by Belva Plain
Robert, finding the reminder on Lynn’s writing desk, demanded, “Dr. Miller, three o’clock. What kind of doctor is this?”
These were the first words he had spoken to her that Sunday, and she gave him a short answer. “What are you doing at my desk?”
“I was looking in your address book for a periodontist that somebody asked about.”
“I don’t look at things on your desk.”
“I never said you shouldn’t. I have no secrets.” He strode to the large flattop on the other side of the room. “Come on. Look. Open any drawer you want.”
“I don’t want to open any drawer, Robert. All right, I’ll tell you. Dr. Miller is a therapist. That’s what we’ve come to.”
“That’s not necessary, Lynn.” He spoke quietly. “You don’t need it.”
“But I do. And you need to go too. Will you?”
“Definitely not. We had a disagreement. What’s so extraordinary? People have disagreements all the time and get over them. No doubt this is some bright idea of Josie’s.”
“It is not,” she answered truthfully.
“Bruce’s, then.”
Hating to lie, she did not answer.
“I’m not spending money on this stuff, Lynn. I work too hard for it. Paying some stranger to listen to your troubles.” His voice rose now, not in anger but in plaint. “I’ve never prevented you from buying anything you wanted, have I? Just look around at this house.” His arm swept out over the leather chairs, the tawny rug, and the golden light on the lawn beyond the windows.
“Furniture isn’t everything, or rings either,” she responded, twisting the diamond on her finger.
“I should think you’d be ashamed to go and spill out your personal affairs. You’re overreacting, you’re over-emotional. A man and wife have a nasty argument, and you behave as if the end of the world had come. No, I don’t want you to go. Listen to me, Lynn—”
But she had already left the room.
In midafternoon the turnpike was an almost vacant path through a pastel landscape, pink cherry bloom, white apple bloom, and damp green leafage. The station wagon rolled along so easily that Lynn, turning off at the exit, found herself an hour too early for her appointment.
She drew up before a square house on a quiet street of developer’s houses, all alike, except that this one possessed a wing with a separate entrance. A dirt bike propped against the wall of the garage and a glimpse of a jungle gym in the backyard were encouraging; the man would be experienced, and his words would not all come out of books.
Thinking it absurd to sit in the car for an hour, she rang the bell. A nondescript woman in a purple printed dress, who might have been either the doctor’s wife or his mother, opened the door. No, the doctor was not in yet, but Lynn might come inside and wait.
The wait felt very, very long. Now that she had taken this great step, now that she was actually here, an anxious haste overcame her. Let me get this over with, it pleaded. As the minutes went by so slowly, so slowly, a faint fear began to crawl up from the pit of her stomach, to quicken her heart and lump itself in her throat. And she tried to stamp the fear out with reassurance: It is like waiting for your turn at the dentist’s, that’s all it is.
But this office was too small. There was no willing stranger to talk with or even to observe.
Her heart was racing now. She crossed the little room, took a couple of magazines, and was unable to read. Nothing made sense, neither the summer fashions nor the economic development of Eastern Europe. Nothing. She got up to examine the pictures on the wall, skillful portraits and pictures of places where the subjects of the portraits had been. Here they were posed on beaches, in ski clothes, and smiling under the iron arches of the Eiffel Tower. When she had seen all these, she sat down again with her heart still racing.
What was she to say to this unknown man? How to start? Perhaps he might ask why she had come to him. How, then, would she explain? Opening sentences formed and reformed silently on her lips. Well, on Saturday night there was a terrible scene. Cruel, bitter words were spoken, words that I had not dreamed could be said in our home, where we loved—love each other. But on the other hand, don’t all children sometimes say that they hate their parents? So that it means nothing, really? Really? But Emily said that Robert … that Robert …
A husky middle-aged man appeared at the inner door. They matched, he and the woman in the purple print, so she must be his wife, Lynn thought absurdly, and was at the same instant aware that she was not thinking straight.
