Looking Back

by Belva Plain

  Cecile was waiting at the carousel. Amanda had hoped to lose Peter in the crowd, grab her bag, and find a taxi to Lane Avenue. But what a foolish thought, now that Peter and Cecile knew she was home! Her head was not even on straight anymore. As might be expected, they insisted on taking her home, though she wanted to be alone.

  “It’s out of your way,” she protested, although she sensed that they were giving her a queer look. “Please let me get a cab. I don’t mind at all.”

  “Come on,” Peter said, leading her by the elbow. “That’s ridiculous. We’re driving you home.”

  In the backseat she sat alone, saying little. When they had crossed the bridge and rounded the corner at Lane Avenue, she caught a glimpse of the familiar windows on the second floor. They were dark.

  “Isn’t there something the matter with her?” asked Cecile when they left Amanda.

  “She certainly wasn’t herself. At the airport, during the few minutes we were together, she didn’t even want me to talk to her.”

  “Norma swears there’s something wrong between Amanda and Larry. She’s worried about her brother, of course.”

  “I hope it’s nothing. But that seems to be all you hear these days.”

  “I know, and I’m just grateful for us. Tell me about your trip. Tell me everything.”

  When they had finished their dinner, she handed Peter a clipping. “I cut this out of the paper on Saturday. My father said Mr. Roland and the rest all took note of it. Here’s a news item, and on this page an editorial.”

  He read it slowly, nodding from time to time, and read it again before he spoke.

  “Casinos. I’ve heard about that gang in the legislature that’s promoting the idea. ‘Gang’ is right,” he said contemptuously. “‘Renaissance,’ they call it. ‘Kindling a business boom.’ Imagine! The wetlands along the river, that whole green little peninsula, turned into a gambling den deluxe. High-rise hotels, entertainment, and shops—all this instead of good housing, green parks, and a bird sanctuary.” And Peter flung down the paper.

  Cecile soothed him. “The editorial is completely on your side, though. My father is not worried at all. Read the editorial and you’ll see.”

  “I’m not worried. I’m just angry that people can be so destructive. It’s the same way I get angry when I see a marvelous old building in the hands of the wreckers.”

  “Tell me about the marble you went to look at. How was it?”

  “Just about perfect. It’s coffee with cream, lightly streaked. Very delicate. I was afraid I might have remembered it wrong, but I hadn’t. Fortunately, I won’t need very much; it’s hard to get and it costs a fortune, besides. You know, Cele, it’s refreshing to poke around some of these out-of-the-way places. I often think you might call them ‘forgotten places.’ By accident, for example, I came upon a crumbling balustrade that I’d never seen before. Lucky I had my camera in my pocket. It just struck me as something I might adapt for the semicircular terrace going down to the roadway.”

  Once, humbly, he had confessed to her his hope that the museum, as part of the project, might find a place someday in the National Register of Historic Places. Indeed, he had even admitted that he thought it had a good chance.

  It pleased her to see his face glow like this. He had come so far without anyone’s help, as he had always wanted to do. Never mind the “money men” at the banks, who were certainly necessary, but it was Peter who had truly created something grand.

  They were on their way upstairs for the night, when the sound of exploding firecrackers tore through the darkness.

  “Kids can’t wait till the Fourth,” Peter said. “I was like that, too.”

  If we had any, she thought without replying, we’d be taking ours to see the fireworks.

  “I suppose Mr. Balsan will be making it a gala event. He likes to do things in style.”

  The name Balsan made her think again of Amanda, who had been so strange lately. Something was happening to the spirited, winsome girl she had known, and Cecile was sad.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The sky was still bright when Amanda and Larry left the house. He was slightly annoyed because she had insisted that Stevie was too young to stay up late for the fireworks. She, although gaily dressed in red, white, and blue and prepared to show festive spirits, was actually trembling within. Unless there were to be some way that L.B. could get her aside and talk for a moment, they would have to wait for another long day.

