“Let me fasten it for you.” Grandma Britta’s fingers were warm against Leini’s skin. As they touched the short hairs in her neck, she shivered.
Grandma stepped aside. “There. Have a look.”
Right underneath the hollow at the base of her throat the pendant sparkled, radiating fire in the stones. “It’s stunning, Grandma Britta. I’ve always admired it.”
“It’s wonderful against your tanned skin.”
“I’m speechless.” She wrapped her arms around her grandma. “Thank you doesn’t begin to say what I feel. Right now, I can’t think of a more profound way to express my gratitude. It’s all the more precious to me because Grandpa gave it to you.”
“Wear it in health, my dove. I wish you and Bill all the happiness and joy. He’s a lucky man to have you.”
“You and Grandpa were married for over fifty years. Any words of wisdom or a formula for a long and happy marriage, Grandma Britta?”
Her soft eyes sparkled as she gazed at Leini. “Yes, my dove. Talk to each other, about everything. Most importantly, say the things that are difficult to talk about. I believe most marriages fail when people don’t communicate.”
“Thank you. I won’t forget your advice.” With arms around her grandmother, she leaned her cheek against Grandma Britta’s. “I love you.”
She patted Leini’s hand. “I love you, too, my dove.”
* * *
Leini slipped on her wedding gown of cream-colored heavy jacquard, calf length, snug at the waist with a flaring skirt and narrow short sleeves. About to step into her high-heeled pumps, she turned to face the door as, true to habit, Mira burst into the room. In a silver lamé dress to match her rich steel-gray hair, she marched across the room, and with a snort, slumped on Leini’s bed.
Wondering what brought her, Leini stared at her for a while and shivered. She looks mean. “You look beautiful, Mira.” She adjusted the gown in front of the mirror and fingered the diamond pendant.
With a smoking cigarette between her fingers, Mira pointed. “Isn’t that Grandma Britta’s pendant?”
Leini only nodded.
“Then why are you wearing it?”
Did she imagine it, or did Mira sound querulous the way she spat the words?
“Grandma Britta gave it to me just now.”
“Oh, as a loan to wear for the wedding, I suppose.” She sounded breathless and kept puffing on her cigarette, a cloud of smoke like a veil around her head.
“No, she gave it to me as a gift.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth pulled down as she huffed. “I can’t see why she would do that. You’re just a girl, much too young for something so elegant and expensive.”
Leini bit her lip not to snap at her that the piece of jewelry was Grandma Britta’s to give. After a lungful of air, she made an effort to speak in a reasonable voice. “She wants me to have it, is all.”
Not finding an ashtray, Mira crushed the cigarette in a potted hyacinth. Leini wanted to scream at her that the plant was no ashtray.
Mira gazed at a spot to the left of Leini. “Now that you’re leaving home, I want you to give me your key to the apartment.”
For an instant the room careened and tilted in front of Leini’s eyes. From the cool draft of air in her mouth she knew she was gaping. She couldn’t stop staring at Mira. “What? You want my key? Right now?”
“Yes, right now. You’re no longer going to live here, so I can’t see why you should keep a key.”
The room kept undulating, and a clammy sweat covered her. She’s shutting me out of my own home. On my wedding day. “This has always been my home, Mira. I’ve always had a key. Why…? I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? You’re moving away. This is no longer your home.”
Like hit by a thunderbolt, Leini understood the implied message. She was no longer welcome here. Hands shaking, she groped in her handbag, removed the key from its ring and handed it to Mira. With a hand under her chin, she forced Mira to meet her eyes.
“Take the key, Mira. I know what you’re doing—you’re getting rid of me, just like you always wanted to do.”
Not bothering to answer, Mira used both hands to push Leini from her. She snatched the key from Leini’s ice cold fingers. With a few long strides she left the room, slamming the door behind her with a loud crash.
Leini couldn’t move. She gulped air, trembling from shock and surprise and disappointment that Mira chose this day to hurt yet again.
I’m not going to cry. She swiped at her eyes. Not cry.
