Three Women (8 page)

Oddly, Mike was the first to talk. "The ambulance came hours ago. Where in the hell were you?"

She started to speak but the words choked in her throat. What possible excuse could she give?

"Is he...?" she stuttered.

"We don't know," Phil said. His voice, full of sympathy, did not accuse her.

"Then why is everybody here? Shouldn't someone be at the hospital?"

Mike said, "You're the big helper around here. Why don't you go?"

Phil looked at him reproachfully. He continued to interlock fingers with her mother as though infusing her with his own life and strength. He said, "The doctor gave your mother something to calm her down. And they wouldn't let Mike go along."

If she ever felt like a deserter, it was now. "Then maybe I'd better go there," she said, her voice trembling with guilt.

"What for?" Mike's voice stabbed.

True enough, she thought. What for? What could she do except pace the halls in complete helplessness. She might just as well remain here, in this despairing and frightened place. She felt a tempting urge to join them in their hopelessness but the thought of giving up angered her. Pa wasn't dead yet! For all they knew, he might still outlive them all. But in her heart, she recognized the lie.

If only Ma would say something. Give her some look or a sign that it was not her fault. It wasn't her fault! Even if she had been home, Pa would still be in the hospital. I've got to live my own life, she thought, strangling in the silent gloom and accusation. They can't trap me like an animal. I won't let them!

Resentfully Paula pulled off her clothes and hung them in the closet. The alarm clock said two-fifteen. Automatically she wound it and pulled out the stem. Phil had to be up at six and here he sat like part of the family, sharing its grief like an actual son-in-law.

Paula wanted to hate him for being a phony. But the attention he paid her mother was obviously sincerely felt. He had no thought at this moment for swaying Paula. All he wanted, she could see, was to lend any support that he could. His dark face, soft with tenderness, held whatever hope was still possible. Paula couldn't look at him without despising herself.

She stayed in her bedroom, isolated from the mute depression, yet absorbing it with every fibre of her being.

If Pa dies, Mike will never forgive me, she thought.

Her self respect dropped like dirtied rags away from her. She heard her mother sigh a long quivering wave of breath. Paula shivered, realizing that her mother had become like a child who must be fondled and cared for. And it was her responsibility to hold Ma's hand, not Phil's. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to go in and replace him. She wasn't even sure that her mother wanted her to.

Oh, I won't stand for it, she fought with herself. I’ll move out and mail home my pay check every week!

The idea mocked her. If she lived away from home there wouldn't be a pay check to send. Rent and food would consume it.

But suppose she lived with Byrne?

Sure, being a charity case would be just the thing to enchant Byrne. Unwanted, caught between Byrne and Greta, there she would be.

And there was nothing she could do. Except marry Phil, of course. Her mind stopped right there. It refused to continue with the thoughts of self-sacrifice. Pride rose vaguely, without words, and she knew instinctively that she would not give up for anything. The family would straighten out by itself. And she would win Byrne because Byrne was her need. There was no sense in chopping herself into little pieces with remorse.

She heard Mike turn on the faucet and fill a pan with water. "Want some coffee?" he called in to her. He sounded as though he were spitting.

"Yes," she flung back in the same tone and went into the kitchen.

Mike was making an effort to be realistic and sensible. She could see the way he glanced furtively at Phil for approval. Phil winked at him as though they shared a secret together.

Clumsily, Mike set out four cups and spoons, remembering to get the sugar. He made instant coffee and drank his own black.

Her mother, who-seemed suspended between life and death, finally permitted Paula to lead her to the bedroom She lay down meekly but didn't close her eyes when Paula put out the light.

Just the same, she was glad to get her mother out of the way. The poor woman would need whatever energy she could muster for the days to come which, Paula knew, would be harder still.

Phil said, "Don't worry about her. The shock will pass. She’ll be as good as new by breakfast."

