Looking Back

by Belva Plain

  “Well, you know I had fallen in love with you long before that.”

  “What are we going to do?” she cried again.

  “The first thing we have to do is to be very careful. Norma thinks that you—you are not getting along.”

  He still cannot say the name “Larry,” she thought. That’s how deep the pain goes.

  “What made her think that?” she asked.

  “She dropped in one day and saw you with red eyes.”

  “Yes, I had been crying.”

  A sigh so deep that it might have taken all his breath came from L.B.

  “Listen,” she said, more firmly now. “We’ll go away together, anywhere you like. It can be Alaska or down near the Gulf. Anywhere. I can run a dress shop, and you can do something in real estate. We’ll manage.”

  “You make it sound so easy. What about Stevie?”

  “He would stay with Larry. I would never take him away, never do that to Larry. And it will be better for Stevie in the long run to be cared for here. Norma will help. You’ve seen how she adores him.” In a gesture now become habit, Amanda clasped her hands. “It will be better for me, too, if I leave him now before he gets older and we have a real relationship. I can part with him now if I have to,” she finished, swallowing a sob.

  “What a price to pay,” L.B. said, very low. “What a price.”

  “Perhaps if we simply tell the truth and take the consequences—”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you think I could look at Norma and Larry if they were to know the truth?”

  “You wouldn’t have to look at them if you went away,” Amanda responded, also very low. And then, when he did not answer, she cried out again in despair, “You must see that this has become impossible for me! I can’t live in that house anymore! I have to go back there in another hour, and I can’t bear it. To sleep—in that room—use your imagination—I can’t do it much longer.”

  L.B. got up and walked as she had done to the window. It is a way of moving free, if only for a moment, of the place where you are boxed in, she thought. Perhaps out there in the street, or the forest, wherever you may be, an answer is written, or so you hope, on the stones or in the trees. And filled with sorrow because he was suffering, she went over and put both hands on his shoulders.

  “To wake up in the morning and find each other there,” she whispered, “for always. Always.”

  When he turned and put his arms around her, she thought she saw tears in his eyes. “Give me time to think of something,” he said. “We love each other. We shouldn’t, but we do. Give me time to think of something.”

  “We’re having the dickens of a heat wave,” her mother said. “It hit a hundred yesterday, and the house is an oven. Are you sure you want to come now?”

  What she was really saying, Amanda knew, was, “What brings you here this week, when in all this time you’ve never made the slightest effort to visit us?”

  Somehow Amanda ignored the question by asking another about where she should stay.

  “You’ll have to stay at the motel on the highway. We’re splitting at the seams here. Baby’s boyfriend is staying with us until he gets his first month’s pay on the new job.”

  Baby, the youngest of the girls—was she going to be called Baby for the rest of her life?—had been in junior high school just yesterday, or so it seemed to Amanda. And abruptly she felt a warm desire to see them all again. It was probably the first time since, excited and proud, she had left them to go away to the university that she had felt any such longing.

  Mostly, she wanted to see her mother. It was not that she expected any specific counsel; L.B. would take care of all that. It was simply that there are times when a woman needs to empty her troubles onto the lap of another woman who will care. And who better than one’s mother?

  “I’ll be taking the usual bus,” she said. “I’ll wait on the bench at the bus stop till one of you can pick me up.”

  Larry was upset that he could not go along. “Is your mother seriously sick? What did they tell you?”

  “It was a slight attack, my brother said. It might be nothing, and then again it might really be something. But from the way he spoke I had the feeling that I ought to go.”

  “Of course you should. Listen, there’s no excuse for our not going down to visit your folks. We absolutely have to do it in the fall, maybe over Thanksgiving. We’ll take Stevie to meet his grandparents and invite everybody to the hotel or motel, whatever it is, for Thanksgiving dinner. Where you going?”

  “Upstairs to pack my suitcase. I’ll be gone a week, so I’ll need things.”

  “Stay here for a while and watch TV with me. There’s a great program coming on in ten minutes.”

