In Sunlight or In Shadow

by Lawrence Block

  “Again?”

  “It’s a long story. Let’s first clean this up and I’ll go check on Richard.”

  “Why don’t I make us some coffee?”

  “I got pregnant. It was the summer before my senior year. Richard had just graduated, and was going to be coming out this way, to Amherst. We were from Danvers, so he was going to be more than two hours away. Anyway, I just couldn’t tell him. I was afraid it would ruin his life. That I would ruin his life. Eventually, I told my mother, and she told his mother, and they came up with a plan. Just before Thanksgiving, they sent me to this place in Dorchester. St. Mary’s Home for Unwed Mothers. Can you believe it? It sounds like something out of a gothic novel. The story was that I had gone to Chicago to help a sick aunt, and that is what we told everyone. Including Richard.”

  “And people believed it?”

  “They did or they didn’t. It didn’t matter. You have to remember, it was 1967, and there weren’t a lot of options. Every year there were one or two girls at school who just disappeared, for a few months or forever. And we didn’t talk about it. It just wasn’t nice.”

  “I’m sorry. I interrupted you. You were saying you went to St. Mary’s?”

  “St. Mary’s. It was wonderful and terrible. I had never been a part of a group of girls like that. Every night was like a slumber party. But we were also bored to tears, and so ashamed, and absolutely terrified of childbirth. Whenever a girl had her baby, she didn’t come back. So we never heard from anyone what it was really like.

  “We talked endlessly about what we would do—would we keep our baby, or give it up? We all had boy’s and girl’s names picked out, and we imagined what our lives would be like if we decided to take our babies home. My names were Thomas and Caroline. What we didn’t know was that there was nothing to decide. The decision was already made for us. Our babies were gone before we even had them. I had a little girl. Caroline. They never even let me hold her.”

  “Oh, Grace, I am so sorry. That’s terrible.”

  “Yes. It was terrible. I was absolutely devastated. But it was like I was in shock. My parents came to get me, and we all seemed to agree that we wouldn’t speak of it again. I went back home to finish my senior year.

  “I honestly didn’t think I would ever tell him. I figured he would probably break up with me when he came home for the summer. I had been so awful to him, and he couldn’t understand why. I didn’t answer any of his letters until I was back home, and even then, I would only write a few lines, mostly about the weather and my classes at school. It was awful keeping a secret from him. If I’d had any guts at all, I would have broken up with him, instead of just waiting for him to do it.”

  “How did he send you letters? I mean, where did he send them? Didn’t he think you were in Chicago?”

  “I really did have an aunt in Chicago. My mother’s sister. She was in on it, too. She mailed his letters to our house, and I read them all when I got home. Funny. It all seems so silly now, the trouble we went to.”

  “So he came home?”

  “Yes. For the summer. I was still finishing up the school year when he came home. I had managed to catch up and was able to graduate with my class. We went to my senior prom together, just like everyone expected we would. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. Why I wasn’t happy. And I honestly didn’t know. There had been a little problem, and it had been taken care of. It was over. No one got hurt. Life went on. Except that I hated myself.

  “I will never forget when I finally told him. It was the hottest day of the summer. We’d spent the day down on Nantasket Beach and then we went to Paragon Park. We ate fried clams, and rode on the roller coaster, and after that we went to the movies. I think we saw The Thomas Crown Affair. Was that the one with Steve McQueen?”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess so. There was a remake a few years ago. With Rene Russo, I think.”

  “Anyway, it had been a perfect day. Except that every time I opened my mouth I was afraid of what I might say. So I barely said a word. When Richard took me home, he asked me for what must have been the twentieth time that day what was the matter.

  “I still remember it like it was yesterday. We were standing on my porch. It was still hot, even close to midnight. All the lights in the house were off, but I knew that my mother was awake upstairs, waiting up for me. Maybe even listening from her bedroom window. I didn’t have a curfew anymore, but even after everything that had happened, she still wouldn’t go to sleep until I got home and turned off the porch light.”

