by Belva Plain
Very quietly then, Adam asked, “What about her?”
“The Sunday afternoons, the weekday evenings. It was stupid of you. I saw you driving past where I live and I wondered what you were doing in my neighborhood, so I found out.”
“For God’s sake, she was an important part of the business! Once or twice—yes, exactly two times, no more than that, I went to her apartment to talk business.”
“Come, come. Don’t waste your energy talking nonsense. You’ve been lovers for years. You, the perfect husband and father. Amusing, isn’t it? What about your little fun at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York? And don’t deny it, because she told me herself.”
“She—told you? It’s a lie! She was hateful, she lied—”
“She was hateful because you took advantage of what she offered you, and then treated her like a leper. You who everyone thinks is so perfect! I know this was a time ago. I know that you would never have left Emma, but still, would you like me to tell her? A woman like her—she’d fall apart. She wouldn’t stay with you. So it’s up to you, Adam.”
Adam’s hands gripped the edge of the desk as though he would rip the wood apart. If he had had a knife or a gun, he knew what he would do with it, what he would not be able to stop himself from doing.
Break her heart. She’d fall apart.
“Blackmail,” he whispered. “Oh, you are scum, my brother. Scum.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. You know I’m not. I’m desperate. You had everything. You were the one Pa loved, you were the success, the benefactor, and didn’t you enjoy it! But now the model husband has cheated on his wife, hasn’t he? You can still have everything—everything but the half a million you’re going to give me. Once you give it to me, I’ll get out of your life. I’ll get out of Emma’s life. You’ll never see me again. You’ll never even know where I am, so help me God.”
Before Adam’s eyes, the room swayed, the ceiling tilted, and he was too dizzy to stand up. But he was still able to speak.
“You ugly misfit! You’ve always taken out your rage at the world on your family. When you walked into a room you brought gloom with your bitter tongue. You made Pa’s life miserable. And as for your treatment of me, the less said the better.”
The procedure did not take very long. A bank check was issued—the clerk visibly startled by the size of it—and the two brothers were out on the sidewalk among the normal flow of normal people on their way to work.
“I don’t feel bad about taking this,” said Leo. “A man who can afford to give away a mansion like that aunt’s, or to pay for the Children’s Room at the library that I heard about last week, can afford to give a helping hand to his own brother. Thank you, Adam.”
“I’ll thank you to get out of my sight and stay out of it forever. And I mean forever. You’re rotten, you’re hideous, you poison the air with your stench. May God damn you. Get out of my sight.”
“With pleasure. You’ll never know where I am.” And Leo bowed.
For a minute, Adam stood watching him scurry down the street where some young girls stared and laughed at him as he passed them.
Oh, he will take this money that I should be able to save for some good cause or for my children, and lose it as he lost Pa’s savings. What a crazy story—a beautiful woman from an old family. Crazy! The poor creature! And could Blanche really have told him we were lovers for more than just that one time in New York? Why does he hate me so much?
Sometimes, Pa said, people just hate each other without really knowing why. Especially in families, it happens. It’s a fact of life. And yet—and yet my heart aches to see those cruel girls laughing at him. . . .
He went in the other direction, toward the store. At a turning, he recognized his old friend Doris, climbing into a dusty car with a man, obviously her husband, and two little children. Although he hadn’t thought about her in years, he recalled that someone had told him she lived way out in the country. Now he thought, wherever she lives, she is better off than if she had married me, as she had once obviously wanted to do.
His head ached. A man defeated in battle deserves a rest, and he decided to go home. At the crest of the hill, where the car always paused before the descent, he looked down at his house. It seemed to him that he was looking at a place destroyed, by fire or flood or some other horror that had passed through, leaving a terrible wreckage behind.
“You’re back early,” Emma said.
“I have a splitting headache. I’m going upstairs to lie down.”
Shadows from moving leaves flickered over the ceiling. From below, barely heard, was the sound of the piano; Emma had started a lesson. The mailman’s car crunched the gravel.
What if he returns and asks for more, or simply talks for the hell of it? I know he would gladly hurt me, but would he hurt Emma like that?
Please God, keep Leo away from this house and family. Please.
The year rolled on relentlessly, broken only by the usual events, such as birthdays, holidays, school plays, and games, along with a growing audience for Emma’s quartet. But still the heavy burden that Adam bore remained.
Inevitably, he would have to tell the truth about Leo. A family member, even one so rarely seen as he had been, could not simply disappear without arousing some questions. And so he explained to Emma as simply and unemotionally as he could that Leo had asked for money to finance some sort of undertaking, heaven only knew what, and that he, Adam, had given it to him and gotten rid of him.
“He was his usual disagreeable self. What else can I say? You’ve seen him. And I really don’t care whether he ever comes back here or not, but I wish him well.”
“Of course you do. I wonder what his undertaking might be. I have an idea it will turn out to be something that will surprise us. You realize that he’s very, very intelligent, don’t you?”
“‘Very, very’? No, I don’t.”
“Why, his language alone, his choice of words, should tell you something.”
“The world is full of glib idiots.”
