When I Looked Away Page 18

  “I can’t,” she cried. “I just can’t do this.” She lowered her face to her knees and sobbed. “I tried, Jack. I wanted to. Please believe me. I really wanted to. I love you. I wanted to be able to make love to you, to have you make love to me, but I just can’t.”

  “I pushed,” Jack said, instantly berating himself. “I shouldn’t have tried to force things . . .”

  “You didn’t force anything. It’s me, Jack. Not you. You’ve been everything you could possibly be. You’ve been patient and loving and good . . . and it’s not you. There’s nothing you could have done any differently.”

  “I could have waited.”

  “No,” Gail said, shaking her head sadly. “It wouldn’t make any difference. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. A year from now I will still feel the same way.” He tried to protest, but her words stopped him. “I can’t make love to you now . . . I won’t be able to make love to you later, no matter how patient you are, no matter how long you wait . . . because all I can think of when you touch me is that this is what that monster did to our beautiful little girl. All I can see are that animal’s hands all over her. I can feel his weight on top of her tiny body, and I can feel him pushing his way inside her, and my God, I’d give anything not to feel this way, but I can’t help it. The sight of your naked body . . .” She began crying uncontrollably now. “I tried. I thought I could do it. For a few minutes, I was able to forget, but then it all started coming back—the loathing, the disgust, the shame. And I know that I will never be able to make love again because the image of that man with our child will never leave me, and no matter how well I am able to suppress it during the day or when I’m alone, being with you this way brings it all back to me. Oh God, leave me, Jack,” she cried, seeing that he was crying now as well. “Find someone else and start a new life. Find someone who can love you the way you need to be loved, the way you deserve to be loved, you dear, sweet man.” Jack started to speak, but her fingertips against his lips stopped him again. “Please, listen to me, Jack. It’s not fair to you. I know that you love me, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to go on letting you think that there’s a chance I might ever feel differently . . .”

  “You might—”

  “No . . . I won’t. Leave me, Jack. Find somebody else. I’m not the same person I was before. I can never be that person again. Find someone else. I’ll understand.”

  “You will?” he asked, twisting around and pulling a sheet over his torso, “then understand this, lady. Understand that I love you and that nothing that you say or do, or don’t do, for that matter, is going to make me leave you. You’re stuck with me whether you want me or not, because I love you and I need you, and not only that, damn it, I really like you. And even if that maniac has robbed me of my daughter and maybe even my wife, he is not going to take away the best friend that I have in this world, because I’m not going to let him. He’s taken enough from us, Gail. Please don’t let him take any more.”

  Gail reached over and cradled Jack’s head in her lap. They sat that way until it got dark and then they crawled underneath the covers. By the time Gail closed her eyes to sleep, she was more convinced than ever that Jack deserved more, that he would be better off without her.

  Chapter 20

  The phone rang as Gail was putting on her coat to leave the house.

  “Hello,” she said, hurrying her voice, hoping that whoever was on the other end would instinctively grasp that she had no time to talk. She was anxious to get into Newark, to reestablish her routine.

  “Well, hallelujah!” Laura’s voice responded immediately. “I don’t believe I finally reached you. Where have you been?”

  “Jack and I drove up to the Cape for a few days. We just got back last night.”

  “That’s great. How was it?”

  “Cold,” Gail replied, ignoring the more obvious implications of the question.

  “Where else have you been?” Laura asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I’ve been calling every day for weeks. You’re never home.”

  “I’ve been looking for a job,” Gail said, more comfortable now with lies than with the truth. “No luck yet, but . . .”

  “Well, I think that’s wonderful. Where have you been looking?”

  “Everywhere,” Gail laughed. “But don’t say anything to anyone yet, Jack or anybody. He doesn’t know. I wanted to surprise him.”

  “I won’t say a word. Can I help you in any way? You need a character reference?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Gail told her, eager to get off the phone. “Actually, I was just on my way out the door.”

  “Okay, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten about our lunch today.”

  “Lunch?”

  “At Nancy’s club. You remember . . . you don’t remember. We decided months ago. October 15. The fashion show at Nancy’s club. You promised you’d go with me.”

  “I forgot,” Gail said honestly. “It totally slipped my mind.”

  “No kidding. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad I caught you before you went out. I’ll pick you up about twelve-thirty.”

  “Laura, I can’t go.”

  “Of course you’re going. You promised.”

  “I have an appointment.”

  “I’ve reserved two seats. And paid for them. You have to go. Make the appointment for another time.”

  “I have nothing to wear. You know how all those women will be dressed.”

  “I’ll pick you up at twelve-thirty. Come as you are.”

  The phone clicked in Gail’s ear. She looked down at her oldest, sloppiest pair of slacks and her ragged black turtleneck sweater. Sure, she thought, replacing the receiver and wishing she hadn’t stopped to answer the phone, come as you are.

  *

  Gail was struggling with the zipper of a red linen dress when she heard the doorbell. She looked at her watch. It was only twelve and it was unlike Laura, who was usually late, to be this early. “Laura?” she asked into the intercom.

  “Sheila,” the voice informed her coolly.

  Sheila? Her mother-in-law? What was she doing here?

  “I’ll be right down,” Gail said quickly. “Just a minute.”

  She gave her zipper a final tug and then ran down the stairs. What did her mother-in-law want? She opened the door. “Hi,” she greeted her pleasantly.

  Sheila Walton stepped inside. She wore a dark brown mink coat and a sour expression. “You’re a difficult girl to get ahold of these days. I’ve called many times . . .”