  “So you told him? About the baby?”

  “About Caroline, yes. I couldn’t look at him. I looked down and just started talking. I told him about missing my period, and feeling sick in the mornings. That was before he even left for school. I told him about how scared I was when I finally had to tell my parents, and how my father cried. And how the next day our mothers sat down together, with a pot of coffee and a telephone book, and figured out what we were going to do. I told him about St. Mary’s, and the other girls, and how I hated being away from home. I told him how much I’d missed him, and how scared I’d been. I told him about when Caroline was born, and how they took her away from me. And that I’d never held her. Or said that I was sorry. Or told her goodbye. I told him that I hated myself. And that I would never forgive myself.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “He kneeled down, took my hand, and asked me to marry him. He said that if he’d known about Caroline at the time, we would have gotten married, and she would be with us. And that just because Caroline was living with another family instead of with us, that didn’t change anything.”

  “And you said yes.”

  “And I said yes. We were married a year later. We didn’t want to wait, but our mothers were afraid of what people would think if we didn’t have a proper engagement. Silly.”

  “Wow. And then you lived happily ever after.”

  “Happily ever after. Until death do us part. Speaking of which, I’ve got to feed him. And you should go. I didn’t mean to keep you here all afternoon.”

  “Would you like me to come back tomorrow? I can stop at the store if you need anything. For your dinner?”

  “Please come tomorrow. That would be very nice.”

  “And do you need me to pick up anything?”

  “No. Missy said she’s bringing anything we— Oh, you know what? What about Taco Bell? Maybe you can get us some of those Super Nachos they have at Taco Bell?”

  HANNAH

  I have a mother who sneaks junk food. And a father who is dying. And two sisters. And a niece and two nephews. I have a family. And they have no idea who I am. I am in this thing way too deep. Now what do I do?

  GRACE

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come back after yesterday. I apologize for dumping all of that on you. I honestly hadn’t even thought about it in a long time.”

  Grace rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher.

  “Oh, don’t apologize. It was an amazing story. Richard sounds like a really wonderful man.”

  “I have been very lucky . As a family, we’ve been very lucky, even with Richard’s illness. I expect I will have to remind Missy and Jane of that. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Do they know about Caroline?”

  “Of course. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t keeping any more secrets. Caroline was their favorite story when they were little. Here you go.”

  “Thanks. Did you ever look for her?”

  “Oh no. I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right. I can’t undo what I did to her. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “But she doesn’t know that. I mean, how could she know?”

  “When she wants to find me, she will. I think she’ll see that I’m actually pretty easy to find. But I’ve been talking too much. I just want to listen for a while. Tell me about yourself. Do you live around here?”

  “Oh. OK. Well, I’m actually sort of between situations right now. I mean, I’m here fo
r the summer. I am staying at a friend’s place in Holyoke. Sort of housesitting while she’s away. I had an apartment and a job and a boyfriend in Providence, but it seems I may have run away from home. I’m going to be forty in March, and I think I might be going through some kind of mid-life thing.”

  “Ah, yes. I do remember forty getting my attention. Are you from Providence originally?”

  “I was born in Massachusetts, but I grew up in Cranston.”

  “Is your family still in Rhode Island?”

  “Actually, no. Not really. They, umm, my parents actually passed away.”

  “Oh, I am very sorry to hear that.”

  “That’s OK. I mean, they were older. I was adopted.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out like that. It just felt awkward not saying so after yesterday.”

  “Yesterday. Right. How old did you say you are?”

  “I’ll be forty in a few months.”

  “You said March?”

  “Hmm, yeah.”

  “And you were born in—?”

  “In Massachusetts. Grace?”

  Silence.

  “I’m so sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Are you—?”

  “I think so. Yes. I mean, yes.”

  “You’re Caroline?”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Was that a car? Oh, Jesus. OK, Missy’s here.”

