‘Not yet,’ I said. I knew that was still quite cryptic and would only increase his curiosity.
‘Well, what’s the prognosis on your condition? When can I hope to chain you to a desk here again?’ he asked, which I thought was a clever way to dig out the truth.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure about too much right now.’
‘Well, that’s quite understandable.’
‘I’ll get back to you.’
‘Anytime, Clea. Speedy recovery. And don’t hesitate to call me … for anything,’ he added. We both knew what he meant. It helped me to hear it.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
Not long after my call, Ronnie’s parents and my father arrived. Of course, I wondered whether or not Ronnie had said something to them about us. It was difficult to tell. My accident and how I looked right now was enough in itself to dress them in funeral faces. Ronnie’s mother was as upset at the sight of me as my mother would have been, but his father looked as if he might be the first one to break down in tears. My dad looked more disturbed than any of them, however, which surprised me. As we had just witnessed after my mother’s death, he could control his emotions to the point where someone might wonder if he even had any. Right now, however, I could see he was fighting back tears himself. His lips quivered after he kissed me. He sat close enough to keep holding on to my hand.
‘I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of a blow it would have been to have lost both of you in so short a period of time,’ he said.
For the first time during all this, I considered him and his feelings. As busy as he was when I was growing up, he still tried to be more of a father from time to time. Because of how distant he could be, I used to believe I was an accident, but not in the sense that my mother had become pregnant with me before they were married and therefore rushed or caused them to marry. It was more like he had never had the intention of having children. There were marriages like that. Each one realized and admitted they were too selfish to spare any of the energy they wanted to spend on themselves and spend it on a child instead. Maybe the wife didn’t want to give up her drive to be famous or successful, and the husband didn’t insist on it. They probably imagined they were always on a honeymoon that way or something, and whenever they witnessed the problems that their married friends had with their children, they went home congratulating themselves on not having any.
I guess I was wrong to think of my father along those lines. Was it his failing or mine that I really didn’t know him? If you were brought up by them, how can you not know your parents well enough? On the other hand, I would be the first to say that Kelly didn’t really know me. Just as I wondered about it in relation to my father, I had to question whether it was her fault or mine, or maybe both our faults.
‘I’m going to be all right,’ I said. ‘According to the neurologist, I’ve already made significant progress.’ Suddenly, it was more important to comfort him than for him to comfort me.
He looked at Ronnie’s parents.
‘She’s going to be all right,’ he said, as if I had just said one of the dumbest things ever. ‘The agony of having children comes when you realize at some point that you can’t always be there to protect them and that by giving birth to them, creating them, you have placed them in the path of indifferent Nature,’ he said.
Both of Ronnie’s parents widened their eyes with surprise.
‘Well, that’s a helluva thing to say,’ Ronnie’s father said, scratching his head.
‘I don’t even know what that means,’ his mother added.
I smiled.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘My father has always told me I was going to make him too old too fast.’
‘Yeah, well, he still hits a pretty good drive on the first hole,’ Ronnie’s father said. Then he laughed and added, ‘But maybe not on the ninth.’
‘He’s already got the epitaph for my monument,’ my father followed, nodding at Ronnie’s father. He wrote it in the air: ‘Here lies Jack Remington. He finally got his hole in one.’
The two men laughed. Ronnie’s mother shook her head. She had been dabbing her eyes the whole time, and mumbling things like, ‘Thank God your mother didn’t have to go through this.’ To her, I guess, death was my mother’s lucky break. I decided that maybe Ronnie is a lot more like his mother than his father after all.
When my father asked me what I remembered from the accident, I thought Ronnie had spoken to him for sure, but he and Ronnie’s father went right into a discussion about the traffic lights in the desert and how, more often than not, the older drivers go through red lights. They talked about senior citizens as if they weren’t members of that club.
‘You’ve got to count to three after the light turns green for you,’ Ronnie’s father said, and my father agreed. Hadn’t Ronnie made it clear that it was my fault? Was he protecting me or was he too embarrassed about it? I didn’t feel like correcting them for fear they would start asking about the sort of details I really couldn’t recall.
After another twenty minutes or so, the nurse came in to change some bandages, and they decided they’d go for lunch and return to the desert community where they lived behind walls and gates and let the outside world in only when they turned on their television sets. Retirement did mean retreat in one way or another, but I supposed retreat wasn’t always bad. The alternative was more often not good. Right now, the only frustrations they suffered came from a bad game of golf. After all, what were retirement home developments if not a desperate attempt to return to Eden? Keep out the snakes and ignore the tree of knowledge. There were all those cherished answers designed to protect their indifference to world events now, questions like ‘What difference can I make?’ or ‘They’re all alike – why vote?’
Who was I to blame them? Wasn’t I looking for and hoping for my own escape?
Before leaving, my father hugged me and kissed me more affectionately than he had at my mother’s funeral.
I had to laugh about it.
‘I guess I’ll get into a car accident once a week.’
He had to laugh, too.
‘Take care of yourself, Clea. Don’t fight City Hall,’ he added. Another retirement community expression, I thought. We said goodbye.