“Will you come in, please, Mrs. Ferguson?”
When she stood up, the walls whirled, and she had to grasp the back of the chair.
“I’m suddenly not feeling well, Doctor.” The words came brokenly. “Maybe it’s the flu or something. I don’t know. I’m dizzy. It just came over me. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll come again. I’ll pay for this visit. I’m sorry,” she stammered.
The man’s eyes, magnified by thick glasses, regarded her gravely. And she was suddenly reminded of her bruises, the unsightly marks on which scabs had not yet formed.
“I had—you can see—I had a little accident. I fell. We have a thorn hedge, so pretty, but those thorns, like needles—”
“Oh? An accident?” He paused. “Well, you mustn’t drive while you’re dizzy, you know. Please come in and rest in a comfortable chair until you feel better.”
Feeling forced to obey, she took her seat in a large leather chair, laid her head back, and closed her eyes. She could hear papers rustling on the desk, the opening and closing of a drawer, and the pounding of her blood in her ears.
After a while a pleasant voice caused her to open her eyes.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
“It does seem foolish to sit here and say nothing. Really, really, I think I should go,” she repeated, as if she were begging permission.
“If you like, of course. But I don’t think you’re coming down with the flu.”
“The dizziness is gone at least, so perhaps not.”
“I am curious to know why you came here at all. Can you tell me that much?”
“It’s strange. I imagined you would ask me that.”
“And did you imagine what your answer would be?”
“Josie—Josie Lehman said I should ask advice.” She wiped her sweating palms on a handkerchief. “We don’t, I mean, sometimes my husband and I don’t seem to handle the children, I mean we don’t always agree. We have a teenage daughter and a girl of eleven, she’s very sensitive, too fat, and my husband wants her to lose weight, and of course he’s right, and you see—well, this weekend there were, there were misunderstandings, a quarrel, you see, and Annie, she’s the younger one, told Robert she hated him, and I didn’t quite know what to do.”
And Emily said: Dad did it to you.
I can’t, I can’t say that.
Lynn’s eyes filmed. Fiercely she wiped the damned humiliating tears away. She had vowed not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“That’s all right. Why not cry if you need to?”
“So. So that’s what it is, you see. Maybe I’m exaggerating. Now that I hear myself, I think I probably am. It’s one of my faults. I get too emotional.”
There were a few moments of silence until the pleasant voice addressed her again.
“You haven’t told me anything about your husband.”
“Oh, Robert, Robert is an unusual man. You don’t often meet anyone like him, a Renaissance man, you might say. People do say. He has so many talents, everyone admires him, his scholarship and energy, he does so much good in the community and takes so much time with the children, their education, so much time—”
I hate you.
Dad did it to you.
“Yes?” said the voice, encouraging.
“I don’t know what else to say. I—”
“You’ve told me what your husband does for the children and for the community, but not what he does for y
ou.”
“Well, he’s very generous, very thoughtful and—” She stopped. It was impossible; she was not able to say it; she should not have come here.
“Is that all? Tell me, for instance, whether you are often angry at each other.”
“Well, sometimes Robert gets angry, of course. I mean, people do, don’t they? And often it’s my fault—”
Nausea rose into her throat, and she was cold. On a blazing summer afternoon she felt gooseflesh on her arms. And she stood abruptly in a kind of panic, wanting only to flee.
“No, I can’t say any more today. No, no, I’m not dizzy now, truly I’m not. I can drive. It’s just a headache, a touch of fever. I am coming down with something after all. I know I am. But I’ll come back,” she said. “I surely will. I know I should.”
Asking no more, the doctor stood and opened the door.
“I’ll give you an appointment, Mrs. Ferguson. I’m going away for three weeks. When I come back, if you want to keep the appointment, I will be glad to talk to you. And in the meantime it would be a good idea to keep a daily record of everything you all do together. Write it down, the happy hours as well as the other kind. Then well talk. If you wish,” he repeated. “Will you do that?”
