"Putting that darling mother of yours in a nursing home!" she cried. "I don't know how you could do it!"
"Valley Fields is hardly a nursing home," Beth put in dryly.
But Monica swept on. "Forcing Muriel out of the home she's lived in all her life, and her mother before her—why, I'd sooner die than put my mother.…"
Beth listened in silence to the flood of recrimination. The retort that sprang to her lips died unspoken. To people who valued form more than reality, there was nothing to be gained by defending her action. Even my own daughter.… She bit her lip. No matter how happy her grandmother might be at Valley Fields, Beth suspected Dana would never get over thinking of her as abandoned.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Beth said calmly. "Perhaps you would prefer not to accept the listing."
Monica's eyelashes fluttered frantically. "Oh, no, I can't allow my feelings to affect the agency's—"
"Or, if you sell the house yourself," Beth cut in smoothly, "perhaps you could donate your fee to a worthy charity." Beth tried not to enjoy watching Monica wriggle at the end of the hook she herself had set. "I'll be moving some of Mother's furniture to her Valley Fields apartment over the next couple of weeks." Noticing Monica's eyes widen when she said apartment, Beth couldn't resist pressing her advantage. "She'll have only two bedrooms instead of three, but all the rooms are quite spacious, so she'll be taking the best things with her. I'll supply you with a list of the remainder, in case a prospective buyer is interested."
"I'd appreciate it, Beth," Monica replied in a subdued voice. "The market's still down, but it's a beautiful house in a wonderful location—just the kind of property people are looking for these days."
That's what you told me when you listed my house, too, Beth thought, but she just smiled perfunctorily and left.
Annoyed as she was at her childhood friend, Beth found herself feeling elated as she drove home. Only a few months ago she would have been crushed by the encounter, questioning her decision and her judgment, eager to offer reasons and excuses. She still didn't subscribe to Georgina's maxim—never explain, never apologize--but in this case.…
She smiled at herself in the rear view mirror, the smile fading as she recalled Karim encouraging her bid for independence. Without him, was the game worth the candle?
There was no message from Karim on her machine when she arrived home. Feeling restless and depressed, she drove out to Polly's Place, wondering when she entered if he might appear at her elbow as he had that first night...
Lost in reminiscence, she started when Polly called to her. "Mrs. Volmar? We have a nice table for you in the Hearth Room."
The pretty dark-haired waitress Karim had said was a graduate student at Peabody grabbed a menu and all but swept Beth out of the entry, but not before Beth caught sight of Karim's familiar dark head seated at a table on the porch with a dark haired woman. Val Donovan? Down from Maine to be with her daughter? The thought hardly had time to register before Beth was hustled to a table in a dark corner across from the huge smoke-blackened fireplace that gave the room its name.
"Meredith? Could I have another candle, please? I can hardly make out the menu. There's more light on the porch where I usually sit."
To Beth's bewilderment, the girl's soft mouth drooped in dismay. "Oh, Mrs. Volmar, I'm so sorry!" she breathed, then realizing what she'd said, clapped her hand to her mouth. Another waitress took her place for the rest of the meal, and it wasn't until later that Beth realized the reason for Meredith's distress was seeing Karim with another woman at the table he and Beth always chose.
It was still early, only half past eight, when Beth arrived home. The TV offerings lacked appeal, but it was too early to go to bed, too late to go to the video store. She sighed and turned on the taps in the tub for a long soak just as the phone rang. She reached it, breathlessly, on the third ring, her robe trailing behind her, just before the machine was due to cut in. It was Karim.
"I was relieved to hear you'd arrived home safely, Beth"
"Tell me, how is Amity?"
"She's doing well—physically, that is. She's still in the hospital, but they told Nick he could take her home in a couple of days."
"Nick? But I thought she had decided not to move in with him."