I was sad for a few moments afterward. I had thought more about my mother in the last few minutes than I had for hours after her death. I couldn’t help but wish I could pick up the phone and call her, and tell her all that was happening so I could get her words of comfort and advice. Why did death have to be so final? Why couldn’t you at least make a long-distance call?
Ronnie called to tell me he would be here late afternoon when he would bring Kelly. He had something he had to do at a business lunch. It had just come up. He was very matter-of-fact and surprisingly didn’t even ask me how the visit with his parents and my father went. He seemed to be in a hurry, under some pressure at the office. The truth was I never really took much interest in Ronnie’s work. He brought home stories, but I only half listened and nodded when I knew I should, shook my head when that was required, and laughed when it looked as if he was hoping I would.
Maybe that was wrong.
I didn’t fall into a long sleep again. I dozed on and off a little, but I was more aware of the time than I had been. A little before two o’clock, a man with curly graying brown hair knocked on my opened door and stepped into my room. He was easily six feet tall, svelte and quite impressive-looking in his three-piece light blue suit and silver tie. I liked his crystal navy blue cufflinks. He had gleefully happy eyes the color of fresh string beans, and a firm mouth with a cleft chin.
‘Mrs Howard?’ he said.
I lifted my left hand to show him my wrist band that had my name imprinted on it. He laughed.
‘Of course, I could be impersonating her,’ I said.
‘Would you like to?’
‘You’re Doctor Pearson,’ I said, or more like accused. I did have my left forefinger pointing at him.
‘I
don’t have a wrist band, but I have a driver’s license, if you want to see it.’
‘No need. Your question was right out of Introduction to Psychology.’
He smiled and sat. He held a clipboard with a number of papers on it.
‘Well, is it all right with you if we talk?’
‘I was under the impression I had little choice.’
‘No, no, no. Nothing like that,’ he said. He glanced at the monitors and me. ‘Looks like you’ve had quite an accident.’
‘Surely he showed you the picture of my car to set the stage for you to believe I tried to kill myself?’
‘Actually, no, but I bet it looks scary.’
‘Let’s cut right to the chase, Doctor Pearson. I admit I’ve been very unhappy lately. I might even be diagnosed as clinically depressed or something, but I’ve had no problem conducting myself well. I even did some part-time work for an attorney recently. He’s trying to get me to come back to work, in fact.’
‘That’s good. Are you planning to do that?’
‘No. Busy work is not going to be a substitute for what I need.’
‘And what is it you think you need?’
‘Rebirth,’ I said dryly. ‘I have given my husband and my daughter all the attention they needed up until now. They can be vampires, you know.’
He smiled. Perfect teeth, I thought, like Lancaster’s.
‘How so?’
‘They drain you of ambition for yourself, excitement for yourself. They’re too demanding. Despite all this quasi equating of the sexes we’re experiencing, a mother sacrifices way more than a father, even if she’s married to Mr Mom or something. There’s more to it than changing diapers, taking baby for a stroll and cleaning up the house. That umbilical cord doesn’t disappear so fast.’
‘Wouldn’t disagree with that when it comes to children. I have two boys and a girl, and my wife does tons more with them and for them than I do. What about your husband, though? What makes him Dracula?’
‘Unless you married a nerd, there’s an ego to constantly stroke. Men, like boys, have to be constantly praised. It’s draining.’
‘No mutual stroking?’
‘Depends on the husband’s ego, and there’s all that expectation on the wife’s shoulders. When we say, “I do,” it’s at least a seventy–thirty deal in the man’s favor. Society, no matter what you read and see, expects it. Your own kids expect it.’
‘And this is the way it’s been for you?’
‘I’m no different from every other wife and mother who signs the marriage certificate in blood.’
‘Blood … You are fixated on vampires,’ he said, smiling. Then he grew serious. ‘Sounds as if you need – or your husband needs – marriage counseling.’
‘It’s too late.’
‘Why?’
‘Because … because I’ve found someone else. That’s what I mean by being reborn. He sees like I do; he hears like I do; he feels, smells, tastes and thinks like I do. There’s all that and there’s the excitement. Despite how I look right now, I haven’t felt this alive for a long time, maybe ever,’ I said.
‘I see. Sounds like your dream-come-true type of thing.’
‘Exactly. In fact, I couldn’t have dreamed it to be any better,’ I said.
Perhaps if he saw and heard my determination, he would get up, apologize for stopping by and leave.
‘Tell me something about him.’
‘Why?’
‘You can’t blame me for being curious about a man who achieves so much for you.’
‘He’s extraordinarily good-looking, very clever and witty, has a terrific sense of humor, dresses to kill, and makes love with the affection and romance of a Cary Grant/George Clooney clone and the passion and hunger of a serial rapist,’ I replied. ‘Every woman’s fantasy, by the way.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I’ve never heard it put quite that way. What does he do?’
‘He’s independently wealthy, but he has the skill set of a lawyer, a doctor, a psychiatrist and an astronaut. There’s a bit of the philosopher in him as well. In other words, I’m never bored for a moment with him.’