“Yes, yes, I will. And thank you, thank you so much,” she said.
Safely alone in the car, safely away from the measuring eyes behind the thick glasses, she felt at first a deep relief. But very gradually, as the distance between herself and those eyes increased, and the distance between herself and home diminished, she began to feel instead the heat of a cowardly shame, as if she had been caught in some dishonorable act, a harmful lie, a demeaning theft, or as if she had been found wandering demented through the streets in her underwear. Why, why, had she not told the whole truth? The man had known there was something else. He had seen right through her.
The after-work traffic was heavy, so it was past the dinner hour when she reached home to find Robert’s car already in the garage. Ready for a confrontation, she steadied herself and walked into the house. Well, I did it, she would say, and I’ll face right up to him. Yes, I’ll say, I’m going again, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
They were all still at table. Robert got up and pulled out Lynn’s chair, Annie smiled, and Emily said, “I put your chicken casserole into the microwave and made a salad, Mom. I hope you weren’t saving the casserole for anything. I didn’t know.”
“Saving it for all of you, dear. And thank you, Emily. You’re as helpful as my right hand.”
“Annie set the table,” Emily said pointedly.
“If I had two right hands, then you’d be the other one, Annie.”
The atmosphere was tranquil. One could always sense something as palpable as wind or temperature in a room where any strong emotions, healthy or otherwise, had stirred the air. Here, now, a breeze rippled the white silk curtains, Juliet dozed under the table, and three calm faces turned to Lynn. Can they all have forgotten? she asked herself incredulously. It was true that Robert’s black moods could quickly, with the flip of a coin, turn golden. Also it was true that, when in his own golden mood, he knew how to charm a person whom he had just hurt and angered. Besides, the girls had the wonderful, forgetful resilience of youth. For that at least, she should be thankful. Still, it was astonishing to see them all sitting there like that.
Annie inquired, “Where were you so late, Mommy?”
“Oh, I had the usual errands and didn’t look at my watch.”
Unconsciously, Lynn glanced toward Robert, whose glance, above the rim of his cup, met hers. He put the cup down, and she looked away.
“Aren’t you going to tell Mom now?” asked Emily, addressing Robert.
At once alarmed, Lynn gave a little cry. “Tell Mom what? Has something happened?”
“Something very nice, I think,” Emily said.
Robert, reaching into his jacket pocket, drew out a long envelope and, with a satisfied air, handed it to Lynn.
“Plane tickets,” he told her.
“Kennedy to San Juan and transfer to St.—” she read. “Robert! What on earth?”
“Ten days in the Caribbean. We leave Saturday morning. That gives you a few days to get ready and to feel better.” He wore a proud smile. “Now, what do you say to that?”
What I want to say, she thought, is: How dare you! What do you think I am? Instead, and only because the girls were present, she replied, “The girls can’t miss school, Robert. I don’t know what can be in your mind.”
“They aren’t going to miss school. This vacation is for you and me.”
It was a cheap—no, an expensive—bribe. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. And still for the girls’ sake, she said evenly, “It makes no sense. Who’ll be in charge here? I’m not walking away and leaving a household to fend for itself.”
“Of course not. That’s all been taken care of. I’ve spent the whole day making arrangements. Eudora will sleep in while we’re gone. The girls use the school bus, and if there’s need to go anyplace, Eudora’ll take them in her car or Bruce and Josie will, on the weekends. I talked to Bruce,” Robert explained. “They’ll be glad to take the girls to the town pool, and Bruce will drive Annie to her tennis lesson. I don’t want her to miss it, and he doesn’t mind.”
Annie, who returned Bruce’s love tenfold, now interjected a plea. “You know I like going with Uncle Bruce, Mommy. Please say yes, Mommy.”
“So you see, it’s all arranged. No problems. Nothing to do but pack a few clothes,” Robert said positively.