  As usual, Larry’s annoyance had a short life. “Next year we’ll take him with us. And in a few years, though I hate to think of time rushing by so fast, he’ll be in high school, going everywhere without us. Hey, did I tell you Norma invited your friend Dolly from the shop? She thinks of everything. Actually, it was Cecile who reminded her to do it, because you’ve been inviting Dolly to this block party every year, and you must have forgotten before you went away.”

  Yes, that was like Cele; she thought of everything. Norma did not.

  “Why so quiet?” asked Larry.

  “I was listening to the music. That’s a beautiful song. Turn it louder.”

  “Oh yeah, a real oldie. ‘Some Enchanted Evening.’ It goes like this.” He began to hum off-key. “*—when you find your true love across a crowded room, then night after night’—something like that. I forget it. It’s old as the hills.”

  Why did he do even the simplest things all wrong? Why, when a person obviously wanted to hear a song, didn’t he have enough sense to shut up and let her hear it?

  And why is it that somebody else can do the most trivial thing, can make a small, unimportant gesture, and captivate you?

  “Time for the news,” Larry said. “You want it?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Put it on.” At least she wouldn’t have to talk.

  Larry switched off the radio. “Bah! No news. Maybe just as well. No bad news to spoil the holiday. Nice, isn’t it, all the flags hanging out? This is really a great neighborhood. Still, if we have another kid or two, Dad’s neighborhood, his house, I always tell you, might be better yet.”

  Suddenly Amanda was interested. “Why? Is he planning to sell?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Larry cleared his throat. Whenever he did that, for what reason Heaven only knew, he was about to make an important statement, and she became alert. “Dad and I had a serious talk while you were away. First he asked me an odd question, how you and I get along, whether we do much arguing. I told him no. Oh, we have our little differences, but we’re both easygoing, especially you. To come right down to it, you’re an easy woman to get along with.”

  She interrupted. “What made him ask that?”

  Larry hesitated. “I think I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have started to tell you. It’s something confidential, a surprise. He’s going to come out with it himself, tomorrow or the next day, so he asked me to keep it to myself.”

  How typical of Larry to bungle the story and leave her in suspense! And hiding her frustration, she asked calmly, “What’s confidential about a question like that? Go on, tell me the rest.”

  “Well, all right, but don’t dare let this slip. Even Norma doesn’t know. So here goes. You won’t believe it, but he has turned over the entire business to me, given me all the stock in the company, so now I’m the sole boss. Can you imagine?” Larry cried.

  Amanda’s heart raced. So they were really going to go away … A little smile trembled on her lips.

  “I was shocked out of my wits. Yes, I expected that someday when he was old, he’d retire and then I’d step into his shoes. I never expected anything like this. He’s a young man, after all. And just like that, Amanda. Just like that,” Larry said, snapping his fingers, “you and I are sitting on a pile of money. Hey, are you too shocked to talk?”

  His exuberance terrified her. She thought of the second shock that awaited him when he should learn what lay behind L.B.’s grand gesture. And as she imagined his poor face aghast, she felt her racing heart sink in pity.


  Since he was naturally expecting some comment, she asked whether this was a sudden decision and what had led to it.

  “It seems to be very sudden. You remember my mother’s Canadian relatives? Well, one of the cousins, a widower much older than Dad and not well, owns a lot of property, worked hard all his life and wants to take it easy. So he got the idea that maybe my father would like to take it a little easier, too. And he’s invited him to be his companion on a trip around the world, then to come back and take over the management of the properties out in British Columbia for him. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. And Dad, too. It sounded like a darn good deal, and Dad’s accepted.”

  In front of Amanda’s eyes, the road swayed. Something sharp, a bullet or a knife, had pierced her, while something blunt had come down upon her head.

  “What did you say?” she whispered. “I didn’t hear you. For how long is this to be?”

