Where Dolphins Go
Page 19
"How are you?" she asked. Any fool could tell. He was gorgeous. Glorious. Delicious.
"I'm taking life one day at a time. And you?"
"The same."
There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to ask.
"Paul . . ."
"Susan . . ."
They spoke at the same time, then stopped, self-conscious. The silence thundered in her ears.
"I'd love to see Jeflfy," he said.
"It's not a good idea."
"You're right. It's not a good idea." Seeing Jeffy would be an excuse to see her, and he didn't think he could see her alone without caving in to the gut- wrenching need that consumed him every time he looked at her.
'You should get that dolphin for him," he said, reaching for the box. He had to touch her, even if it meant using a ploy any child could see through.
It was such a small touch, his thumb brushing against her hand, but it set off currents that heated his blood. She sucked in her breath, and they stood with the box between them, trapped by longings and regret.
"I've missed you so," she whispered.
What could he say? I've missed you so much that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night wishing Jean had died when she tried to kill herself so I could still be with you.
He rubbed his thumb over her hand and felt the scratch.
'You've hurt yourself."
Her smile made him sad. "Kiss it and make it well."
"Paul!" Jean appeared at the end of the aisle, her face almost as white as her dress. Susan stepped away, feeling guilty and hating it.. "I never expected to find you in toys."
"I was just chatting with Susan about Jeffy." Jean wheeled her shopping cart between them, and Paul put his arm around her waist. Susan felt sick. "You remember Susan, don't you, Jean?"
"How could I ever forget?" Her nod was cold, perfunctory. "Nice to see you again, Mrs. Riley." She turned her back on Susan. 'Take me home, Paul."
They walked down the aisle together, and Paul didn't even look back. Take me home. How Susan wished she had the right to say that to him.
"Susan?" Jo Lisa barreled around the corner, out of breath. The sight of Susan's face brought her to a dead halt. "You saw him, didn't you?"
Susan could only nod.
"I tried to catch you . . ." She grabbed the dolphin box and tossed it into the cart. "Let's get the hell out of here."
The boy at the checkout counter nodded toward Jo Lisa's sunglasses.
"Expecting a heat wave?"
"When I slum I have to do it incognito."
"Huh?"
"In disguise. I wouldn't want anybody to know that a movie star is in town.”
"Nicole?"
She smiled at him. "You won't tell, will you?"
He shook his head vigorously.
When they got to the parking lot, Jo Lisa nearly doubled over laughing. Susan didn't even smile.
"I'm driving, and when we get home I'm going to fix you something that will wipe that sonuvabitch out of your mind."
"He's not a son of a bitch. He has scruples."
"Yeah . . . well, scruples won't keep you warm at night."
o0o
While Jo Lisa fixed the drinks, Susan hid Jeffy's dolphin box. Fumbling around in the darkened closet, she rammed her hand into a crumpled-up silk blouse and a pair of slacks. Jean's. Left over from the day she'd gone to Paul's beach house and he'd ripped her clothes.
Susan jerked up the clothes and marched into the kitchen.
"Where's your cigarette lighter?"
"In my purse." Jo Lisa turned around, two salty dogs in her hands. "What the hell?"
"Jean's clothes." Susan held them at arm's length. "I'm going to build a bonfire. I thought we might want toasted marshmallows with our drinks."
They stared at each other for half a minute, then burst out laughing. They laughed so hard, tears ran down their faces.
"You're going to be all right, kid."
Together they went into Susan's backyard and lit the fire.
Chapter Thirty
It was the long silences that bothered Jean the most. Yesterday, for instance, sitting at the breakfast table with Paul, she'd felt like a guest in her own home. He'd politely inquired which section she wanted, then had divided the paper and retreated behind the business section.
What had once been a comfortable routine was now an excruciating ordeal. They used to sit side by side with the paper spread willy-nilly between them, competing with the jelly glasses and the coffee cups for space on the table.
Sonny would run by, chasing his dog, even though both of them had told him not to run in the house and not to let the dog in during meals. They'd argue with good humor about whose fault it was that their son was getting out of hand; then they'd smile indulgently at his antics and in the end neither of them would correct him.
Maybe they should have another child.
She glanced at her husband sitting at the wheel, concentrating on the road to Bill's house as if he'd never been there before. Joy to the World played on the radio, but Paul was oblivious to the holiday season. They passed Estes's Nursery and Jean spotted a throng of shoppers crowding around the Christmas trees.
"Maybe we ought to stop and get a tree," she said.
"Whatever you want." He pulled in at the nursery and parked the car.
"Don't you want a tree?"
"It's fine with me."
"I didn't ask if you approved, Paul. I asked if you wanted one."
An exuberant group of teenage carolers approached the car. With faces turned rosy from the evening breeze off the gulf, they surrounded Jean and Paul singing, We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
Paul and Jean sat with their faces frozen in polite smiles while the teenagers sang. Finally the group moved on. Jean felt like the survivor of a siege in a small country.
"Let's not argue about a tree, Jean. Let's just go inside and select one."
"That's the trouble, Paul. We don't argue about anything."
"Most married couples would envy that."
