Possessions

by Judith Michael

  She turned, Ross's eyes were shadowed. He sat still, saying nothing, his face hard and unyielding.

  "Why can't you understand?" she burst out. Springing from her chair she walked the length of the terrace. "What is it about Derek that makes you pull away? Both of you—he's just the same—you can't talk about each other . . . you become cold and distant ..."

  Ross stared fixedly at the distant lights of Menton. It was so quiet they heard the scurrying of a small animal through the wild grass below the terrace wall. "I do understand." He spoke without turning. "I'm sorry I didn't make that clear. I'm sorry I seemed cold." His voice was gentle, with a thread of sadness. "I've never talked to you about Derek; I've never told you how he dominated us, all the years we were growing up . . . Katherine, please sit with me."

  Slowly, Katherine came back to her chair, and Ross went on. "Eterek always seemed so sure of himself, like a pile driver, even when he was wrong. He had a way of taunting us that

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  made us feel we'd bungled something . . . and the damnable thing about his power was that we'd feel that way even when we knew we'd done it well. He can still do that to me—at least momentarily, until I catch myself. The only ones he didn't do it to were my grandparents, but when Hugh died and Derek and Curt took over the company, there was no stopping him." He brooded at the dark shapes of olive trees, barely visible-against the starlit sky. "Melanie always held Derek up to me as the kind of man I should be, who'd protect her, coddle her, give her what she wanted." He laughed shortly. "I didn't take that well. I knew she was wrong—Derek wouldn't protect or coddle anyone unless it served his own purposes—but I didn't try to tell her that; instead I found a way to punish her for idolizing him. When she'd come running to me, bubbling with excitement over a party she'd dreamed up, or taking a trip to the Caymans—something she'd spent days or weeks thinking about—^I'd cut her off with a few words. Her excitement would disappear and the life would fade from her face, and I'd hate what I'd done. But with you" —he turned to Katherine— "I didn't mean to pull away. I never want to pull away from you. I don't know what the hell got into me."

  "You didn't want to know that I'd had any pleasure with Derek." Katherine's voice was muffled and she cleared her throat. "I didn't finish. After New Year's, the spell—I suppose it was a spell—was broken. I still went out with him once or twice a week, but finally I broke it off. In April."

  "April? I saw him in June. He said he was giving you money."

  "He never gave me money! Once he told me to buy clothes and charge them to him and I refused. I never took a penny from him! Why would he tell you I did?"

  'To wound, I suppose; to cause pain; he'd failed to get something he wanted and he was lashing out— "

  "He thought he'd hurt you by lying about me?"

  "He was right."

  "Even last June you cared what he said about me?**

  "Even then."

  "But how did he know?"

  Ross shrugged slightly. "He knew I'd cared about you since I met you in Vancouver. And Derek always has been able to identify the vulnerable spot in people."

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  "But you didn't ask me about what he said."

  "I should have. I was swamped with my own affairs. That's probably why Victoria didn't tell me you'd broken off with him. She was waiting for a time when I was less preoccupied, more receptive." He thought a moment. "f4ew Year's Eve . . . Victoria told me you didn't see Craig."

  "He was gone. Jennifer told him I was with Derek, and he left before I got there."

  "Oh, Christ! Poor Craig. Whatever he'd done, whatever he came back for, to find his wife with the person he hates most in the worid . . ." Katherine winced. Startled, Ross realized that, for the first time, he was thinking about Craig as if he were alive, and part of their lives. He glanced at Katherine and saw her watching him. "I told you I didn't call you because I was swamped. But there was another reason. I wasn't sure how to think ^bout you—my cousin's wife—how much I could risk getting close to you. But it wasn't a real issue. I haven't had a cousin in sixteen years. It's strange," he mused. "I was in your house in Vancouver; I saw those photographs you brought the first night you came to Victoria's; and you and Jennifer and Todd are part of us now ... but Craig had no reality for me. I mourned him too long, accepted him as dead for too long, to feel that he was alive. There were only memories that had no connection with me or anything I did or thought."

  "He's alive for me," Katherine said. Restlessly, she walked to the stone wall, then back to the table, repeating Ross's words to herself- No connection with me . . . She'd felt that, too, the past few weeks. But not any longer. "He's alive and . . . everywhere. No matter what I do, he follows me. The same as before. Everything is the same. I still don't know what he was really like; sometimes I think the more I hear, the less I know. Because I don't know what to believe. Ross," she said abruptiy, '*tell me about the saihng accident. I've heard Claude's version, and then Derek told me his, but I never knew whether to believe it or not. I've wanted to ask you, but in the past few weeks ..."

  "You didn't think about Craig. Neither did I. Katherine, do you know, I'm still hungry?"

  "You've been talking instead of eating."

  "Then I'll make up for lost time." He heaped his plate with 367

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  cheese and dates and bread. "Is there anything left in that bottle?"

  She filled their glasses and nibbled on dates while he ate. "Is all this to avoid answering my question?"

  "All this is to provide the narrator with sustenance. It's not an easy story. Do you want to tell me how Derek told it?"

  "No. I just want you to tell me."