Paula didn't believe him but there was no need to contradict his efforts to comfort her. She felt ill at ease because he didn't seem to notice that she was still the desirable Paula. She could be Mike's twin brother, the way Phil acted. She felt as though she had shed her old skin and had become a different person. Yet she was Paula. All the way through, Paula. The only difference was her new love for Byrne. And it's your aunt, she thought. If you didn't introduce me to her this would never have happened.

Instantly she wondered how much Phil really knew about his aunt. She was about to ask him a very cautious question in the hope of discovering something that might make her own way to Byrne easier. Then she remembered what Byrne had said: A smart girl doesn't ask; she observes.

Out of friendliness—Phil was a friend, if nothing else—she said, "How is the paint store coming?"

"Swell," he answered without enthusiasm. "Ill be signing the papers Friday. Already gave my boss two weeks notice."

"I'm glad for you," she replied. And she was glad. Phil was getting ahead, and someday he would forget her and marry a sweet thing who could love him as much as she loved Byrne.

Proudly Mike said, "Phil got me a job with him."

"Well, that's great," Paula acted as if she were surprised so that Mike could lord it over her for a few minutes.

She took Phil's arm and squeezed it with appreciation. Mike needed somebody to look up to and emulate, and Paula was thankful that it was Phil. For a second she wished she could be part of all this. The family circle had a solidity and security which she knew there could never be with Byrne. Well, you sacrifice some things to get others, she thought. And love was more important than security.

Mike walked Phil to the door. She stayed behind so at they could have a few private words together. After Mike locked the door, he came back and cleared the dishes off the table. He looked at Paula with an attempt at pity but it came out as resentment. "I guess you're pretty tired," he finally said. "Why don't just take the day off tomorrow?"

Her voice choked on the words she wanted to say. There was no way to make Mike know that she loved him; that she needed him as a staunch brother to back her up and help her find strength.

Behind Paula's brave front lay a vast world in which she wandered alone and lost.

* * *

When the alarm went off the next morning, Paula turned dizzily in her sleep and reached out a hand to shut it off. Her head ached with fatigue and she squinted into the growing daylight. The events of last night returned to her with the unreality of a nightmare. Her job was a new one. If she stayed home today, they would dock her. She couldn't afford to stay home. Yet she couldn't drag herself up and around to get dressed. If she never had to go to work again, that would be perfectly all right Those meaningless letters, those impatient voices calling for Mr. This-one and Mr. That-one. She had always accepted work as just a means of survival. Today it seemed unbearable. She fell back to the pillow and decided to stay home.

Within the hour, Paula summoned enough courage to phone the hospital. Even if they couldn't assure her that her father was improving, they could at least tell her that things had not turned for the worse. The immediate burden lessened somewhat, her thoughts returned to the strange woman she had seen enter Byrne's apartment

She listened to see if either her mother or Mike were awake. Deciding it was safe to risk the call, she dialed Byrne's number. But she hung up before the phone started to ring. Too early, of course. She didn't dare appear so anxious. Or stupid. Greta would certainly still be there and want to know what this was all about. She had better not irritate Byrne by rousing Greta's curiosity.

Paula realized that she was thinking more clearly than she had for a very long time. Before this, she had had no reason to. With Phil it had always been a simple matter of emotion expressed when felt. But with Byrne there was all the excitement of a game of Russian roulette. One wrong move and she could kill all her chances.

Bravely, Mike got up to go to school, the color in his face drained from lack of sleep.

Paula said, "Maybe you ought to stay home today, too."

He snorted at her on his way into the bathroom. She was glad that Mike was acting like a man. She felt proud and good that all Ma's and Pa's struggling had produced a good son, after all.

She put up some cereal for his breakfast happy to see him eat and pack off for school determined to hide the fears and uncertainties that shook him.

After her mother awoke, Paula dusted the house, washed the dishes and decided to phone Byrne from an outside booth. It would be all right to leave her mother alone for five minutes. By tonight, Mike would be home and she could go out if Byrne would let her. She suddenly wondered if Byrne held an outside job that would keep her away. The idea of a whole day without speaking to her was unendurable.