  “Oh, indefinitely. For a few years anyway, as long as this cousin lives. I tell you, I was stunned at first to think Dad would ever leave here, but now that I’ve been thinking about it these last few days, it seems to be a fantastic idea. Dad’s never traveled or done anything but work all his life. So as long as he wants to, why not? We can always visit back and forth.”

  Amanda, feeling a surge of nausea, remembered to close her eyes against the dizzying glare on the street.

  Larry, taking no notice, went on chattering. “Well, here we are. Look at the picnic spread! You can depend on getting real food whenever my father’s in charge. The folks on this block won’t know what hit them this year. You can say what you want, but you’ll go far to beat this yard. Why, the trees alone, those blue spruce that my mother planted! She loved trees. The old house would be a picture painted white, don’t you think so? I know you’ve said you’d never want this house, but you might change your mind—what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing … Something I ate.”

  Larry took the last parking space at the end of the street, leaped out of the car, rushed around to the other side, and opened the door.

  “Orange juice and cereal. I don’t see how that could make you—unless the milk was sour?”

  She was fighting herself: You can’t be sick here; you’ll look like a fool; hold on until tomorrow; he could have gotten the facts all wrong; tomorrow you’ll find out. Hold on.

  People were passing on the sidewalk. She raised her head in time to hear Dolly’s astonished cry. “What’s wrong with Amanda?”

  Larry stammered, “I don’t know. It just happened. A sick stomach, she says.”

  Yes, he could have gotten the facts all wrong.

  “It’s passing,” she said. “Whatever it was, I feel it passing.”

  But Larry was too shaken to accept that. “Are you sure? Came and went just like that? Maybe we should see a doctor. There are two right on this street: Dr. Byrnes, and an old retired man, Dr. Slater.”

  The last thing she needed was a doctor to ask a hundred questions. “It was a momentary thing. A freak thing. I’m sorry,” she said firmly now.

  “You scared the daylights out of me, honey.”

  “Oh, this is my friend Joey Bates,” Dolly said. “I was so scared I didn’t introduce anybody.”

  Introductions were then made. Amanda looked up into the genial face of Dolly’s latest boyfriend, a plumber and volunteer fireman. He looked nice, as if he could be trusted. But then, everything was uncertain …

  “This is Larry’s father’s house,” Dolly explained.

  Joey nodded. “Nice place.”

  “Sure you’re feeling all right now?” Larry asked doubtfully.

  “Sure.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  The yard was crowded as people moved up the rise from the front gate toward the rear, where three tables stood trimmed in red, white, and blue crepe paper and loaded with refreshments. Ahead of Dolly and Amanda, Larry was answering Joey’s questions about the age of the house and the fence of blue spruce that his mother had planted. Amanda struggled on weak legs.

  Suddenly she had an urge to speak. “It wasn’t a sick stomach, Dolly. I’ve had a shock. I can’t talk about it now, because probably it will turn out to be nothing. I don’t know … Do I look all right?”

  Surprised, Dolly turned to look. “Why, yes,” she said. “Aren’t you glad you took the white linen? It looks lovely on you.”

  “I meant my face. Does it look all right?”

  “Of course it does. It’s the same as always. What’s the trouble, Amanda? Won’t you tell me?”

  “I can’t.” Her eyes were searching among the gathering: neighbors, young children, and noisy teenagers, along with sundry familiar employees of Balsan Real Estate. Larry, the friendly mingler, had already been swallowed up among them.

  Near the porch stood the Macks and the Coles, along with Alfred Cole. Amanda did not want to waste time talking. There was only one person she needed to see here. Nevertheless, she went over to them.

  “Have you looked at the tables?” asked Norma. “Dad ordered sandwiches on baguettes from the French bakery. He’s got a bowl of peaches in wine, and a New Orleans ice-cream pie. Leave it to him. This is the fanciest Fourth of July I’ve ever seen.” Exactly as Larry had done, she spoke of their father with pride.