Chapter 31
Geneva, Fall 1960
Scintillating crystal chandeliers lit the vast ball room. The air shimmered on Leini’s bare arms and played in her hair and tickled her bare back. A little frisson of pleasure coursed down her spin, the fine hairs on arms standing. Feeling like royalty, she swayed to the beguiling notes of a Viennese waltz, her pale yellow ethereal gown like a cascade of water.
She recognized everybody in the room. Happiness, like bubbles of champagne, exploded inside—so many friends and her entire family come to spend the evening with her. She knew it was a celebration, although she couldn’t quite remember the occasion and she’d misplaced the invitation that gave the reason. Out of the corner of her eye, Samy sauntered toward her. Raising a hand to beckon him, she stopped in mid-motion as he passed by her so close the sleeve of his blazer touched her arm. He stared at a point above her head, oblivious of her.
Maybe he doesn’t want to recognize me.
Grandma Britta drifted leisurely across the floor in Leini’s direction. Smiling, Leini drew close, arms open to hug her. To her consternation Grandma Britta drifted by, staring through her. Leini stood rooted to the spot as a strange feeling of unreality shrunk her to insignificance.
Scanning the room, Leini’s breast heaved with a sigh of happiness as she recognized Grandpa across the floor. He stood alone, a long-stemmed red rose in one hand. With brisk steps she approached him, a huge smile stretching her lips. As she stood close, a glacial air radiated from him, as if he’d been outdoors for a long time. Touching Grandpa’s arm, her hand met only air. About to tell him how happy she was to see him, she gazed into his eye. Her heart very nearly stopped—Grandpa looked straight through her, ignoring her as if she didn’t exist.
The first flash of fear gripped her innards like a fist of steel.
What’s wrong with them?
What’s wrong with me?
Relief flooded her as she turned, almost colliding with Bill. Reaching to take his hand, she gasped in astonishment. He ignored her as he kept staring past her. She opened her mouth to call his name, but not a sound issued from her. I don’t exist. Mounting panic was a steel band around her chest. I’m invisible. I’m unreal. Sobbing, fat tears ran along her cheeks, breast slick from their wetness. Turning around and around, she couldn’t see her own shadow.
I’ve disappeared. Nobody can see me. I must have vanished or become invisible.
People in the room brushed past her, jostled her, but nobody took any notice of her. Because they didn’t look at her, Leini didn’t exist. She opened her mouth to scream, to give voice to the horror, the unfathomable alarm inhabiting her. Not a sound came through. The more she fought to give voice to the terror, the more constricted her throat became.
“Leini! Wake up. Stop screaming. Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes.”
Fighting for air, bathed in perspiration, Leini struggled to come awake. As she became aware of Bill, she clung to him, trembling, very distraught. The short nightgown stuck to her body; her hair was plastered to neck and forehead. A nightmare… She’d had another one of her nightmares.
Sobbing, she hugged Bill. “Oh, darling, it was so terrible. All of them, they kept looking right through me. Nobody saw me. I disappeared…I didn’t even cast a shadow.”
Bill planted small kisses on her forehead, stroking her hair. “It’s over now. You’re home, in your own bed. You’re safe here with m
e.”
The nightmares—Leini thought they belonged in the past. During her studies, she underwent mandatory psychoanalysis, which helped alleviate the dreams. They’d almost disappeared. Now they were returning, dark, threatening, terrifying.
Her life with Bill was wonderful; she floated on a pink cloud of happiness. Still the nightmares disturbed her sleep with increasing frequency. She was anxious, in a twilight zone of wakefulness and slumber. The morning following one of the dreams she was tired, going through her day listless from lack of rest.
She now clung to Bill, her face buried against his shoulder, crying. Deep hulking sobs, her mind racked with echoes of the dream.
He kept stroking her hair while he rocked her in his arms. “Shh. Easy now. Take a deep breath.”
Like a little girl, she obeyed. She inhaled of the night air, cool from the window left ajar. And another lungful faintly scented with grass and moist earth.
“Feel better?”
