green eyes. “I am calm. I feel as though everything has suddenly stopped. All the whirling and confusion and fear and despair … it’s all over, it’s gone.” She stared out the window into the foggy night and she spoke to Kim without turning to see her face. “I think I know now what I’m going to do.”

“What?” Kim felt worried about her friend. It had been one hell of a shock. She herself was still shaking.

“I’m going to leave him, Kim.” For a moment Kimberly didn’t respond, she only looked at Deanna’s profile, sharply etched against the night. “I can’t live like this for the rest of my life. And I think it’s been like this for years. I saw him with her in Paris … the night Pilar … she came in with him from Athens. The joke of it is that when he came home in September, he swore it was over.”

“Do you think it’s serious?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter. The trouble is”—she finally looked back at her friend —“there isn’t enough in it for me. No matter what. I’m alone all the time. We don’t share anything and we won’t even share this child. He’ll take it away from me, just as he did Pilar. Why should I stay with him? Out of duty, out of cowardice, out of some insane feeling of loyalty that I’ve dragged with me over the years? For what? Did you see him tonight? He looked happy. Kim. He looked young. He hasn’t looked like that with me in almost eighteen years. I’m not even sure anymore if he ever did. Maybe she’s good for him. Maybe she can give him something I never had. But whatever it is, that’s his problem. I’m getting out.”

“Why don’t you give it some thought.” Kim spoke quietly and looked at Deanna. “Maybe this isn’t the right time. Maybe you should wait until after the baby comes. Do you want to be alone when you’re pregnant?”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed—I already am.”

Kim agreed, but she was afraid of the look in Deanna’s eyes. She had never seen that burning determination there before. It was frightening. Finally they came to a stop in front of her house.

“Do you want me to come in?” At least they knew that Marc wouldn’t be home. But Deanna shook her head.

“No. I want to be alone. I have to think.”

“Will you talk to him tonight?”

She looked at Kimberly for a long time before she answered, and this time Kim saw pain in her eyes. It did hurt. Somewhere inside her she still cared. “Maybe not. He may not come home.”

31

Alone in her bedroom, Deanna slowly pulled off the black dress and stood staring at herself in the mirror. She was still pretty and in some ways still young. The skin on her face was supple and taut her neck had the graceful sweep of a swan, the eyes were large, the eyelids didn’t droop and the chin didn’t sag, the breasts were still firm, the legs thin, the hips small. There was no real sign of age, and yet she looked at least ten years older than that girl tonight. She had had the glow and the glamor and the excitement of a mistress. There was no fighting that. Was that what he wanted then? Did that make the difference? Or was it something else? Was it that she was French, that she was one of his own … or maybe only that he loved her. Deanna wondered as she climbed into her robe. She wanted to ask him all those questions, wanted to hear all the answers from him—if he’d tell her, if he’d ever come home. She didn’t want to wait all night long to ask him she wanted to ask him now, but it had been clear that he and the girl were going out on the town. It might be daybreak before he came home claiming that he had been involved in interminable negotiations and had had a sleepless night. She suddenly wondered how many of his stories had been lies, how long this had gone on. She lay her head back in the chair and closed her eyes against the soft lights. Why did he go on with the marriage, now that Pilar was gone? He’d had the perfect opportunity to leave Deanna in Paris, to tell her they were through. Why didn’t he? Why had he stayed? Why did he want to hang on? And then suddenly she knew. The baby. That was what he wanted. A son.

She smiled to herself then. It was funny really. For the first time in their nearly twenty years together, she had the upper hand. She had the one thing he wanted. His son. Or even a daughter, now that Pilar was gone. But Marc wanted her child. It was mad really. He could have had a baby with that girl, since he appeared to hang on to her too. But for some reason he had not. It amused her. In a way she had him now. By the throat. She could leave him, or stay. She could make him pay. Maybe she could even force him to get rid of the girl. Or pretend to, as he had. He had let her think the affair was over, but it very clearly was not. With a sigh she sat up in the chair and opened her eyes. She had been living with her eyes closed for too many years. Silently she walked out of the room and down the stairs of the darkened house. She found herself in the living room, sitting in the dark and looking out at the lights on the bay. It would be strange not being there anymore, leaving this house—leaving him. It would be frightening to be alone, to have no one to take care of her, or the new child. It would all be terrifying and new. But it would be clean. It wouldn’t be lonely in the same way. … It wouldn’t be a lie. She sat there, alone, until dawn. Waiting for him. She had made up her mind.