"What Amity says and what she does are not necessarily the same. When we were away, she and Nick had a terrible row—he says he told her he couldn't take her emotional swings any longer—so of course he blames himself for what happened. But she can't live alone for now, and there's no one else. She won't even speak to me. I never thought I'd feel nostalgic about the days she'd wander into my study when I was reading, knowing I was concentrating too hard to pay proper attention to what she was saying. When I think of the things I gave her permission to do! Val and I finally had to insist on joint approval. Amity wouldn't speak to me then, either, but that only lasted a couple of days."
Beth became aware of his turning away to speak to someone. "Val is reminding me she asked—urged—Amity to come back to Maine with her, but she refused. My secretary arranged for Val to stay in the grad dorm—she came down as soon as she heard, of course, before I got back."
"Yes, I figured as much. I saw you at Polly's."
"Were you there tonight?" He gave a humorless little laugh. "Our reception was odd, to say the least."
"Yours too?" Beth said. "How ironic."
There was a pause. "Beth, I miss you." His voice was very low. "I love you."
"Oh, Karim." She blinked back sudden tears, then wondered, since there was no one to see them, why she bothered. "Karim, please, just give me a little more time."
She replaced the receiver very softly into its cradle and rested her forehead on it, as if to spirit the love she felt for him through the wires and into his waiting ears. Her hand closed into fist, and she punched the counter-top. Coward. She punched it again, harder. Coward, coward...
The phone rang again. She snatched it up. "Karim?" Her voice was choked with unshed tears.
"Beth? It's Georgina. Housa told me you were home and I wondered.… Look, it's obvious something's wrong—would it help to talk?"
"Oh, Georgina!"
"I take it that means yes. I can't leave here, I'm expecting a call from Reuben from California—he's dispensing medical words of wisdom to a bunch of cardiologists who are paying him an obscene amount of money for it, so pack a nightie and a toothbrush and come see Auntie Georgie. We'll have a slumber party, just the two of us, but if you want a home perm you'll have to stop at the drugstore and pick one up."
Beth sniffed back her tears and gave a little laugh. "Good Lord, I haven't thought of a home perm in years. Monica Davenport gave me one once when I was about fourteen—as I remember, it wasn't half bad. Last good thing she ever did for me."
"That bitterness sounds of more recent vintage, honeybunch. Hop in your little blue car, and by the time you get here I'll have shoveled the cats off the couch."
"Bless you, Georgina."
"Oh my, sainthood! I should try and be nice more often."
* * * *
Beth paused on the deck outside Georgina's door listening to the night sounds. She heard the door open.
"What are you doing prowling around out there? You're lucky you didn't get sprayed with Mace!" Georgina barked at her.
"Come listen! Crickets and katydids. They make such a lovely chirping sound— why does it always make me feel so sad?"
Georgina came out to stand beside her. "Hmm-mm. Harbingers of fall, the waning of the year. 'Grow old along with me,' " she intoned, " 'the best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made .... ' "
"Why, Georgina, I'm impressed!" Beth said as she followed her friend inside. She deposited her small bag on the floor and settled into the couch.
"Robert Browning, courtesy of Dr. Reuben Gerber, retired," Georgina said. "He quotes it to me at every opportunity, but I keep telling him I'm not that old yet."
"Playing hard to get?"
"No,
" Georgina said, suddenly serious, "just cautious. What's your excuse?"
Beth leaned down to stroke the cat arching against her leg. "I don't know what you mean," she said, her voice muffled.
"The hell you don't. No woman calls out a man's name the way you did to me on the phone unless there's trouble."
Beth took a deep breath. "He lied to me, Georgina."
Georgina stared down at her. "Would you like a drink?" Beth shook her head. Georgina poured herself a glass of chilled wine and joined Beth on the couch, legs curled under her.
"So tell me."
"You've heard about Amity Donovan?"
Georgina nodded. "Today. I've been taking some time off. I'm due some; your daughter-in-law's been wearing me out, but that's another story. I saw this brunette woman on campus with Donovan, so naturally I asked his secretary, and she told me who she was and why she was there. Terrible thing. Is that part of it?"
Georgina listened in silence as Beth told her about Amity and Jess and the part Karim was convinced he played in his grandson's death.