  “Hi, Mom. Here, take this. I made a lasagna; we can just heat it up when we’re ready. Jane is bringing a salad and I told her to pick up a bottle of wine. Wine’s OK, right? I spoke to her right before I left the house. She should be here any minute. Oh, hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you. I’m Missy. I mean, who says we can’t have wine? How’s Daddy?”

  “Hi. I’m Hannah. I’m the—”

  “He’s OK. He’s been sleeping a lot today. Come on, let’s go in. He was looking forward to seeing you.”

  Hannah sat back down. Even though Missy was speaking softly, in that gentle singsong reserved for babies and sick people, Hannah could hear every word.

  “How are you feeling, Daddy? Are you comfortable? Here, let me fix the pillow a second. There, that’s better, isn’t it? John and the boys send their love. We are all going to be here on Sunday, OK? Would you like that? Oh my god, you wouldn’t believe the traffic I hit on 91. Near Springfield? There must have been an accident or something but whatever it was, I was so far back I didn’t see a thing. Mom, who was that woman?”

  “That’s Hannah. She’s a hospice volunteer. She’s been helping me out. Running some errands for me.”

  Hannah waited for her response, but there was none.

  “Go ahead. Sit here. I’ll let you talk to Daddy.”

  She came back into the kitchen and sat down.

  “That’s Missy. It can sometimes be hard to get a word in.”

  “She seems very nice. But I should go. And let you—”

  “Please don’t go. Stay. You can meet Janie, and have dinner with us. I would like that.”

  “OK. Are you sure? If you want me to.”

  They listened to Missy speaking softly to Richard in the next room.

  “Would you like me to read to you Daddy? I just got that new Prey book, by John Sandford? I can’t remember what it’s called. Something Prey, no doubt. Wait, I’ll be right back.”

  Missy came into the kitchen and took a book from her bag.

  “I thought I might read to him for a little while. I got the new John Sandford book. Phantom Prey, that’s it. Wait, let me just put the lasagna in the oven. Where is Jane? I thought she’d be here by now.”

  They listened as she started reading to him in the next room.

  “‘Something wrong here, a cold whisper of evil. The house was a modernist relic, glass and stone and redwood—’”

  “He knows. Richard. He heard us.”

  “He heard us?”

  “He knows who you are.”

  “How do you know? I mean, what makes you think so?”

  “You hear Missy reading, right? Just listen. You can hear every word. For days, I sat here and listened to him breathe. It didn’t occur to me that he could hear us in here. But of course he can. Just now, when I told Missy who you are? He made a face.”

  “He made a face?”

  “He raised his eyebrows, like he was saying ‘oh, really?’ Like he was saying ‘Come on, Grace. I thought you said you were done keeping secrets.’”

  “Grace, I’m so sorry. I feel like I am making a terrible mess here. I shouldn’t have done this. Any of this. I never meant to—”

  “Honey. It’s OK. It’s really OK.”

  A car pulled into the driveway.

  “There’s Jane.”

  “Oh, Mommy. Is he OK? I had the most terrible dream last night. I was driving here and no matter how long I drove, I kept not getting any closer. In the dream, I mean. I was so afraid he would die before I got here, and I drove for hours and hours but the GPS just kept saying that I was still 42 minutes away. Why 42 minutes? Isn’t that weird? Anyway, when I woke up this morning I knew that it was just a dream but then once I was driving here I started to think, what if it’s true? What if it was some kind of a premonition or something? I was crying so bad I had to pull over. I was so afraid I would get here and he’d be dead. And then I thought that if I didn’t keep driving I would never get here and then it really would be true.”

  “Honey, stop crying. Come here and give me those bags. He’s—”

  “Jesus, Jane. What is your fucking problem? He’s OK. I was just reading to him until you came busting in like a lunatic.”

  Jane pushed past Missy and went into the family room.

  “You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s unstable.”

