Looking Back

by Belva Plain

  “To be fair, though it hurts me to say so, she was a good mother in her own way,” Lester said.

  Larry leaped out of the chair and shouted, “‘In her own way’? Yes, a fine example for a child. Truthful, trustful, moral—let her rot wherever she is. Rot, I said.”

  No one could say that he was not justified. For a few minutes there was heavy gloom between them until Larry spoke again.

  “What is it? Doesn’t she want him?”

  “Who, Amanda?”

  “Yes, yes, who else?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Norma answered. “I’ve been told—Cecile heard—that she’s in no condition just yet. I don’t know. I certainly don’t want to talk to her.”

  “Will you take him? Somebody has to, and you love the kid.”

  Now Lester, intervening, spoke quietly. “There are many things to be considered, Larry. My father says we must remember that Amanda has rights; you have them, too. The first thing, then, in a divorce is the granting of custody.”

  “A woman like her has no right to have custody!”

  “That’s for the court to determine.”

  “I don’t want her to have him, you hear me?”

  “Why not?” asked Lester.

  “Why? Why should a woman like her get her way? It’s a matter of principle!”

  “But you don’t seem to want him,” Lester objected, still very quietly.

  “I said I want you to take him, didn’t I?”

  The argument circled. Norma and Lester glanced at each other and shook their heads. Poor Larry was not even being rational.

  “Maybe you’ll be good enough to do something for me,” he said abruptly.

  “We’ll do anything for you, Larry.”

  “Then get somebody to come to my house and take all her things away. Clothes, books, everything. I don’t want to open my eyes in the morning and see anything that is hers.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “And if it’s not too much trouble, Norma, will you buy me a new bed? I’ll need to spend only one more night here if you can do that tomorrow, too.”

  “I’ll do that, too. And I’ll also bring Stevie home. You can see there’s no room here for him and Elfrieda—he needs her because Lester and I are gone all day. Amanda has no place right now, and Cecile still reports that she’s in bad condition anyway. Elfrieda is willing to stay at your house, so that’s the plan, at least for now.” When he did not reply, she reminded him, very gently this time, “He’s sixteen months old, Larry, and you’re the only daddy he knows.”

  “I really, really have to talk to Amanda,” Cecile said, speaking to Dolly over the telephone. “If she still won’t see me, will she talk to me on the phone? Surely she wants news about the baby, doesn’t she?”

  “I gave her your message that he’s at home again with Elfrieda and Larry, and that satisfied her for the time being. Only for the time being.”

  Cecile was growing impatient—this worry was now in its third week—and she implored, “Tell her I need to talk to her now. Please tell her I’m waiting on the phone for her.”

  Four or five minutes went by before a weak voice sounded in Cecile’s ear. “I know you want to see me, but I just can’t face anybody yet. I just can’t.”

  “Even me?”

  “Even you. Although I thank you for everything, for taking Stevie to your house … tell Peter I thank him so much—I really—” Then the voice broke.

  After a minute, Cecile had to resume. “I hate to tell you, but they’re getting a lawyer. Alfred Cole’s office will handle the divorce. You’ll need a lawyer too, Amanda—”

  “I know. I need everything, a new job, an apartment for Stevie and me—I can’t think where to turn. I think people are pointing at me. I can’t go home and face my family, I can’t even tell the truth about the different phone number, even Lorena with her worthless man hasn’t done what I’ve done, I can’t stop crying—”

  Dolly’s voice interrupted. “You see what I mean, Cecile? She can’t talk anymore. Hold off. Tell those people to hold off with the lawyer business for a couple of weeks so she can pull herself together. They should have a heart. For God’s sake, the poor thing isn’t an ax murderer, is she?”

  “Your brother has been broken apart,” said Alfred Cole to Norma. “He needs help, and badly. He needs to go for some counseling.”

  “We’ve worked on that, but he won’t do it,” Lester said. “He objects to ‘washing dirty linen in front of strangers,’ he tells us. It sounds absurd to us, but that’s the way he sees it.”