"I'm sorry, Beth, but where does the lying come in?"
"He never told me about it."
"Not telling isn't the same as lying."
"You're splitting hairs!"
"No, I'm looking at it from the outside. You see Donovan as the President of Peabody College, assured, successful, respected."
"Well, isn't he?"
"Yes and no. From his academic peers' point of view he has yet to prove himself. He's a newcomer, expected to restore the prestige Peabody lost thanks to a disgraced predecessor. He's going to be watched very closely, and some of his colleagues won't be sorry if he fails."
"I never thought...he never said...”
"He wouldn't. I used to see him as arrogant, but now I think maybe he's an old-fashioned kind of guy that you don't see much nowadays. The type who suffers in silence instead of—what was it we used to say?—letting it all hang out."
Beth frowned. "I guess that's why he said what he did," she murmured.
"Well? What did he say?"
"That he feared someday I'd decide he didn't quite measure up. And earlier, something about the Volmar men—"
"About Ralph, the brilliant surgeon," Georgina cut in, "with a hospital wing named for him? And Andrew, the compassionate, award-winning, hospice-founding doctor? Think about it, honeybunch—if you were Donovan, how would you feel?"
Beth stared at her friend. She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Georgina! How could I have been so blind!"
Georgina reached over and patted her knee. "It's the old story of not seeing the forest for the trees. All of us have done it. You can always tell him you're sorry."
Beth sat up. "Hey! What happened to 'Never apologize, never explain?' "
Georgina waved an impatient hand. " 'A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. ' "
"Courtesy of Reuben Gerber again?"
"By way of Ralph Waldo Emerson. The man's mind is crammed with all these meaningful little tidbits. Drives me crazy."
Beth regarded her friend fondly. " 'A friend in need is a friend indeed.' " She smiled. "I probably heard that first in Girl Scouts," she added softly.
"Go see Donovan, Beth," Georgina urged, "but if he has a book in his hand take it away from him." She laughed. "His secretary finally admitted why she always goes into his office in person to announce his appointments. It used to seem a bit pompous to me, but she swears it's to make sure his attention will be focused on them rather than whatever he's reading or working on at the time."
Beth nodded. "Karim told me Amity learned to take advantage of it at an early age. He said she'd wait until he was working to ask his permission for something she wasn't ordinarily allowed to do and—" She broke off. "My God," she murmured. "Of course he never heard what she said. She didn't mean him to hear, maybe not consciously, but... my God."
"Beth, what are you mumbling about?"
"About something I have to do before I see Karim." She took her friend's hands in hers. "It's better for you not know about it, Georgina. Trust me."
Chapter Twenty
Beth paused outside Amity Donovan's room. A passing nurse recognized her, smiled and nodded. Beth took a deep breath and knocked. Nick Cuddon opened the door. His unshaven face was drawn, his eyes red-rimmed, and the skin beneath them smudged by sleeplessness.
"Mrs. Volmar! I never expected—"
"Don't let that woman in, Nick!" Amity's voice was husky, like someone recovering from a bad cold, but stronger than Beth had anticipated.
"It's important I see Amity," Beth said. "For her sake—for yours. Please."
Beth looked into his eyes, hoping he would see her as a person who had never knowingly done anyone any harm; hoping he would trust her not to do any now. He sighed and passed a weary hand over his high brow. Stepping back, he opened the door wide, admitting her.
"Nick!"
Without a backward glance. Nick left, closing the door behind him.
"What are you doing here!" Amity demanded.
"I imagine you think of me as the devil incarnate," Beth said, "but I'm not. Although," she added thoughtfully, "I guess you could say I came here today as his advocate."
Amity's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What in hell is that supposed to mean?"
Beth looked at her directly. "Your father told me about Jess, Amity."
Amity shrank back, as if from a blow. "Did he?" Her tone was as belligerent as her shaky voice would allow. "I didn't think he had the guts for it."
"He blames himself for his death, you know."
"Why shouldn't he? He was responsible for it—selfish bastard."
"He told me how beautiful he was—"
" 'Like an angel,' " Amity whispered.