  “Missy, be nice. She’s just upset.”

  “So, Hannah. I’m sorry, it is Hannah, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You do volunteer work for hospice? That’s very generous of you. I am sure it has been a big help to my mom.”

  “Oh, well, it’s really not so much. There are nurses who come who can actually do things to really help. They call what I do respite care. I’ve just been coming by to give your mother a break if she needs it.”

  “My family and I really appreciate your help. But I’m sure you must have better things you could be doing, so—”

  “Missy, I asked Hannah to stay for dinner.”

  ‘You asked— Oh. OK, sure, that’ll be— That’s fine. There’s plenty of food.”

  “I’m going to give your father his dinner now. Why don’t you girls set the table? I will ask Jane to come in and help.”

  Hannah and Missy could hear Grace and Jane talking while they set the table.

  “Wait, who is she?”

  “I told you. She’s been coming by to help, and to keep me company.”

  “And now she’s such a good friend that she’s joining us for a family dinner? After two days?”

  “It’s been three days and yes, she’s become that good a friend. I need you to give your father and me some privacy. So stop acting like a brat and go in and introduce yourself properly. You are embarrassing me.”

  Jane came into the kitchen and walked to the counter where she had put down her bags. Missy and Hannah watched her open a bottle of wine. Jane brought it to the table where she poured three glasses and sat down. Missy raised her glass in a silent toast, and they drank.

  Missy took her cell phone from her bag. Jane straightened and re-straightened the pamphlets still on the table where Jose had left them days before. Hannah looked at her hands. Each of them strained to hear what Grace was whispering to Richard, but it was just below audible.

  Grace appeared in the doorway.

  “Can you come in here? Your father and I want to talk to you.”

  Missy and Jane got up.

  “Hannah. You, too. Please.”

  The four women stood around Richard’s bed, Jane and Missy on
one side, Grace and Hannah on the other. Richard’s and Hannah’s eyes met for the first time. Richard smiled, and turned to Grace and nodded.

  “Missy and Jane. You remember the story of Caroline . . .”

  ROBERT OLEN BUTLER has published sixteen novels and six volumes of short stories, one of which, A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, won the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction. He has also published a widely influential volume of his lectures on the creative process, From Where You Dream. His latest novel is Perfume River, about the baby boomer generation and how it has been permanently affected by its war in Vietnam. His previous three novels comprise the commencement, for Otto Penzler’s Mysterious Press, of a historical/espionage/thriller series set during the First World War. Butler teaches creative writing at Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida.

  Soir Bleu, 1914

  Oil on canvas, 36 × 71 in. (91.8 × 182.7 cm). Whitney Museum of American Art, New

  York; Josephine N. Hopper Bequest 70.1208 © Heirs of Josephine N. Hopper, licensed by

  Whitney Museum of American Art. Digital Image © Whitney Museum, NY

  SOIR BLEU

  BY ROBERT OLEN BUTLER

  While I’ve been distracted, the clown has taken a seat at our veranda table in absolute silence. But of course. He is, after all, Pierrot, and beneath the makeup, a mime.

  Damnable distraction. Before I knew the clown was there, Colonel Leclerc, sitting at my right hand, was leering at Solange, who returned from a freshening inside the hotel and stopped to vamp for him. I could not bear to see her play at being the woman she once was. I’d rescued that woman from the Place Pigalle and made her my model. I’d redeemed her nakedness with my art. But Leclerc would rather buy her than one of my paintings. Instead of a Vachon, he would have the artist’s erstwhile whore.

  All this flared through my limbs, so I forced my eyes to go beyond her, out to the Esterel Mountains and the twilight that has begun to transform the cerulean blue of afternoon into the Prussian blue of incipient night. I thought: This present shade is on my fingertips even now. I have come to Nice to paint, not just to hawk. She is a whore no longer. She is exalted. She is my Muse. My necessary Muse. She knows that.