"I know we're married, Paul, but are we a couple?"
"I'll call a marriage counselor, if that's what you want."
"See. You said it again. If that's what you want. What about what you want, Paul? Don't you want anything?" He stared off into the distance as if he were seeing
something she couldn't see. She squeezed her hands together to still the panic.
"Forget I said that, Paul. Let's forget the tree and go on to Bill and Maggie's. We don't want to be late for dinner."
Paul started the car. Somewhere on the other side of the parking lot they could hear the carolers singing, Away in a Manger.
"I'll stop on my way home tomorrow and pick up a tree," he said.
"Fine."
The radio played I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Jean reached over and turned it off.
o0o
Bill and Maggie had a magnificent tree with brightly colored packages stacked almost knee-high underneath. Their house was full of the smell of Christmas baking and filled with the sound of laughter.
For a moment Paul was caught up in the wonder of the season, and he stood in front of the tree imagining it through the eyes of a child.
Was Susan singing to her child as he looked up at his tree? Was she making up a song about Christmas angels and little boys and Santa Claus?
"Dinner's served," Maggie called, and they all trooped in to her long, well-laid table.
Conversation swirled around Paul. Every now and then he added a comment, but mostly he observed. Maggie was as radiant as ever, sending secret smiles Bill's way every chance she got. No problems in their marriage. If ever there was a couple, it was Bill and Maggie.
Timmy chatted easily with Jean about school and basketball and the swim team he hoped to make next spring. She bent toward him, smiling and attentive.
Jean was a lovely woman—elegant, gracious—a woman any man would want. Perhaps he wasn't trying hard enough.
"How's school, Beth Ann?" he asked.
"Fine." She barely looked at him as she shoveled in candied sweet potatoes.
Guilt assailed Paul as he studied her. His godchild, his best friend's only daughter. How could he have been so self-absorbed not to see her problems? He wondered how long she had been gorging then afterward hiding in the bathroom, ramming her finger down her throat.
After dinner he made a point of being alone with Beth Ann.
"How long has this been going on, Beth Ann?"
"What?"
"Honey, I'm a doctor. I recognize the symptoms of bulimia. I'm here to help."
"Just like you were there the night Jean tried to kill herself? Don't talk to me about being there to help. Nobody is there to help. Nobody." She ran up the stairs.
"What was that all about?" Maggie asked, coming up behind him. "I'll swear, that child is as moody as can be these days. Say one word to her, and she bolts off and locks herself in the bathroom."
"Maggie, I need to talk to you and Bill. Alone."
Maggie's face got white. "She's not sick, is she?" She grabbed his arm. "Paul, what's wrong with my daughter?"
"Nothing that family counseling and lots of understanding won't cure."
o0o
"What a shame Maggie and Bill had to learn about Beth Ann during the Christmas season." Jean smoothed her dress and hung it neatly in the closet. In her slip
and stockinged feet, she turned to her husband. "I'm proud it was you who discovered the problem. That made it easier for them than if some stranger had pointed it out. You're a good man, Paul."
"Thank you, Jean."
The ravages of alcohol had all disappeared. Paul was fit from jogging and working out at the health club. He was getting a few gray hairs at the temple, but other than that, he looked like the same man she'd first fallen in love with, the man who had loved her back.
Sighing, she pulled her slip over her head and reached for her gown. Suddenly she felt Paul's arms around her. He pulled her back, and she leaned against his chest. They stood that way for a long while.
"Do you want to make love?" he eventually said.
"Yes."
Although he knew she was on the pill, he went into the bathroom to get a condom. No unexpected children for them. She could hear the sounds of his preparations —the door to the medicine chest opening and shutting, the tiny crackle as the packaging was torn aside.
She climbed into bed and pressed one hand over her heart, waiting. If they couldn't rekindle the flames of passion, perhaps they could kindle a tiny spark of warm regard.
The mattress sagged under Paul's weight, and she felt his lips upon her breast. He'd always kissed her first. Why wasn't he kissing her mouth? Couldn't he bear to look at her? Was he pretending she was someone else?
"Paul?" He lifted his head. "Kiss me."
He put his mouth on hers, but it wasn't what she'd call a kiss. More like an accident, two mouths colliding.
Truth to tell, she wasn't doing much, herself. Paul liked to be caressed. She slid her hand between his legs. He wasn’t even half-way engaged in what they were doing..
"Give me time, Jean." He rolled them to their sides facing each other. His hands were slim-fingered and firm, his strokes gentle.
Her heart began to race. She pressed against him, gratified at his response. With her hand between them, she eased him inside and began to move her hips.
He became perfectly still.
"Paul?"
He rolled away from her. "I'm sorry, Jean. I'm just not ready for this."
She dared not open her mouth to speak, afraid she'd scream. Moving carefully so she wouldn't disturb him, Jean turned to her side. The thing she had to decide was whether she could live with three in the bed.
o0o
On Christmas morning Susan sat with Jeffy under the tree opening gifts. Last night's family activities at her mother's had tired him out, and he was unusually pale. Susan tried not to hover. If he couldn't have his health, at least he deserved a Christmas as normal as she could make it.