Beth knew she was quoting him. "He loved his grandson. Amity. He never wanted him to come to harm."
"Didn't he? Jess and I wrecked my parents' lives, didn't we? Not that they hadn't already begun making a shambles of them on their own," she sneered.
"You had no choice," Beth returned quietly. "Neither did they. I don't know your mother, but your father's not the kind to curse fate. He knows that acceptance is sometimes the only course open to us. Not everyone is as strong and clear sighted as he is. I know I'm not."
Amity listened to Beth in watchful silence, her face pale, her hair a burnished halo against the white pillow.
"From what your father told me, Jess's behavior was becoming more violent. I imagine, as he grew older and stronger, he sometimes physically hurt you."
Amity briefly closed her eyes and rubbed her arms, as if soothing long-vanished bruises.
"You saw the effect of it on your parents. You knew they were trying to hold things together for your sake, and the guiltier you felt, the more frantic you became. You couldn't accept the blame—you'd already taken on more than you could bear—so you chose the strongest among you."
"Never. I never chose—"
"Karim told me your mother had been suffering all night with a toothache."
"It was abscessed. She'd neglected it because...because.…"
"Because your father had a deadline to meet? And she knew you couldn't handle Jess alone?"
Amity stared at her. "How could you possibly—"
"Karim told me some of it—it wasn't hard to fill in the rest. A woman I once counseled had an autistic grandchild; I know something about what that can do to a family."
"Mom was in terrible pain," Amity insisted. "She couldn't drive herself to the dentist. I told Daddy I was going!"
"But you didn't tell him you weren't taking Jess."
"Jessie hated being shut up in enclosed spaces. You can't begin to imagine the chaos he could create in a car! Mom couldn't have stood it.…" Amity's voice became tremulous. "She couldn't have."
"So you left Jess home, and he went outside—"
Amity's mouth set in a thin white line. "I told Daddy I was going. I assumed he knew I wasn't taking Jess." Her stilted monotone reveal
ed that she had been repeating that necessary assumption in her head ever since that dreadful day.
"But he was working, wasn't he?"
Amity avoided Beth's eyes. "Mom was in such pain. She was crying—Mom never cries."
"And, as usual, he was lost in concentration."
"When I was a kid I used to tease him about it," Amity whispered. "Earth to Daddy, earth to Daddy.…"
"You used to take advantage of it, too."
"Sometimes, but not that time!" Her voice dropped. "I swear to God, not that time."
"I believe you, Amity."
"Why in hell should you?"
"Because I’m sure you loved your son and meant him no harm. The trouble is you weren't sure, and you couldn't bear to shoulder any more guilt. You'd already taken on more than your share."
Amity moaned and turned her head away, but not before Beth saw tears slipping from beneath her pale eyelids.
Beth leaned forward, and gently stroked the fall of red hair. "Let it go, Amity. Let it go. For your sake, for Nick's, and your father's, too."
She turned back towards Beth and into her cradling arms. Beth could feel tears soaking her shoulder. Beth gently rocked the sobbing girl and stuffed a tissue in her groping hand. After a long moment, Amity drew away and wiped her eyes. When she looked at Beth again, there was respect mixed with the wariness Beth had come to expect.
Amity blew her nose. "I still wish my parents were staying together. Maybe if you hadn't gone off to Turkey with Daddy.…" Her voice trailed off. Beth could tell her heart wasn't it: the familiar, practiced pairing of guilt and blame no longer rang true. "But I suppose it's too late for that."
Beth's silence was more eloquent than words.
Amity shifted irritably under her covers. "Damn sheets are like sandpaper," she muttered. She spared Beth a frowning glance. "Look, lady, if you're hanging around hoping for absolution, forget it!"
This sudden return to cockiness surprised Beth into laughter.
"You're right, Amity. My motive for coming here wasn't entirely unselfish, but more than just my happiness is at stake, and we both know it."
Their eyes met, blue to blue. Unflinching. Amity nodded.
And Be My Love Page 27