“No, no. I’m talking about something entirely apart from glibness. Even our two big boys have remarked about it. Andy hasn’t because he probably doesn’t even remember seeing Leo. But Jon wondered the other day why Uncle Leo almost never comes here anymore.”
“I’ll tell him he went away on business, went back east. He missed his friends, or he wasn’t feeling well, or anything. You do the same if they should mention it again.”
“I will. But you know, I really think he went away to transform himself, to start fresh. I understand that you worry about him, Adam, but I have a feeling that he’s going to make a life for himself and then he’ll come back to show us.”
How sharp she is! he thought. Independent, competent, talented—and yet how delicate, the softest human being you can imagine. And a brutal creature like Leo, venting his rage on me, also walks the earth.
During the Christmas season, Reilly, standing by the garlands, wreaths, and red velvet bows, hailed Adam as he passed.
“Here’s a piece of news for you. Madame Blanche has been found! She’s living in Paris, Mrs. McQueen says. The dressmakers got a Christmas card from her.”
“Interesting. Anything about coming back here?”
“Didn’t say. Just something about ‘Noël,’ which is what they call Christmas. You haven’t heard anything?”
“Good God, no. The damn woman is sore at Cace Arnring. Not enough money, I guess. Well, good luck to her.”
Adam was sick in the pit of his stomach. Questions, unanswerable, pounded in his head. What if she were to come back here? What if Leo and she were in touch with each other? But why should they be? he asked himself. Am I paranoid? I don’t think so. I didn’t dream everything that has happened so far. . . .
At home after dinner, he sat down with a book. It was a new one, Look Homeward, Angel, by Thomas Wolfe. He had heard much praise of it; besides, the title was alluring. Now, turning a page, he came upon lines that almost jumped up and struck him.
But he, Adam, was not alone! He had Emma, the other half of himself. But what if they come—not today, but someday, maybe a few years from now, or even next month, and tell her that I have been Blanche’s lover, or tell her God knows what else they might tell—then, then I really will be alone.
And what would that do to Emma? She trusted him. They had brought four children into the world.
Laying the book down, he got up and went outside. It was warm for December, and not yet dark, with the grass still cheerfully green. Far in the distance, past long fields, a light sparked on in a farmhouse. He wondered whether the person who had turned it on, whoever he might be, could possibly have known the agony that was now his.
After a while, he went into the house, where Emma had just come downstairs to listen to the radio. He would have liked to talk to the boys, but they were up in their rooms now, doing homework. So he sat with Emma, and listened, and heard all the words coming from the radio without understanding one of them.
It occurred to him that the wisest, bravest course would be to tell Emma, because once she had heard the lies, his truth would come as a mere defense later. But the first few days went by, then a week, and after that the firm’s gala, black-tie Christmas party for the executives.
Remarking that she almost matched the decorations, Emma wore dark red velvet, and praised the dress. “It’s the last of Blanche’s things, and I’ll probably wear it for the next ten years. Her clothes last forever.”
That was all it took for the people at their table to begin talking about Blanche.
“I can’t understand whatever made her leave in such a hurry. She was doing so well, recognized in all the fashion magazines—”
“Making quite a little fortune for herself, too.”
“I heard she had a beautiful apartment. She got the best of Mrs. Rothirsch’s stuff, most of which was worthless, but Blanche inherited the good stuff.”
“I heard that the women in her department thought she had a love affair that didn’t work out.”
“That’s a laugh! One love affair? She had a whole series of them.”
“No, I heard there was one in particular, some man she was crazy about.”
Every nerve in Adam’s body was being pulled to the snapping point, until he broke into the talk by asking somebody for his opinion about the coming election.
A day or two later, he contrived to have a seemingly accidental meeting in the shipping area with Reilly. He opened the conversation by asking about Reilly’s new granddaughter, received thanks for the sum he had put in the bank for the baby’s benefit, and gradually drifted into another subject.
“Is there really a lot of gossip going around about Madame Blanche? I was surprised to hear some at the dinner the other night.”
“Where there are women, there’s always gossip.” Reilly shrugged. The shrug could mean nothing, or, if Adam wanted to find meaning in a hasty glance and another hasty glance at the floor, it could mean something.
And so he made his decision. Before the month was out, he would speak.
It could not possibly be done at home where anyone, especially the children, or even Rudy and Rea, should witness the inevitable scene. He tried to imagine how Emma would behave. Stunned first with disbelief . . . would rage or grief come next? Very likely it would be a combination of both, he thought in sorrow.
Maybe that bend in the river would be the best place. There was hardly ever anyone there except coots. And remembering that afternoon, now long ago, when they had lain together and he had withdrawn from her while he was still able to do it, Adam cursed himself for not having done the same on those cursed evenings in New York; why, he had not even wanted that woman!
It was another mild, unseasonable afternoon when they got into the car. Fighting an urge to postpone the deed once more, he had suggested some joint errands on one of his rare days out of the office.
“Let’s take a look at our river on the way,” he proposed.
The trees and shrubs were bare, but there must have been some fruits and seeds to attract a fair number of birds, which Adam pointed out when he had stopped the car.