  Lying back in his big chair with his shirt open, he patted his large, pale stomach and belched. Then he laughed.

  “Oops, sorry! Too many French fries. I can never stop once I get started. But what the heck, everybody loves a fat man, right? Fat men are good-natured, right? Wouldn’t you say I’m good-natured?”

  Poor, kind soul, with his innocent grin! It hurt her to look at him as much as it repelled her.

  “Yes,” she said gently, “yes, you are.”

  Rip Van Winkle must have felt like this. Nothing had changed. On the bench at the corner of Main and Church, Amanda could see Sue’s Beauty Emporium, with bottles of hair goods in the window; next came Ben’s Dry Goods, with shirts, jeans, and overalls in the window. The sidewalks steamed, tar melted where the street had been patched, and everything from the hot, cloudy sky to the unpainted boards was gray.

  Right here at this spot she had stood on the day she returned with a diploma in her bag and the very expensive black-and-white carry-on at her feet. Right here she had stood waiting for the bus on her way back north, there perhaps to accept Larry Balsan—if he should ask her to—even though she did not really want to.

  Is it good that we cannot see the future, or is it bad?

  A horn honked. “Hey, kid, remember me? I’m your brother Hank.”

  She climbed into the pickup and gave him a kiss. He, too, was the same, with bare, sunburned arms and fair curly hair like hers.

  “What brings you here? Troubles?”

  The question was startling and might have been taken for sarcasm, but when she looked at him, she saw that it was genuine. Anyway, Hank was not given to sarcasm, nor to irony.

  “I only wanted to see you all,” she said.

  “Well, good. We talk about you a lot, and let me tell you, we’re all mighty grateful for the stuff you send. You must have found a gold mine up there.”

  “No, I make nice money, and I like to share, that’s all. Anyway, I really don’t send that much.”

  “Enough to fix up the kitchen. New stove and refrigerator. You keep Lorena’s kids in clothes, too. That bum of hers can’t even keep them in shoes.”

  “I’m glad I can help, Hank.”

  “Want to turn here and take a look at the high school? They haven’t had another kid like you since you graduated. Bookworm. Solid A’s. People still talk about you.”

  Solid A’s, she thought, but you can still mess up your life.

  The road, the trees, and the house, when they reached it, all of these were extending their arms to her. She was being welcomed, not only by the human arms of her blood and kin, but by a sense of safety; the very sameness of it all suggested that nothing ever changed much here, so nothing ever really could go very wrong.

  Here it was: the supper table in the kitchen; the menu of okra, ham, and sweet potato pie in her honor; the two yellow hounds waiting for scraps; Lorena’s youngest, wearing a wet diaper. With all its defects, from which she had longed to flee, and had fled, it was home. And Mother was the mother who would listen to her and tell her that things really were not all that bad. When mothers kiss, the bruise stops hurting.

  Someone said, “You must have brought pictures of the baby.”

  O
f course she had, and so as soon as the kitchen table was cleared, her pictures were spread out on it. Everybody agreed immediately that Stevie was a handsome boy. But why hadn’t she brought him along? What about Larry? Why hadn’t he come?

  “Next time,” she promised. “It’s quite a job to take a fifteen-month-old baby on a plane, especially a very active one, like Stevie.”

  “Who’s this, the man holding him?”

  “Oh, that was on Stevie’s birthday.”

  “But who is he? He looks like a movie star,” Baby said.

  “He’s Larry’s father.”

  “The grandpa!” Baby squealed. “He doesn’t look like the grandpas I see around here. This man’s gorgeous.”

  As when a plug is removed and water gushes down the drain, the feeling of ease and safety departed. If at that moment Amanda could have turned and fled, she would have done so. But she spoke brightly with a question about her aunt Eva.

  “The last time we spoke, I remember, she had fallen and hurt her knee.”

  “It was bad there for a while, but she’s fine now. And she’d love to see you.”