‘You’re right. He sounds like everything you could possibly dream of and more.’
‘Exactly. So the very idea that I would prefer to kill myself is, as you can see, absurd.’
‘I agree. I don’t think you’re suicidal at all.’
‘Oh.’ I smiled. I had convinced him so quickly. ‘Well, Ronnie might not like hearing that.’
‘Where did you meet this incredible man?’
‘It was a chance meeting in a supermarket. And before you say it, yes, just like in a movie – electric, immediate mutual attraction, love at first sight.’
‘It’s nice to believe in it. And you’ve been seeing him often lately?’
‘Very often. Every chance I had.’
He nodded, sat back, glanced at his clipboard and then looked at me.
‘Almost sounds like you’ve invented him.’
‘Invented? What the hell does that mean?’
‘It’s not unusual. When we’re children, we often invent friends.’
‘I’m not a child.’
‘It’s possible you wanted him so much, you created him,’ he said.
‘Created him? Oh … I see. This is a new approach. Ronnie put you up to this one, too? You can’t show I’m suicidal, but maybe just a little schizophrenic?’
‘Your husband’s not putting me up to anything, Mrs Howard. He’s concerned about you.’
‘Are you sure he’s not simply concerned about himself?’
‘He’s unhappy, if that’s what you mean, but he’s more concerned about you and your happiness.’
‘He convinced you, huh? That’s my Ronnie. He’s a salesman of sorts, you see. He’s always selling, even when he’s not at work. How did he sell you? Or am I more correct in asking, how did he buy you?’
‘I’m afraid it wasn’t that devious. Nothing underhanded. He’s presented me with some information and asked that I be the one to present it to you and then come to a conclusion, hopefully with you eventually reaching the same conclusion. Not immediately, of course, but over time. How much time will be mostly up to you.’
‘What information?’
‘Let’s begin with where you met this man. Does he have a name, by the way?’
‘His name is Lancaster.’
‘What’s his full name?’
I stared at him, then looked away.
I turned back to him. ‘That’s all I needed to know.’
‘Not interested in his family?’
‘We’re interested in each other, period.’
‘I see. Did he always live here?’
‘I didn’t say he lives here now. He’s passing through.’
‘Where did he come from? Where is he headed?’
‘That’s not important. What’s important is that he is here now and he wants to be with me.’
‘You were never curious?’
‘I said it wasn’t important.’
‘OK. So where did you and Lancaster have your first rendezvous after meeting at the supermarket?’
‘I told Ronnie. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you that first. The Sky Top Motel.’
‘Oh, he told me. I wanted to confirm it. This was where you paid cash for a room reserved for a month?’
‘I didn’t pay for the room. Well, I did in the beginning because I went there to be by myself.’
‘Room twenty-one,’ he said, nodding, and pulled a sheet of paper from his clipboard. ‘Reserved for a month, full payment, copy of the receipt,’ he added and gave it to me. ‘Signed by the manager, a Tom Arthur. He remembers you well. You paid him in cash and it was obviously quite a unique request.’
‘So I forgot. Yes, yes, I paid for the room, but Lancaster had his own key and …’
I looked at the note on the bottom of the receipt and, for a moment, lost my train of thought. It read, Have a fresh rose on the right pillo
w bed facing the wall whenever the room is made up.
‘You all right?’ Dr Pearson asked.
‘Yes, I’m all right. This is nothing,’ I said, practically throwing it back at him.
‘We’ll talk about it, about why you went there in particular, why that specific room number.’
‘Lancaster knew the place.’
‘Another coincidence?’
‘Call it serendipity. I do.’
‘Yes,’ he said. He held his smile, but it was different now. It was more inquisitive, more professional. ‘What about asking specifically for room twenty-one? Anything special about that number for you?’
I could feel my eyes blinking rapidly.
‘You and your husband had a good experience in a motel room twenty-one, perhaps?’
‘No. It was when I was younger. I guess it just stayed in my head. Don’t make it into a Freudian thing.’
‘I promise,’ he said, smiling again, ‘I won’t. Now, as I understand, you took a two-day holiday in Idyllwild recently, about the time your mother became seriously ill.’
‘I’m not surprised he told you that. Ronnie loves bringing up my being unavailable.’
‘And you stayed at Lester’s Cabin Retreat?’
‘So? Does that have to have some special significance, too?’
‘You told your husband it was a place you both thought might be nice.’
‘So? Yes, I was there.’
‘By yourself?’
‘No. Lancaster was with me.’
‘Mrs Lester, the owner and manager, says you were by yourself.’
‘She’s a piece of work,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t with me when I went into her office to rent the cabin, and I didn’t think it was any of her business who I was with.’
‘Apparently, she keeps pretty good tabs on the comings and goings at her place – a bit of a busybody, don’t you think?’
‘I didn’t give her much thought.’
‘I had an opportunity to speak with her.’ He smiled in the way he had smiled at the beginning. ‘She even got a little peeved at me when I repeated my question concerning anyone else being with you. As if I was accusing her of being a bad owner of the property or something.’
Lost in His Eyes Page 23