“Plenty of bluejays and cardinals,” he said. “With the leaves gone, it ought to be easy to see where they nest. I’ve often wanted to find out where they go.” With no nests in sight, he walked a considerable distance away along the river’s edge, feeling desperate for words, and also foolish, because he knew that Emma was probably wondering why he had taken this considerable detour to hunt for birds’ nests. And those were the exact words that met him when he turned about and faced her.
“You didn’t come this far out of our way to look for birds’ nests! We’re late as it is, so come on, unless you have something else on your mind. Have you? You look as if you have.”
He looked down toward the ground where a small, black beetle was climbing onto the tip of his polished British shoe. Then he looked up at Emma and admitted that he did have.
“It’s a messy business that I’ve been keeping to myself because I know it will hurt you. And if losing my arm could spare you any hurt, I would lose it, Emma.”
So well did he know her that he almost expected the spritely reply that he received.
“What is it? Have you bought some overly extravagant present again for me or the kids, as you sometimes do? Like that bracelet I adore, even though it cost too much?”
“I wish it was something like that. No, it’s a mix-up that has something to do with Leo and Blanche.” He paused. “And with me.”
Searching for apt words, he waited, and then, finding a few, began with a question. “Do you remember when I gave Leo some money a while ago? Well, it didn’t happen quite as I described it. He threatened me, so I had to give him a great deal of money.”
“Threatened you?”
“Yes. He said he would come here and tell you something about me that would cause you great pain. And because it is . . . or almost all of it is, a lie . . . I have struggled so much with myself . . . but I have to tell you the truth.”
Now that he had come this far, to the very edge of the cliff, it was impossible to go back. So he plunged ahead.
“Something happened that time I was in New York. Blanche was there in the same hotel. And something happened that never should have. It’s unexplainable. I feel sick when I think of it. I tell myself it was the champagne, not that I drank that much. I’m certainly not much of a drinker, as you know. There was a hook, or something caught in her dress, and she wasn’t able to take it off without tearing it. So she asked me to help her, and I didn’t want to, but how could I have refused? So I went—”
He had started to ramble, to lose himself and tremble under the impact of Emma’s eyes.
“Are you trying to tell me that you made love to Blanche?”
“Not love!” he cried. “It had nothing to do with love. But it happened, and it was over. . . . It was completely crazy. I can’t explain it. I don’t suppose anyone ever really can.”
Now, turning away from him, Emma stumbled, and would have fallen if he had not caught her.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed. “Take your hands off me, you bastard!”
This is the second time in my life that somebody has called me that to my face. The difference is that this time, I deserve it, he thought.
“I think I’m losing my mind,” Emma cried. “All these years . . . four children . . . and half a husband. Sharing my husband!”
“No, Emma, no. For God’s sake, listen to me. Please! Believe me, it was only that one time.”
“Believe you? Why should I?”
“I swear by the health and lives of those four children. Look at me, Emma. Look.”
“I don’t care what you swear by. How could you—with her—all this time, I’ve seen her, spoken with her, and I didn’t know! But she knew. How would you feel if you were to find out about the new cellist in the quart
et? He’s a very desirable man. Do you want to share me with him?”
“Emma, Emma, listen to me. I told you, it was one crazy time. Love the woman? I never even liked her that much. I felt sorry for her, if you want to know.”
She whirled about, screaming, “Where is that witch? Where is she?”
“I’m told she’s in Paris. Reilly told me.”
“I wish I was dead,” she said, with tears spilling over her cheeks. “What can a person believe in? One morning the sun won’t rise, but I won’t be surprised. One day five and five won’t make ten anymore, and I won’t be surprised. Anything can happen. Yes, anything. Oh, a woman like her—who killed that innocent brother of yours. No, not innocent, ignorant. Not to see through a woman like her. And you . . . And you . . .”
Emma sank down on a rock and covered her face with her hands. A scene flashed before Adam: that same flat rock, the bicycles on the grass, the basket with lunch and Rea’s doughnuts. Wanting to hold her, in some way comfort her or even to cry with her, he bent over her.
“Stay away from me,” she said, growing suddenly quiet. “I mean it. And now I want to go home. Drive home.”
“No, let’s take our time, talk this over some more, until you feel better. I want to help you. I want to help us get past this. I love you, Emma.”
“You’re only worried that someone will see me in this condition. You actually think I would frighten the children? I’m going to bed. I have a fever, maybe the flu, and nobody must come near me. That’s it. That’s all.”
Back in the house, she ran upstairs. When, a few minutes later, he followed, he found her at the linen closet with blankets, sheets, and a pillow in her arms.
“What’s this for, Emma?” he asked, speaking calmly, as if calmness might somehow be contagious.
“For me. I’m sleeping in there.” And pointing to the room where Simon had slept, she added, “Tomorrow I shall move some of my clothes to that closet, but I’m too exhausted to do it all now.”
Was it a mistake to tell her? Look what I’ve done to her with this confession, he thought. On the other hand—and there stood Leo, large as life in the air before him, Leo with his smile and his threats. Take it easy, he told himself, take it easy. It will come out all right.