  “There are so many people who haven’t seen you in years, Amanda,” her mother said. “There are Uncle Bob and Aunt May, the Robinson cousins out in Barnville—a whole lot of people, if you’re up to it.”

  “Well, I’ll be here for a few days, so if somebody will drive me around, I’ll be glad to make visits.”

  Perhaps what she needed was to think about these other people, the old aunt, the young cousin with the new baby, and the ambitious teenager who reminded her of herself not all that many years ago …

  On the third day, when she returned from Barnville, her mother was waiting for her on the front porch. They were alone, yet her mother spoke in a low voice, very seriously.

  “Why did you tell your husband that I was ill, Amanda?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked with a pang of fear in her chest.

  “He telephoned while you were gone and asked how I was feeling.”

  Fool, fool! She had intended to telephone Larry with a report about her mother, and in her addled state had forgotten to do it.

  “I needed an excuse to come here. It was silly of me.”

  “Why an excuse? Are you not on good terms with him, so that you have to lie?”

  “No, no. We’re fine. But men can be possessive sometimes, can’t they? I wanted to come right away, and I knew he wasn’t able to leave work. He had been talking about putting it off until Thanksgiving, and I didn’t want to wait that long.”

  A pair of blue eyes behind glasses were examining her. She knew those eyes well; they were not easily fooled.

  “There’s something you’re not saying, Amanda.”

  “No, really not. Really.”

  “We all, Lorena and Hank and Doreen—your father, even Baby, all of us—have a feeling that you are in trouble.”

  The blue eyes were steady in their examination. Above them there was a narrow border of gray hair. It emerged from the scalp beneath a wealth of shining brown hair. Obviously, she was covering up the gray. She was not young anymore. She had never had an easy life and never would have one, whatever future remained. There was poverty. There were Doreen, and Lorena with her troubles, and Baby with another new boyfriend, as yet an unknown quantity. Hank and Bub, for all their decency, were still living at home, getting nowhere. It would be cruel to give her something else to worry over, something that at best she wouldn’t be able to help.

  “You didn’t answer,” her mother said. “I’m puzzled why you came home right now. And after so long.”

  “I guess it was simple homesickness. It’s been a long time.”

  “If you have any big problems, you should tell me, Amanda.” As the gentle words were spoken, a gentle smile came into the blue eyes. “Heaven only knows, I’ve weathered Lorena’s problems. And it looks as if they may finally be clearing up. Maybe they are. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Amanda. Nothing dishonorable in having troubles.”

  Nothing dishonorable. There was no way to tell the story to this mother, or perhaps to anyone, without making it look like a vile and inexcusable affair. This good, righteous mother would never understand. She would struggle, and out of her love, would try to understand, but the wound would be a cruel one, too cruel.

  The mission here had been impossible. Amanda got up, kissed her mother, and assured her again: “It was simple homesickness. Believe me. And now that I’ve seen you all, I guess I’ll go back tomorrow.”

  After the endless, wearying bus trip, there was a long flight delay in Memphis, with nothing to do but buy another magazine or, if hungry, get something to eat. Amanda was sitting in the sandwich shop when Peter Mack came in. They were both surprised, and she was sorry, for her mood was dark while his, she saw immediately, was ebullient.

  “Well, of all times and places to meet,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Visiting my family.”

  “I’ve been doing the usual. Wonder how late we’ll be.”

  Amanda shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

  “I just phoned Cele to keep in touch with the airport. Have you called Larry? If you need a cell phone, you can borrow mine.”

  Peter was making conversation, feeling the need to communicate, even about trivia. She wondered what was making him so enthusiastic.

  “He’s out,” she said. “I’ll try later.”

  It was not true. The truth was that Larry had no idea she was coming home today. The plan was to take a taxi from the airport to the place on Lane Avenue, there to telephone to L.B., and then to go home tomorrow.

  “It’s a good thing we have a day to spare,” Peter said. “If this were the third of the month, we’d stand a chance of missing the celebration on the Fourth.”