  On her hand as she flung it out in a graceful arc, Lester’s diamond glittered. It was odd, Amanda thought, that of the three musketeers, the least attractive one owned the best ring. Was it not odd, too, to be having such a strange, irrelevant thought? And most strange of all was that the trees had begun to revolve in the dusk.

  She stood still, leaning against the porch railing. The others were talking, their words a meaningless hum in the background, while scattered images, sounds, and sights were racing through her mind: the creak of the swing on this very porch when Larry proposed; white bridal flowers given into her hand at the honeymoon hotel; the thundering storm that first time with L.B.; the room on Lane Avenue.

  Take the number 8 bus and get off on the corner near the bridge.

  “Is your father here?” she asked Norma.

  “Of course he’s here. Probably up at the top near the tables.”

  Abruptly she walked away, too abruptly, no doubt, and they would wonder why. It didn’t matter. L.B. was talking to a man tending bar at one of the tables. And still abruptly, she went to him.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “Not here. Not now,” he replied with a slight, worried frown.

  “Yes, here and now. Come over near the kitchen door.”

  When she looked into his face, it seemed to her that she read the answer to the question that she had not yet asked.

  “Is it true that you are going away to Canada? Larry just told me.”

  Now she read his alarm. “I don’t know what Larry said,” he began, when she interrupted him.

  “He said it’s supposed to be a surprise, but he wasn’t able to hold it in, so don’t blame him. Just answer me: Is it true?”

  Now she read L.B.’s panic. “I wouldn’t call it—I didn’t intend a surprise. I wanted to talk to you about it tomorrow and explain, just talk it over between you and me,” he said. “But not now. Not here. Please, Amanda.”

  “Why don’t you answer me? It’s a quick, simple question. Give me a quick, simple answer.”

  “God help us both. It’s not so simple. Please, Amanda, we’re too conspicuous standing here. This isn’t the place to talk.”

  Her legs going weak again, she braced herself against the kitchen door. And once more that terrible feeling of unreality overcame her. Were they really here in L.B.’s yard talking like this, she and he? He, my love, my world?

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the place,” he murmured. “Let me go now before people notice us.”

  “All you have to do is say:? am going away without you, Amanda. I am telling you good-bye.’ Say it. Or say that it’s not true.”

  “Please, Amanda.” He was im
ploring her. “Oh, please. Not now.”

  “All you have to do is say whether you are leaving me or not.” She saw that he was too shaken to speak, but she persisted, letting her voice rise. “Can you tell me it isn’t true?”

  “I beg you, darling Amanda, let’s talk tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow,” she said as she walked away. “Not necessary. I have your answer.”

  A dry sob burned in her chest, the pain of it worse than any pain of childbirth. She wanted to hide someplace where she might cope with herself unseen. A large group of teenagers had congregated in a corner of the yard and were drinking out of paper cups. She walked over to lose herself among them. From where they all stood, she could still see L.B., half a head taller than anyone around him. He was being the gracious host. Anguish, she thought: Is that the right word? Surely he must be feeling the same. He must. It had been written in his eyes. How well she knew him! How well. Then why?

  Because, came the answer, because in the final analysis he cannot hurt his son. So I must be left to suffer, and he will suffer—perhaps not for too long—in Canada. Anywhere he goes, there will be women who will run to him, women like that girl up near the tables right this minute, who is lifting her pretty face to him. She can’t be more than seventeen….

  Going back toward the tables, she met Larry looking both irritable and worried.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he complained. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  Feeling all right? I am probably losing my mind, she thought, and replied with a question.

  “Who is that girl standing next to your father?”

  “I don’t know her name. She’s summer help, a kid who helps out in the office until September. What’s the matter with you? You don’t look right.”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I’m thirsty. I’m going for a drink.”

  A barman behind two punch bowls explained that one of them was nonalcoholic, and the other was “very alcoholic.”