Feeling trapped, Lynn pushed away from the table, saying only, “We’ll talk about it later. I don’t like having things sprung on me like this. Now, you have homework, girls. Leave the kitchen; I’ll clean up by myself.”
When she went upstairs, Robert followed. Once in their room, she turned on him.
“You think you can bribe me, don’t you? It’s unspeakable.”
“Please. There’s no bribe intended, only a cure. A cure for what ails us.”
“It’ll take more than ten days in the island paradise,” she said sarcastically. “A whole lot more, to do that.”
At the window she stood with her back to him. The view of trees and hill, always so restful to her soul, was melancholy now as the hill hid the lowering sun and shadowed the garden.
“The girls want us to go. You heard them.”
Of course they do, she thought. It will be an adventure for them to lord it over the house with their parents away. Why not? And she thought, too, now with a twinge of unease, Emily will stay out too late with Harris.
Robert persisted. “I’m not worried about them, you know. Bruce and Josie are as dependable as you and I are.”
Yes, she thought, when they can be useful, you will use the Lehmans, even though you don’t like them. Still she said nothing, only, for some unconscious reason, turned up her palms, on which tiny dark-red scabs like polka dots had begun to form.
“I don’t want to go,” she said abruptly.
“You saw that man today,” he said.
“I did,” she retorted, “and what of it?”
“I didn’t believe you would. I’m completely shocked. I didn’t think you really meant to.”
“I meant to, Robert.”
“And what did he—”
“Oh, no!” she cried. “You don’t ask a question like that. Don’t you know any better? Unless you will consent to go with me.”
“If it will satisfy you,” he said, seizing her words. “I don’t believe we need anything except to get away together. But if it will satisfy you, I will do anything,” he finished humbly.
And she stood there still staring at her hands.
“We’re tired, both of us.” He, whose speech was always so deliberate, now rushed and stumbled. “This last year or two has been hectic, there’s been no rest, you and I have scarcely had an hour alone together. The new house for you, new office and work for me. New faces for me, new schools, friends, all these h
ard adjustments—”
In the face of his distress she felt triumphant, and yet something in her had to pity that distress.
“Listen. I know my temper’s hot, but I don’t lose it often, you have to admit. And I’m always sorry as hell afterward. Not that that does much good, I know. But I’m not a bad sort, Lynn, and I love you.”
From below came the sound of Annie’s plodding minuet. Emily came bounding upstairs to answer her ringing phone. As if he had read Lynn’s mind—as he almost always could—Robert said softly, “They need us, Lynn. Our children need us both. We can’t punish them. Let’s put this crazy business behind us. Please.”
“Oh,” she said with a heavy sigh.
He paced the room while again his words rushed.
“I was jealous, I was furious that night. The sight of you dancing with that man when I had been worried about you made me frantic. You looked so intimate together. I realize now how stupid it was of me. You’re an innocent woman, you could never—” And he stopped while his eyes went bright with the start of tears. “Then you said there was something wrong with me.”
“I was very, very angry, Robert, and I still am.”
“All right. Angry or not, will you go? For the family’s sake, will you go?” He laid the thick envelope on the dresser. “I was lucky to get these tickets. They’re all booked up for honeymooners this time of year, but there was a cancellation. So you see, it was meant to be. Oh, Lynn, forgive me.”
He was still standing there, with the tears still brilliant on his lashes, when without replying, she turned away.
Down the long road beside the marshes the plane sped, raised itself mightily into the bright air, and circled southward.
“Well, here we are,” said Robert.
Lynn said nothing. Nothing was required. Resentment was still sore in her, burning like ill-digested food. Because of her wish to be finished with a hideous anger, to conceal from her children whatever could be concealed, she had been led and inveigled, tricked, into sitting where she now sat.
“You’ll be glad you’ve gone,” he said soothingly.
She turned the full force of her scorn upon him. “Glad? That’ll be the day.”