  “Here’s a suggestion. Take him away from this environment for a few days. Find an inn with a pool and some hiking trails out in the country. Get him away from the bad memories here. If it lifts his spirits even a trifle, it’ll be a good thing.”

  Norma doubted that Larry would agree. Elfrieda, who quite naturally knew everything about what had happened and who was intelligent enough to report accurately what was happening now, agreed with Norma. Mr. Balsan was living in a fog. He spent most of his time in bed. He refused to answer the telephone; consequently it seldom rang anymore. He ate almost nothing. His clothes were starting to hang loose. And although he was in the same house with Stevie, he rarely noticed the child. In short, he had withdrawn from the world.

  So it was with great surprise that Norma received Larry’s message. Yes, he would accept their offer; a quiet country inn would be very nice. Lester and Norma would have to do the driving, however, since he did not trust his nerves to do it.

  The choice having been left to Larry, they started out on the last week before the Labor Day weekend and headed north toward Canada. Lester and Norma took turns at the wheel, while Larry sat silently in the backseat, waking only when they stopped at the side of the road to eat the lunch that Norma had packed.

  As Elfrieda had reported, he ate almost nothing, but Norma and Lester, merely glancing at each other, made no comment. Sighing, she wondered how long he could go on like this.

  The car climbed through foothills into the mountains, leaving full summer behind; the air grew cooler. Spotted here and there among the predominant evergreens were trees whose leaves had already yellowed. Toward evening Larry, rousing from his silence, directed them to turn off into a two-lane, blacktop road leading into what looked like a wilderness.

  “Without a map,” Lester said cheerfully. “You’re quite a navigator.”

  “I studied the directions in the brochure.”

  After a few miles of steady climbing, Larry called, “Stop. This is it.”

  A long log building surrounded by the flowers of late summer lay before them. Behind it were dark blue mountains rising in tiers toward the western sky.

  Norma felt instant delight. “Oh, this is beautiful, Larry! However did you find it?”

  “Where’s the lake?” asked Lester.

  “In back of this building. The cabins face the lake. You’ll see.”

  Two small cabins shared a wide veranda. Below them lay the glassy lake, on which no ripples stirred. Above them no leaf stirred in the windless air as Lester and Norma stood entranced.

  At the far end of the veranda, Larry appeared at his door. “Like it?” he called.

  “Like it?” Lester answered. “Next thing to paradise, that’s all. I wish we could eat out here.”

  “Go on up to dinner. There’s supposed to be dancing afterward, if you want it.”

  “Well, we’ll see. But we’re hungry. How long will it take you to shower and dress? We’re both fast.”

  “You two go without me. I’m not hungry.”

  “Now listen to me.” Lester strode toward Larry and spoke sternly. “If you want to starve yourself, that’s your business, but we came on this trip together, and it’s darn rude of you not to keep us company at dinner. That’s all.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Lester.”

  “You may not mean it, but the effect is the same. Come on, we’ll be ready in twenty minutes. Okay?”

&nb
sp; “If you insist, okay.”

  “I’m amazed that it worked,” Norma said.

  “Firmness often does work where softness fails. But not always,” Lester said ruefully.

  Larry entered the dining room dressed neatly for dinner, chose from the menu, and began to eat the food when it came. This was a good beginning. Perhaps, Norma thought, our little trip really is going to work some wonder, for after the day’s long silence, Larry was even making his first attempt at conversation.

  “It’s a nice place here, I think. Rustic without fake. Look up at the ceiling. The beams are genuine.”

  “Pine, do you think?” Lester, catching hold of the moment, was pretending an interest he probably did not feel. “They must weigh a ton each.”

  “Maybe oak,” Larry answered. “Pine’s too soft.”

  Lester kept the talk moving. “You might be interested in seeing our library building at Country Day. I’m no architect, of course, but I’m told that it’s the nearest thing to an Elizabethan manse that you’ll ever see outside of the originals. Let’s make a date, and I’ll show you. Stop by one day. I know you see enough construction in your business, but this is different.”