She nodded as she worried a strand of hair until Bill reached to untangle her fingers. Turning on her back, she stretched and kicked off the duvet.
“I’m clammy with sweat. I’ll have a shower, put on a dry nightgown. Maybe I can still get some sleep.”
“While you shower, I’ll make us some herb tea.”
Refreshed, as if by showering she managed to sluice off the dream like a threatening pollution, she slipped into bed. Leaning her back against the headboard, she sipped the verbena tea. Her eyes met Bill’s steady gaze over the rim of her mug. With the uncanny certainty of people in tune with each other, she knew what he intended to say before he spoke.
“I think you should consider seeing a psychiatrist. Those nightmares are getting worse. You look worn and you’ve lost weight.” He was propped on an elbow, hand supporting his head, deep creases between his brows. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close, her head on his shoulder. “I miss my vibrant, energetic Leini.”
“I don’t like being this way. You’re right. I have to do something about it.”
I don’t want to see a psychiatrist. She closed her eyes. But what choice do I have? I’m growing wearier by the day, dread going to bed at night from fear of these terrible dreams. She massaged her temples, the headache like a power drill boring into her skull.
The following morning Leini guided twelve employees through a four-hour awareness course on dysfunction in the workplace. The same afternoon, in her office before the appointment with her first client, she scanned the list of psychiatrists. Some she knew personally, others she knew by reputation. She wrote the names and phone numbers of two. Before she could dial one of them, her next rendezvous knocked on the door. Saved for now; I’ll call the psychiatrist later.
To her relief, Bill didn’t broach the subject again. She pretended she’d forgotten.
* * *
Wearing a bathrobe, washed hair wrapped in a towel like a turban, Leini followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee into the sunny kitchen. As she entered, Bill raised his head from the Sunday paper to glance at her.
“Hey, you’re already awake? You were so sound asleep when I left the bedroom I thought you were good for another couple of hours.”
Kissing him on the ear, she sat next to him. “I heard you close the bedroom door. When I saw the blue sky, not a leaf stirring on the trees, I didn’t want to waste our Sunday by sleeping.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she took in the table Bill had laid. The moss-green coffee cups contrasted against the sienna-colored placemats, a tub of crimson geraniums ablaze on a corner of the table. After a mouthful of the orange juice, she set the glass on the table, swallowing against a sudden queasiness. As it passed, she sipped her coffee. With a clang she set the cup in its saucer, slapped a hand against her mouth and rushed into the bathroom. On her knees, she heaved and retched until spent she stood on shaky legs, hair matted to forehead and neck slick from cold sweat.
Bill came into the bathroom, the furrow between his brows deep. He stood by her side next to the sink as she rinsed her mouth before she splashed cold water on her face.
“Feeling better, darling?” A slight tremor was in his voice.
“Not really, I still feel sick.”
He scanned her face, his look penetrating. “Maybe it’s something you ate?”
“I don’t know. I’m never sick.” She preceded him to the kitchen and took her place by the table. With a shudder of distaste she pushed the cup of coffee and toast to the side, taking small sips from a tumbler of ice water.
Leini felt listless and tired. Bill agreed it was a good idea to spend a lazy Sunday, despite the balmy, sunny day. After lunch of fresh baguette and cheese rounded off with chilled melon, Bill suggested a nap. In bed, as he started fondling her naked form, she begged off and promptly fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
Leini awoke to the ringing of the alarm clock. On the side of the bed she ruffled her hair with both hands. A wave of nausea made her sprint to the bathroom, barely making it past Bill, who was shaving in front of the mirror. When the paroxysm receded, she leaned against the wall, cold sweat leaving traces of wet between her breasts, gluing hair to her skull. Another fit of nausea cramped her stomach, but this time she only retched miserably.
Bill wiped her face and breast with a wet towel. With an arm around her waist, he half carried her to the bed. He handed her a glass of water from the bottle on the dresser.
“This is the second time in a couple of days you’re sick. Why don’t you take the day off, stay in bed, get a good rest?” He caressed her matted hair. “Don’t you think you should see a doctor?”
