by Eikeltje
back to him, papers and two pads laid out before her. Jonathan wonders if
these are legal documents. Divorce papers. He doesn't quite know what his
reaction will be if they are. Relief, perhaps.
/
SLANT 347
dressed in a slim gray suit with flared culottes and has cut her hair to a short
nimbus around her head. She arranges the papers and stacks them to one side
as he approaches.
Penelope stands in the hallway, and Jonathan hears Hiram's heavy tread on
the landing.
This is the first time they have met since Jonathan's return from Green
Idaho. "Hello," Jonathan says.
"Hello," Chloe says. "How were the interviews?"
"Horrible," Jonathan says.
Chloe looks away. "It was Marcus convinced you to join, to go... wasn't
it?"
"It's tangled. I don't think they're going to prosecute me. I'm not legally
connected to... all that."
Chloe looks down at the table and persists. "Did Marcus convince you?"
"He was persuasive, but I was certainly ready for a change. I didn't know
about all that ..."
"Jonathan, I've never believed you knew about any of it."
Jonathan starts to sit, then glances at Chloe as if asking for permission. She
opens her mouth, looks away. "Marcus always seemed a little ripe," she says.
Jonathan sits. "When I learned what they were up to, I started banging up
things."
"I heard about that on the ribes," Chloe says. "A pick." Then, together,
"Jonathan, I'm sorry--"
"Chloe, this is so painful--"
Jonathan wants her face to come alive in amused recognition of this silly
collision of words, but her features are still wooden. She refuses to look directly
at him.
"I've been preparing documents for my therapist," she says. "Past history,
specific goals. A journal. She seems to think I'll come out of this relatively
quickly. They've changed my monitors four times, just to avoid any more
complications. She wonders how you're taking it."
Jonathan shrugs. "I'm burned," he says, voice rough. "It's hard to sleep
nights."
"I don't bear you any grudges, Jonathan. You did not know."
Jonathan blinks rapidly, taps his fingers on the table.
"It's going to take me time to reach my own balance," Chloe says. "A month
or two. What I need to know is, will you be there, will you work with me,
wait for me?"
"I'm no hero," Jonathan says. His throat seizes and he coughs into his fist.
"I screwed up." He clears his throat again. "I'll be dealing with advocates and
judgments for years. I'm the only survivor, besides Marcus, and Marcus has
wrapped himself in half a billion dollars' worth of legal apparatus. We don't
have that option. I'm no prize to support you in your need, Chloe."
348
GREG BEAR
Jonathan smiles wistfully. "It would be easier for both of us if you did,
maybe."
"No," Chloe says. "I won't be the one to scrap everything we've made."
"Then tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"You have never told me what you want from me. You've always left me
to try to figure it out on my own, and only warned me when I made horrible
mistakes. I need more than that, Chloe. After all the shit I've survived, I'm a
little desperate... I'll probably need therapy if I don't get support from you.
From this family."
"I understand," Chloe says. "I'll try."
"I'll try, too," Jonathan says. 'I'll be here."
Penelope enters the dining room in quick steps. "We need both of you,"
she says.
"We'll be trying," Chloe says, and holds on to her daughter's hand. Hiram
stands in the shadows, glowering hopefully.
Chloe reaches with her other hand for Jonathan's. He goes the extra few
inches, powerless to do anything else, and feels some comfort just touching
his wife, connecting with the dry warmth of her fingers.
Hiram comes out of the shadows. "This is pretty syrupy," he says, and his
voice breaks.
Dinner that evening is slow and quiet; the house feels like a soft and healing
wound.
,[tonathan and Chloe lie in bed, separated by twelve inches of sheet and blanket,
nd listen to each other breathing.
It will be days before Jonathan gets much sleep. Chloe, however, is soon
breathing quietly, regularly. He reaches out to touch her shoulder, hoping this
is not another violation, some further breach on his part.
He is nothing without her, them. That scares him more now than ever, and
he thinks again of escape, breaking away, finding real peace and contentment.
But he knows he will never do that.
He is a family man.
0 4
There are no tribes, no heroes, no gods or godly inspired prophets, no angels
or sublimely superior individuals. There are only children.
/ SLANT 349
The grizzled man walking beside the highway out of Green Idaho knows
that. He's had everything burned away but his childish core.
He talks to few, says very little. The scars on his face are vivid and crudely
patched together. He endures the snow and the wind.
Sometimes he will say to himself that his name is Jack. Sometimes, Carl.
He is not sure who is in charge from day to day, not that it matters.
He has work to do.
He is trying to go home.
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December 22, 1996
Lynnwood, Washington