  She had completely forgotten the Fourth of July. Indeed, she had been forgetting many things lately: a toothbrush last week, so that Hank had had to get one for her in town; and of all embarrassments, she had not been able to remember the name of Cousin Luke’s wife.

  Peter ordered a sandwich. When Amanda did not respond to him, he went on.

  “Pretty nice of Larry’s father to offer his yard for a block party. It was kind of a last-minute thing, Norma said. Only happened the day before yesterday. Those people who usually do it had a sudden illness in the family, and Mr. Balsan very generously offered his place instead.”

  So I’ll have to go to L.B.’s house, she was thinking. Then, catching herself, she explained, “There’s a marvelous view from there right down the hill toward the playing field where they set off the fireworks.”

  “We’re still kids, Cele and I. We love it all, The Star-Spangled Banner,’ the ice-cream cones, and all the sparkle in the sky.”

  Sparkle in the sky. Larry never used language like that. Now if L.B. were not who he is, she thought, or if I had met a man like this one … He might have chosen me instead of Cecile if he had met me at the same time….

  “Too bad Larry couldn’t go with you,” Peter said. “Well, work comes first, doesn’t it? It was the same with me. Cele would have come with me, but they’re in the middle of a giant fund drive at the hospital. Have you heard there’s talk of making her the president of the Guild next time round?” A soft expression passed across his face. “It’s a good thing for her, not so much because of the honor, but because the work’s important and it fills her days.”

  So there was still no sign of any baby. She remembered how he had suffered when it was feared that Cele might die. They’re probably the best pair of people I’ve ever known, Amanda thought. He’s the kind of man you can talk to. He has the heart and the wisdom to solve things. If I were to ask him, would he have an answer for us?

  She had ordered a salad, but having no appetite, had laid down the fork.

  “What’s the matter, no good?” Peter asked.

  “It’s too big, and I’m not very hungry
.”

  Had she really, if only for an instant, considered the possibility of consulting Peter? She trembled. Heaven forbid that such mad, reckless words should ever tumble out of her mouth!

  Give me time, L.B. said. I’ll think of something. And making a mental adjustment, she asked a courteous question.

  “I suppose you’ve been seeing some more of those grand old southern mansions again?”

  “Not many this time. Oh, listen. They’re calling our plane.”

  To Amanda’s relief, their seats were far apart. Closing her eyes and laying her head back, she let her thoughts stray. On flights from college to home and back, you would often have a talkative pilot who liked to point out places on the earth below them: a lake, a city, and always the Mississippi River. This pilot must be wary of the weather today, she thought, for he had made no reports. But she knew, according to her watch, just about when instead of flying north toward Michigan, they used to head west toward the old campus. And, in the illogical way of straying thoughts, she suddenly had a clear vision of Terry, the high school girl who had walked with her on the nights she left Sundale’s. She saw the girl’s home again, that simple, tidy home; so peaceful, so secure it had seemed, the very stuff of envy and of dreams! And she wondered what had become of Terry. Perhaps, now and then, Terry wondered about her? Ah, never, never could she imagine what had happened to this old friend!

  You are young. You are ignorant, although you do not know you are. There are paths and you choose one, although you do not know where it will take you.

  And, in an instant, came a picture of Stevie with his smile and a glimpse of tiny teeth. So deep then was her pain that she started up in her seat; a woman across the aisle stared in surprise.

  She scolded herself: This sort of thing must stop. I must make myself relax. L.B. will know what to do for us. Larry must soon get tired of me, anyway. Any other man, long before this, would have been sick of a woman who gives him so little. Let him ask me for a divorce. How can I be the one to do it? How can I crush a man who is so gentle, so decent, and so good to me? A man whom I have betrayed as I have? Yes, let him be the one. It will solve everything—if he asks for it. And then I’ll be free. I’ll feel a little less guilty. And it won’t matter what anyone thinks. We will go away. L.B. will know what to do.