She waved a limp hand in dismissal. “I feel so terrible, I think I’m going to stay home. Maybe I have the stomach flu…I’ve heard there’s one going around. Several of our employees are down with it.”
“You know best, darling.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to rush. I’ll call you later, see how you are.” He enfolded her in his arms, holding her pressed to his chest. “I love you, chérie. Sleep tight.”
“I love you, Bill.”
After he left, she stayed in bed, hands clasped behind her head, staring through the widow at the blue sky. Maybe it’s not the stomach flu. The bedside clock told her twenty to eight. Dialing Vickie’s number, she hoped to catch her before she left to teach her first class at middle school.
“Hi,” she said after Vickie answered. “I’m glad you’re still at home. I need some advice; I’ve been sick a few mornings. Bill thinks I should see a doctor. Do you…”
“Leini, I’m late. Do you have pen and paper?”
“Yes, right here.” She wrote down the name and phone number Vickie dictated.
“He’s my doctor. Call him immediately. Tell him you’re my friend, that he should see you as soon as he can. Sorry, I have to rush.”
“Do you really think…?”
“Yes, I do. Call the doctor now, you hear.”
Before dialing, Leini looked up Doctor Dutoit in the phone book. Huh? He’s an obstetrician! Vickie’s sent me to see an obstetrician?
Closing her eyes, she thought hard, counting. It couldn’t be…they’d been careful. Then again, maybe. She’d go see the doctor. Confident her stomach problem would settle, she hoped he would prescribe something for the fatigue.
* * *
Removing surgical gloves, Doctor Dutoit straightened his tall frame. He pulled the robe to cover Leini’s thighs and helped her sit.
“I’ll see you in my office when you’re dressed.”
As Leini sat, she tried to read his face before he turned and left the examining room. Dressed, she found him behind his desk making notes. From her seat in the empire-style visitor’s chair, she stared at him.
The doctor glanced at her over the rim of half-moon glasses, a glimmer in his eyes, so blue they lent him an air of innocence. In his line of work, yet.
“When did you have your last period?”
She gave him the date. “I looked it up earlier this m
orning.”
“From the examination, I’d say you’re pregnant, Madame Gardet. I’ll run the test to make sure.” Turning pages in his desk calendar, the doctor seemed to count days. “If I’m right, the baby is due early May.”
Dumfounded, Leini gaped as her vision blurred from tears. Closing her mouth, she took a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“Anything wrong, Madame Gardet?”
Clearing her throat to speak, Leini shook her head. “No. In fact, everything’s great. I guess I’m surprised.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “We’re recently married—my husband and I wanted to wait a little. We’ve been careful, so I didn’t think I was pregnant.”
How dense can I be? I had all the symptoms.
“My husband will be very happy. He loves children. So do I.” Remembering the way Bill looked at her from time to time, she was sure he’d guessed.
She accepted the little card with her next appointment. After she thanked the doctor and the receptionist, beaming a smile at the patients in the waiting room, she left. In the street, the first autumn leaves danced and swirled in the wind, whipping her skirt around bare legs, undoing her teased hairdo. A mounting joy and happiness washed over her.
Too impatient to wait to get home, she looked around for a pay phone and spotted a seedy bistro further down the street. With a look as if he’d just swallowed fifty nasty pills, the waiter gave her change for a ten-franc note, mumbling under his breath this wasn’t a bank. Giving him a huge smile, Leini thanked him and ordered a coffee. In the phone booth she dialed Bill’s office, balancing from foot to foot while she waited for the call to go through.
“Bill! I couldn’t wait to tell you. I had to call immediately. Darling, I hope you’re happy.”
“What is it, sweetie? I hear strange noises. Where are you? I thought you were going to stay at home, get some rest.”
“I’m in a bistro. I’ve seen a doctor, Vickie’s obstetrician. He thinks I’m pregnant.” There, I’ve said it. It seems unbelievable, but it’s true. We’re having a baby! She laughed and cried into the phone.
The Wooden Chair Page 24