It was just after five when she heard his key turn in the lock. She walked softly to the door of the living room and stood there, a vision in white satin.

“Bonsoir.”
She said it to him in French. “Or should I say
bonjour
?” The first light of day was streaking pink and orange into the sky over the mirror-flat bay. For once there was no fog. The first thing she saw about him was that he was drunk. Not disgustingly so, but enough.

“You’re already up?” He tried to hold himself steady, but he pitched forward slightly and steadied himself on the back of a chair. He looked uncomfortable to have to be talking to her at all. “It’s terribly early, Deanna.”

“Or terribly late. Did you have a good time?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd. We sat in the board room until four o’clock. And then we had drinks. To celebrate.”

“How wonderful.” Her voice was like ice. He stared at her, as if hoping to find the key. “What were you celebrating?”

“A new … deal.” He almost said “coat,” but caught himself just in time. “A fur trade arrangement with Russia.” He looked pleased with himself and then smiled at his wife. Deanna did not smile back.

She looked like a statue. “It was a very beautiful coat.” The words fell between them like rocks.

“What do you mean?”

“I think we both know perfectly well what I mean. I said it was a beautiful coat.”

“You’re not making sense.” But his eyes seemed to waver from her gaze.

“I believe I am. I saw you tonight with your friend. I gather this is a lasting affair.” She looked wooden as she stood there, and he spoke not at all. After a moment he turned away from Deanna and looked out at the bay.

“I could tell you that she was passing through.” He turned to face her again. “But I won’t. These have been difficult times for me. Pilar … worries with you….”

“Does she live here now?” Deanna was relentless with those enormous green eyes.

He shook his head. “No, she’s only been here for a few weeks.”

“How nice. Am I to accept this as part of my future, or will you eventually make a choice? I imagine she asks you the same questions. In fact right now I daresay the choice could be mine.”

“It could.” For a moment he seemed to be wavering again, then he stood up very straight. “But it won’t be, Deanna. You and I have too much at stake.”

“Really? What?” But she knew exactly what he meant. They had nothing at stake anymore though. After tonight the baby was hers. Not theirs. Hers.

“You know exactly what. Our child.” He tried to look tender but he only glared. “That means everything to me. To us.”

“Us? You know what, Marc, I don’t even believe there is an ‘us.’ There is a you and a me, but there is no ‘us.’ Your only ‘us’ is with that girl. I could see that in your face tonight.”

“I was drunk.” For a moment desperation crept into his eyes. Deanna saw it, but she no longer cared.

“You were happy. You and I haven’t been happy with each other in years. We cling to each other out of habit, out of fear, out of duty, out of pain. I was going to leave you the weekend after Pilar died. If I hadn’t found out I was pregnant, I would have. And now that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“I won’t let you. You’ll starve!” He was angry now, and there was a vicious light suddenly in his eyes. She wasn’t going to take away the one thing he cared about now—the child.

“I don’t need you to survive.” They were words of bravado, and they both knew it.

“What will you do to eat, my darling? Paint? Sell your little sketches to people on the street? Or go back to your own lover?”

“What lover?” Deanna felt as though she had been slapped.

“You think I don’t know, you self-righteous, cheating bitch. You make me speeches about my … activities….” He swayed slightly as he hurled the words at her head. “But you are hardly lily-white yourself.”

She was suddenly pale. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what you think I mean. I left for Athens and you obviously had a little fling. I don’t know with whom and I don’t care, because you’re my wife and that’s my child. I own you, both of you, do you understand?”

Everything inside her raged. “How dare you say that to me! How dare you! You may have owned me before, but you don’t own me now and you never will, and you’ll never own this child. I won’t let you do what you did with Pilar.”

He grinned at her evilly from the stairs. “You have no choice, my dear, the child is mine. … Mine, because I chose to accept it, to be its father, to keep you in spite of what you did. But don’t you ever forget that I know. You’re no better than I am, in spite of all your saintly airs. But remember,” his eyes narrowed and he swayed again, “it is I who will keep your child from being a bastard. I’m giving him my name. Because I want him, and not because he’s mine.”

Deanna’s voice was like measured ice. She stood immobile, watching Marc. “The baby isn’t yours then, Marc?”

He bowed awkwardly at her and inclined his head. “Correct.”

“How do you know?”