"How about this one, sweetheart?" She held out a large package wrapped in gold paper and tied with a big red ribbon. "You want to open it next?"
The blue veins stood out on his pale little hands as he reached for the package. His eyes were too bright.
Please, God. Let him be well enough for his surgery soon.
She helped him get the toy out of the wrappings. It was the bright blue box, and inside, waiting to spring out, was the shiny silver dolphin.
"Ohh," he said, his eyes getting big. "It's Fergie. Mommy, it's Fergie."
"Looks just like him, doesn't it?"
"And it plays music. Is that the fish song?"
"No, darling. That's Somewhere Over the Rainbow. "
Jeffy wound the handle over and over, listening to the music and watching for the dolphin to pop out of the box. He clapped his hands at each performance.
Then suddenly he pushed the box away and started to cry.
"What is it, sweetheart?" She gathered him onto her lap. "Too much Christmas excitement?"
"Mommy." He looked up at her. "Will Paul ever take me where dolphins go?"
Susan fought against creeping despair. How could she explain broken dreams to a child?
Chapter Thirty-one
During the cold days of January and the blustery days of February, Paul was there for Bill and Maggie and Beth Ann. He found the best psychologist available, and while they were in counseling sessions, he took Timmy to his basketball practice and tutored him in math. It was the least he could do in return for the nurturing Bill had provided during his time of need.
When the earth began to green and the breezes began to warm, he visited Jean's psychiatrist. Dr. Hiram Goldberg was more than an acquaintance; he was a trusted friend.
"How is she, Hiram?"
"If you're asking me if Jean’s stable enough to live alone, I'd say no." Hiram polished his glasses. "I don't know, Paul, maybe I'm not the one for her. Maybe you should get somebody who doesn't know you so well, somebody who won't hurt because you're hurting."
"Does it show that much?"
'To me . . . and probably to Jean. Maybe it would be best if you made a clean break from her, got somebody in her family to move in with her so she can get over this thing."
"I'm the only close family she has." He stood up and shook his friend's hand. "Thanks, Hiram."
When he left the office he drove by Hope Methodist Church hoping for a glimpse of Susan. Drove by twice. Like a lovesick teenager. Then he went downtown and bought Jean a silver Porsche.
He wondered what the less fortunate did to salve their consciences?
o0o
"I'm leaving."
"You can't go, Jo Lisa."
"I'd like to know why in the hell not."
Bessie pursed her lips and went into the kitchen to get herself a cup of tea. If her oldest daughter—who knew good and well such language was offensive to her mother—was going to sit there and say such things, she had no choice but to ignore her. She zapped a cup of water in the microwave, got the tea bags out of the sugar bowl and the sugar out of the flour canister, and made herself a bracing cup of tea. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and crooked her finger into the teacup like a lady. She'd always prided herself on being a lady.
"Mother." Jo Lisa posed in the doorway, hip-slung.
If she was doing it to get Bessie's goat, then she was bound to fail. In the months since her oldest daughter had been home, Bessie had learned patience.
"Are you going to sit there pouting, or can we talk?"
"What do you want to talk about, Jo Lisa?"
"I'm trying to te
ll you that I'm leaving, but as always you don't listen." Jo Lisa pulled out a chair and straddled it, propping her chin on the back. "You always listen to Susan."
"She never uses back-street language."
"Shit!"
"See. That's just what I'm talking about."
Jo Lisa got up and shoved the chair against the table so hard, it bumped, then she stalked out.
Affronted, Bessie sat drinking her tea. Jo Lisa would cool off in a minute, and when she did she'd come back and sit down and say whatever she wanted to say.
The front door slammed. Bessie set down her teacup.
"Jo Lisa?" There was no answer. She got up from the table and hurried after her daughter. "Jo Lisa!"
Jo Lisa was already on the front porch. She hesitated, then finally turned around.
"Where are you going, honey?" Bessie said through the screen door.
"Over to New Orleans to hunt for a job."
"You have a nice job."
"I might as well be embalmed as spend the rest of my life at that so called nice job." Jo Lisa picked up a garbage bag from the front steps. "Here. I brought you some old clothes for your bingo club's rummage sale."
"You're leaving? Just like that?"
"I'll be back in a week or two to get the rest of my things and settle the rent."
"Consider somebody besides yourself. What about Susan and Jeffy?"
"I'm going over now to tell them good-bye."
Jo Lisa left without so much as a fare-you-well, her gold high heels clicking smartly on the wooden steps. Bessie stood watching her. Lord, where had she ever learned that walk, sashaying her hips? And how many times had Bessie told her high heels looked cheap with britches?
But when had Jo Lisa ever listened to her?
Bessie took the garbage bag into her bedroom and began to sort through the clothes. There was a perfectly good black skirt that she had no intention of putting up in a rummage sale. Lottie had a niece about Jo Lisa's size who would be only too glad to get a nice skirt like that. She put the skirt aside, then took out a denim blouse. One of the buttons was missing, but if she cut the others off and put a different kind on, she might be able to wear the blouse herself.
She got the scissors from her sewing basket and snipped off the buttons. Then she put them in a jar. Who knew when they might come in handy?