  "Well, then." Hitching his chair closer to the table, he took a few more bites, then once again forgot the food. "The four of us were sailing home from Sausalito, across the bay. It was July—my God, sixteen years ago this month—a cool, clear evening and Craig decided to take a longer way back, making a loop through the Golden Gate. He was in charge; he always was, on the water—the best sailor I've ever seen. I think it was the only time he was really happy, absolutely confident, cut loose from people making demands on him. In those days I was more interested in swinmiing and tennis, and Derek had just bought his own speedboat, so Craig was in charge when he took us sailing. That day, when Derek wanted more speed, he said we could put up the spinnaker. Have you ever sailed under a spinnaker?"

  "I've never sailed."

  "You've—" Stunned, he said, 'That never occurred to me. We'll correct that when we get back."

  "Ross, please tell me what happened."

  "Well, with a spinnaker and a good wind, you skim the water, weighdess, flying, but with the waves at eye level. The most fantastic feeling . . . Jennifer was ecstatic; she threw her head back, laughing into the wind. That's the picture I carry in my mind: her hair blowing, her face bright and laughing, her arms wide when she burst out 'I love all of you so much.* We . . . loved her, too. So much."

  After a moment, he went on quietly. "When we were more than halfway home, Craig asked me to go below for a winch handle, and Derek called down to bring him a bottle of Scotch from his pack. Then Jennifer came down, saying Craig had ordered lifejackets for everyone; the currents are tricky near the Golden Gate and the wind was coming up. 'Derek is so unpleasant when he drinks too much,' she said. 'Could you . . . forget to bring up the bottle?' She was trying to be cool and sophisticated, but she couldn't quite make it; she was

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  young and impressionable, fiill of life and love, one of the dearest people I've ever known." He drew in his breath. "Incredible, how grief stays fresh. I said I'd forget to bring the bottle and she kissed me. It was the last time Jennifer ever kissed me.

  "When we came up from the cabin, Craig and Derek were arguing about the spinnaker; Craig said it should come down; it could get ripped apart in a strong wind. And by then the wind was very high: wild and sometimes gusting, with a kind of whistle—some
times we had to shout to be heard—and the boat was heeling, with spray coming in the cockpit. Derek put his arms around Jennifer and told Craig—his voice cut through the wind—they liked living dangerously; the only one who was afraid was the captain.

  "Craig's face, when he saw Derek holding Jennifer ... I'd never seen him look like that: enraged but terrified, his mouth working as if all the words were trying to rush out at once. He screamed at Derek, 'Get your goddamn hands off—!' and started toward them but he couldn't let go of the wheel. He had to stay there, shouting to Jennifer to move away, and to Derek to take his hands off her. Neither of them moved; they stood still, staring at him. Everything had changed, in just a few minutes, from laughter and exhilaration to something terrifying. I was scared to death, because Craig was scared—I didn't know of what, which was even more frightening—and he didn't look as if he could control himself or the boat. I had to do something, so I yanked Jennifer away and asked Craig if I should take down the spinnaker.

  *The sound, roaring in our ears—you have no idea what it was like: wind and spray breaking over us, Derek and Craig yelling at each other—it all mixed together into a nightmare. Craig couldn't stop: he shouted at Derek that he was the captain and if Derek didn't like it he could swim to shore, if he had the guts to try it—he found a dozen ways to doubt Derek's courage and skill—and then he told me to go forward and take down the spinnaker. But Jennifer grabbed my arm, begging me to stay and stop Derek, because he'd begun taunting Craig in that way of his that always drove us mad. I didn't know what to do first—comfort Jennifer, who was starting to cry, or slug Derek, or tell Craig to ignore him, or go forward and take down the spinnaker—and then I remember thinking that

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  it didn't matter what I did; something was going to happen and there was no escape.

  "We were crammed in that sailboat, flying over the water in a roaring wind, heeling at a crazy angle, soaking wet from waves washing over the cockpit, and Derek stood there, absolutely still, his voice like a knife, calling Craig the little golden puppet, his grandmother's toy . . . well, a string of brutal insults. Jennifer was crying and when Craig saw that he got so livid I thought he'd burst. He roared out—making sure Jennifer heard—that Derek was a liar and a crook—he'd cut comers to save money on a building we were putting up, and bribed an inspector to OK the job. I hadn't worked on that building and I asked what the hell he was talking about and Derek, like ice, said 'Golden boy changed the specs on the Macklin Building to be Grandma's hero—even bribed the inspector—but now he's scared and shifting the blame. Running away,' he said. 'As usual.' And then, out of the blue—the damndest thing—Craig laughed. I've never known why. He said he cared about the Hayward reputation more than Derek, and he was going to tell the family and the city officials what Derek had done. He was still laughing when he told me again to take down the spinnaker.