  A thrill of hope went through Norma. Like a normal man, Larry had started to eat and talk. The whole atmosphere in this place was encouraging; bright young couples were noisy, but not too noisy; a lively ten-year-old at the adjoining table was telling about his adventure in a canoe, while Larry was observing a white-haired couple who were being toasted with champagne. He was plainly making an effort to enjoy the evening. He even agreed to come one day with Lester and Alfred for doubles at Amos Newman’s house; he had been there, he said, and it really was a beautiful place.

  Then all of a sudden he drew something out of his pocket, and handing it across the table, remarked that perhaps they would “like to see this.”

  To Norma’s shock, “this” was a snapshot of Amanda, wearing a long white dress and holding a bouquet, alongside a smiling Larry. In the background were tables with seated strangers, and in the corner a slice of the very fireplace that faced them now.

  She could think of nothing to say except, “You chose this place on purpose! Oh, Larry, why?”

  “Right in this corner they gave us a wedding cake. Eight years ago this week,” he said. “I needed to come back.” Then, choking, he stood up, excused himself, and left the table.

  “Let him go,” Lester ordered as Norma started to follow. “He needs to be alone.”

  “Maybe so. And yet if I were alone and didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have been able to live through this horror. Not that I’m doing all that well,” she said, feeling the usual sting of tears waiting to be shed.

  “But you are doing well,” Lester said. “Very well,” he repeated, stroking her free hand. “Remember, though, that it is far worse for him than it is for you.”

  “People say, when a child goes wrong, ‘Well, we don’t choose our children.’ We don’t choose our parents either, do we? I’ll never, never forgive my father. What he did to Larry was unforgivable. Still, it was she … I blame her more … I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. She lured him.”

  “Come,” said Lester. “Order dessert. Or if you don’t want any, let’s go to the room.”

  In effect, he was telling her that enough was enough, and she knew he was right. Her father would have said, “You’re beating a dead horse.” Such an ugly expression! Father. Would she ever want to remember anything about him that wasn’t ugly? But she must not afflict Lester with much more of this.

  “We’ll have dessert,” she said. “There’s peach pie, your favorite.”

  At nine o’clock, when they climbed the steps to the veranda, it was already dark in Larry’s room. When they switched on the light in their own room, it poured across the veranda, and so revealed Larry standing at the rail looking out.

  Lester called sharply to him. “What are you doing there?”

  Perhaps the same thought had occurred to him as to Norma, that Larry might be contemplating something terrible. Below the railing lay murderous rocks and the deep lake …

  “What are you doing there?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking.” The face that now turned in their direction was gaunt. How old he was! Men of sixty didn’t look that old.

  “There is nothing worth believing in anymore,” Larry said.

  “If you would let somebody try to help you,” Lester began, “you would find—”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. There’s no help. If a man isn’t able to pull himself out of this and save his own self, then he isn’t worth saving.”

  “That’s not so,” Lester argued. “You need to go back to work, Larry. Work is the ultimate, tried-and-true remedy. I mean that. Find something, some project that’s new and difficult. You are the head of a big business—”

  “No. It’s Lawrence Balsan’s business. I want no part of it. I hate his name. From now on, I’ve told you, I’m Daniel. Remember? Dan. That’s my middle name. If anyone calls me Larry, I will not answer. I’m Daniel. You hear me?”

  “We hear you, Dan,” Lester said.

  It was all eerie: the thick darkness, the rustling trees, the lurid, pale stream of light in which the sick man stood. For he was sick, very sick, humiliated in his manhood, cheated and betrayed.

  “She never loved me! Norma, Lester, do you know why I wanted to come here? Do you? Because I don’t. Maybe I thought I’d find some answer here. She never loved me. Maybe I began to know it eight years ago, right here on the veranda above this lake. Maybe I did, and didn’t want to know it. Then again, I’m not sure of that, either. The baby came, and I was so glad—” He began to sob.