With relief she heard the receiver lift and Byrne's voice answer, heavy with sleep. It was almost noon and she had just gotten out of bed. Pangs of jealousy bit into Paula as she imagined Greta lying beside her all those horns. Yet she kept her voice pleasant.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said innocently, "but I left my purse in the living room."

Oh yes, Byrne was quite aware that she had left it behind. How come she hadn't returned for it? Bluntly, Paula told her that she knew Byrne was expecting a visitor and she didn't think it wise to barge in.

"I haven't decided," Byrne said, "whether you're shrewd or naive." But her voice sounded pleased and that's all Paula cared about.

When the dime dropped, signaling almost the end of five minutes, Byrne inquired if she were at work.

Paula said no, and waited breathlessly. The magic words came. "If you're free, why don't you stop by for awhile?"

She couldn't refuse. Paula almost ran out to hail a cab and have Byrne pay for it when she arrived. She made herself go back upstairs and check on her mother.

The woman had pulled herself together somewhat and was sewing a button on a pair of her father's pants. Paula looked for her mother's breakfast dishes but found none. With her coat still on, Paula warmed up what was left of the oatmeal and made coffee.

Ma ate while Paula told her that she had called the hospital and Pa was doing fine.

No ray of light crept into her mother's eyes. Nor did Paula's tone hold true conviction. She phoned the hospital again. Still the nurse put her off with the same reply that meant nothing.

Paula knew that if she sat around the house all day, she would go crazy. Even if not to see Byrne, she would have to go somewhere. What kind of company could she be for her mother, when she herself was so distraught? Might just as well get away and leave her in peace.

She had started for the door when her mother's voice called her back. It sounded brittle and unfamiliar, as if all the juice of life had been drained out.

"Where are you going?"

The question caught Paula off guard. This was a strange time for her mother to care about where she was going.

"Out for a while." It wasn't a lie, yet it sounded like one.

"Where do you go when you say you're going out?" The hollow voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. It frightened Paula and upset her.

"What difference does it make?" She wanted to avoid the question. "I was too tired to go to work."

"I want you to tell me where you're going, Paula." She stirred the coffee aimlessly, but her manner was oddly persistent.

Paula remained in the hallway. She didn't want to come back. This was wasting her time, the precious minutes that could be spent with Byrne. Even so, she couldn't take advantage of her mother. Not now, she just couldn't.

"If you must know, I'm going to visit a friend."

"Which friend? Who is home in the middle of the day?"

"Lots of people." She couldn't evade the question forever. Either she would have to lie or walk out without answering.

Paula took a few steps back toward the kitchen. Heavy steps, regretting each one. "Look, Ma, if you want me to stay home with you, just say so. I don't think it's fair to give me a third degree when we're both so upset."

"You're not acting like my daughter." Her voice was flat, expressionless. "You've turned into a stranger lately. But I still have the right to know who's influencing you."

Oh, Lord, it was going to drag on all afternoon. The remnants of her patience fluttered on the tip of Paula's tongue. "I'm upset because of Pa," she said. "The way you are, too. Think you've been acting like yourself lately? When did you ever sit at the table like that?"

Her mother gazed at her steadily. Paula's words didn't fool her. "All right. But if you're getting into trouble, nobody will help you but yourself."

Paula relaxed and kissed her mother on the forehead. "I'm too big to get into trouble," she said.

"Yes."

Quickly she left before her mother could find other threads of Paula's life to unravel. She cursed herself for forgetting to take carfare. Then, with a burst of self-assurance, she hailed a cab.

* * *

The driver pulled up in front of the brownstone and Paula told
him
to wait. She ran inside and explained to Byrne. Byrne pulled some bills from her own purse and gave them to Paula. Absorbed with these trifles, Paula did not notice, at first, the marks on Byrne's arms. She came back in and bounced on the couch, throwing her head back and smiling up at the ceiling. The unaccustomed feeling of not being at the office flapped gleefully inside her like a young bird trying its wings.