  "I got about halfway forward when I felt the boat change course. I turned around to see what the hell Craig had done and saw him with his hands on Derek's throat. Jennifer was pulling at his arm. And then everything happened at once. The boat had changed course because no one was at the wheel, and the wind pushed the mainsail to the other side. The boom swung across and slammed against Jennifer's head. There was blood— like a rose, bursting into bloom just beside her eye—and then she stumbled and fell overboard. She never made a sound. She just fell. But Craig and I screamed—my God, I still dream about this—the blood and the two of us screaming— 'JENNIFER!'—and Craig lunging at the life preserver and marker pole to throw them over the side. Jennifer was floating face down; the water was choppy all around her. It looked so cold—it hadn't looked that cold all day—and we were moving away from her. With that wind and all the sail we had, we were going so damned fast ... I raced to the spinnaker and hauled it down. Slashed my hands on the ropes and never knew

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  it until I saw the blood when I ran along the deck back to the cockpit.

  "Derek was at the wheel, cursing because he couldn't get the boat to respond; it wasn't like his speedboat. He told me Craig had jumped in after Jennifer. I grabbed the wheel from him; I didn't know much more than he did, but with the spinnaker down we'd slowed, and I managed to turn us around. Then I told him to take the wheel again and I took down the mainsail and started the motor."

  "But Derek said—"

  Ross turned, suddenly aware of her. "Derek stood by the cabin, looking at the water, and never moved a muscle or said a word while I turned the boat. I remember thinking he was figuring out how all this would affect him, because that's how Derek looked at everything, but I didn't have enough energy even to be angry: I was dizzy and sick and trying to get back to Jennifer and Craig. It took me ten minutes—ten minutes, when today I can do it in three!—and that was too long. It was too late. We got back to the marker pole and Jennifer . . .

  "She was . . . tucked into the opening of the life preserver . . . like a doll ... her eyes were staring . . . The wind was a steady screech, and Jennifer was staring at us, not seeing us . . . And I was crying. I couldn't stop. I stood at the wheel, crying."

  Katherine felt her own tears well up, and she closed her eyes.

  "I shouted to Craig, but there was no answer. I thought he'd be close by, waiting for us after he put Jennifer in the life preserver, but I couldn't see him or hear him. It was almost dark and I was still crying. I told Derek we had to get Jennifer. It was the only time in our lives I gave orders and Derek followed them. He went in the water and tied a rope around her, and we got her into the boat and put a blanket over her. Derek tried to find a pulse but he couldn't. That was all, really. We shouted for Craig and Derek called the Coast Guard on the radio and I kept the boat close to the marker pole while we waited for them, shouting for Craig. Our voices seemed so small in the darkness, with just the circle of our spodight moving over the black water, and in the distance the lights of San Francisco and the lighted bridges strung across the bay—

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  SO damned beautiful, but I kept thinking, * Jennifer can't see it'—and we kept shouting Craig's name into the wind . . . But, my God, we sounded so infinitely small. The night swallowed our voices. I don't know if Craig heard us. He never answered."

  Katherine was crying, her muscles tensed, as if she stood beside Ross on the boat, calling to Craig. Ross put his arm around her. 'That night we were all at Victoria's. I suppose we talked about what happened, but I kept hearing Craig's voice. In a room full of people, all I heard was Craig shouting Jennifer's name, and I kept seeing Jennifer's eyes."

  His voice became dry. "The next morning, I went to see my father in his office. I hadn't slept, but at least I was thinking again, and I had to know what Derek and Craig had been talking about. My father had been with me all night, of course, but I hadn't said anything about a fight on the boat and it took him by surprise. Not for long; he never takes more than a few seconds to recover from surprise. Derek is like that, too. I asked him to have the Macklin Building checked, and just then, Derek came in and heard me, took a quick look at our father, sitting behind his desk like a judge, and said to him, 'Craig changed the specs; I didn't tell you at the time because it wasn't serious, and I took care of it.' I asked him what he did, and he said he'd strengthened the footings and there wasn't anything to worry about.

  "My father asked him if he was sure he'd corrected the problem. Those were his words. And Derek said it was all taken care of. They were very smooth, except that the nerve next to Derek's eye was jumping. I thought they were lying, but I didn't have any evidence to back me up. My father gave me hell for doubting my brother, suggested I was distraught over the accident, and offered me a trip to Europe, after the funeral. I took it.

  "Probably I shouldn't have. But I was exhausted and sick of all of them; I just wanted to get the hell out of there. When you're twenty years old, it's hard to accept the fact that your father might be a liar or dishonest; especially if you're already having trouble coping with
nightmares about seeing your two cousins die in the same afternoon. So I went to Paris.

  "In the fall I went back to school and when I graduated my father asked a friend in New York to hire me as a junior

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  architect. It occurred to me today, for the first time, that he wanted to keep me away from the Hay ward Corporation."

  "So you wouldn't ask questions?"

  "So I wouldn't snoop and discover that Derek hadn't repaired anything, and my father knew it. And there was another reason, I suppose, why they wanted me out of the way: to make sure that Derek would take over the company." He reached for the wine and poured what was left in their glasses. "If they'd asked, I would have told them I never wanted to take over the company. But I did worry about that building, and finally managed to buy it and get it vacated. It was inspected this week; I got the report yesterday in Paris."

  After a moment, Katherine asked, "What didn't Derek repair?"

  'The footings that supported the building. We hired a foundations engineer to check them and the first thing he found was a column . . . damn, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get into this."