  “I can’t bear this,” Norma whispered.

  “Go inside,” Lester urged. “I’ll take care of him.”

  She was still thinking: What is to be done? I would go to the ends of the earth for him, do anything, say anything, for his sake. He was my mother when our mother died and our father had no time. He was my father when I was mocked in school, kept off the softball team, not invited to a dance… He is the soul of kindness and goodness and now he needs me—but what is to be done?

  She was racking her brain for some way to distract and mend a broken spirit, when Lester returned.

  “Don’t unpack anything,” he told her. “He wants to go home in the morning. This little trip is not working out. But at least we meant well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dolly’s house in Cagney Falls stood in a row of similar small frame houses where, in times gone past, had lived that part of the population that served the great estates. Dolly was sitting on the porch steps, evidently waiting for Cecile.

  “She’s a little bit nervous about seeing you, Cecile. I’ve been telling her not to be, but she still is.”

  “It’s been too long. I would have come long ago if she had let me.”

  “All she does is sit and read or take a walk out toward the country. She won’t go near the center of town for fear of meeting somebody who knows her, she’s that ashamed. Go on in. She’s in the front room. Nobody’s home. My mom and Joey and my sister are all out of the house, so you’ll have it to yourselves.”

  You wondered about the differences in people. There was Mrs. Lyons, who had used the word “filth,” and then there was Dolly. Mrs. Lyons was the one with sophistication, while Dolly was called the “airhead.” Yes, you wondered. And feeling some palpitations, Cecile went inside.

  After the first hug and kiss, they sat down and regarded each other almost timidly. Amanda spoke first.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to touch me. I’ve set myself apart from decency and decent people.”

  The statement, so honestly presented, seemed to require an honest reply. For a moment, Cecile considered it before she gave it.

  “Yes, you have. But I can despise what you did without despising you. There’s a whole other part of you that sees only too clearly, I guess, what you did. So I kissed you, a
nd I still care about you very much.”

  Amanda bowed her head, spilling the bright, fair hair, which had grown longer, over her sober dark blue shoulders. Her elbows rested on her knees, with her chin held between her hands; in this girlish posture, she had used to sit on the bed while memorizing dates for history finals, so long ago.

  “It wasn’t just the drink,” she said, not looking at Cecile. “I went mad. I went wild. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself. Now I’ll never stop being sorry about the people I hurt. Larry, L.B., everybody.” Then after a pause, she asked, “How is Larry now?”

  Surely this was a place for truth-telling, so Cecile told it. “Not at all well. Lester and Norma took him away for a few days, thinking it would raise his spirits, but it didn’t work. They had to drive him home the next morning.”

  At this, Amanda raised her head. “But is he able to take proper care of Stevie?”

  In this case it would be better to skirt the truth and spare Amanda more pain, thought Cecile.

  “Stevie’s well cared for,” she said.

  And that was true; between Norma and the nurse, he was living happily. “Stevie has Elfrieda, he has Norma, and he has Larry, so he’s just fine.”

  “As long as he’s with Larry I can be sure he is. I wish I could see Larry and tell him—tell him something, though I don’t know how I’d say it.” Amanda stopped. “Well, yes. I guess all I could really say is that I’m sorry.” She stopped again. “I crushed him. I killed his father, and I haven’t left much of a legacy for my child.”

  No one could refute a single word of all that. Cecile had known that this meeting would be very painful, yet she had not expected to be so moved. And she thought of the day that Stevie had left her house after a mere few weeks’ stay. He had been holding the pink stuffed piglet that Peter had bought for him, and he had been laughing about something. He was often full of laughter. There had been such an ache in her heart to see him go! And he wasn’t even hers.

  “I’d like to talk to Larry about Stevie, but I don’t seem to have the courage.”

  “You shouldn’t even try. As soon as the law is involved one is not free to talk about the case; your lawyer does all the talking. Have you got a lawyer yet, Amanda?”