  “Jack and I were away for the weekend,” Gail explained, hoping that would satisfy the other woman. When she recognized it hadn’t, she continued. “And I’ve been busy; I’ve had to go out a lot.”

  “So I gathered.” Sheila Walton glanced at the old coat slumped over the hall chair. “Going out again?”

  Gail retrieved the worn gray cloth coat and returned it to its place at the rear of the closet. “Well, not in that coat,” she said, trying to smile, feeling increasingly defensive.

  “But you are going out.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “In half an hour.”

  “I’ll try not to keep you.”

  “Please come in.” Gail motioned toward the living room. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

  “No, thank you.” Sheila Walton sat down on the sofa. “I don’t want to hold you back, keep you from whatever it is you have to do.”

  Gail braced herself for the neglected-mother-in-law routine, aware that Sheila Walton had at least some justification. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you,” she began. “I’ve meant to. How have you been?” Gail had never felt too comfortable with Jack’s mother, who was a cold woman at the best of times, and who since the death of her only grandchild, had become even more withdrawn. This aloof quality had never bothered Gail before. She knew it was, as Jack had explained, the way she was with eve
ryone. Since her husband had passed away—she was one of those people who always said “passed away” and never “died”—she had traveled extensively, going on two around-the-world cruises and flying off to Europe or the Orient whenever things got too routine at home.

  “I’ve been fine,” the woman answered. “And you?”

  “All right. How was your trip?”

  “Japan is always nice. I’ve been back for several weeks now. I called, spoke to Jack. You were obviously too busy to return my call . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Gail apologized. “There’s no excuse, I know. Just that I’ve been very preoccupied lately.”

  “Where are you off to today?” The question was more of an accusation.

  “A friend called and invited me out to lunch. Laura. You’ve met her, I think.”

  “Yes, the blonde. She’s very attractive. I hadn’t realized that you had such an active social life,” Sheila Walton continued. “I always had this image of you as the little housewife, singing in the kitchen, waiting for her children to come home. You know, the perfect mother . . .”

  “I never claimed to be perfect,” Gail said defensively, growing uncomfortable, wondering where this conversation was headed.

  “But you go out to lunch,” Mrs. Walton went on, ignoring the interruption. “You’re too busy to call and say hello, to ask how I’m doing, find out about my trip. You have friends to see, places to go.” She stopped abruptly. “You were out shopping that afternoon, weren’t you?”

  “What afternoon?” Gail asked, already knowing the answer.

  “The afternoon that Cindy passed away,” Sheila Walton said, and Gail knew that she had been waiting a long time to voice these words.

  “What are you trying to say?” Gail demanded, feeling her knees starting to shake, her hands to tremble. “That I’m responsible? That what happened was my fault?”

  “Of course not,” Sheila Walton demurred, realizing that perhaps she had gone too far. “I’m just saying that you’re a busier person than I envisioned, and that it’s a shame that you had to be out having lunch with a friend, shopping for clothes, on that particular afternoon.” She swallowed hard and looked toward the door. “I’m sure I’m not saying anything to you that you haven’t said to yourself at least a hundred times.”

  Gail looked around the room helplessly. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. A hundred times? The number was more like a hundred thousand.

  “My only grandchild is dead,” the woman said simply.

  “A child you saw two or three times a year,” Gail reminded her pointedly, seeking to wound, pleased when she saw that she had.

  “That’s as much as your parents saw her,” Sheila Walton countered, as if that made everything right.

  “My parents live in Florida. You live around the corner!”

  “Don’t you dare try to tell me I didn’t love my granddaughter!”

  “I never said you didn’t love her.”

  “I loved her very much.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “I wouldn’t have let her walk home alone from school, you could bet on that. I never let my son take risks like that. I made sure that I was always home for him, just as I would have made sure that somebody was there for Cindy. I wouldn’t have been out gallivanting around . . .”

  “Why are you saying these things?” Gail pleaded, unable to listen to more.

  “How dare you,” Sheila Walton glared across the room at her daughter-in-law, “how dare you suggest that I didn’t love my grandchild.”

  “I never suggested any such thing,” Gail cried.

  “How dare you,” Sheila Walton muttered.

  “Please . . . just get out of here before we say anything else,” whispered Gail.

  “Oh yes, I almost forgot about your lunch.”

  Gail suddenly threw herself at the seated woman and pulled her to her feet. “Get out of here,” she shouted, unable to control herself any longer. “Get out of here before I kill you. Do you hear me? Get out!” She half pushed, half carried the frightened woman to the front door.

  “I’ll never forgive you,” Jack’s mother’s voice trembled as Gail forced her outside.

  “I’ll never forgive you,” Gail answered, collapsing on the other side of the door.

  Fifteen minutes later a smiling Laura Cranston arrived to take Gail to lunch.

  Chapter 21

  Gail was still shaking when Laura’s car pulled up in front of The Manor. The valet, a slim young man in his early twenties with neatly trimmed brown hair, ran to open Gail’s door. Gail pressed the automatic door lock.

  “What are you doing?” Laura asked, startled to find herself locked in.

  “I can’t do it,” Gail whispered. “Please, Laura. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

  Laura twisted her body around to face her friend. “Of course you are. Come on. It’ll take your mind off what happened.”

  “She said such awful things, Laura. She practically accused me of engineering my daughter’s death.”

  “She was just feeling neglected, and angry because you’re going out. She probably has her own demons that she hasn’t come to terms with. She wasn’t exactly the old-fashioned granny with milk and cookies, was she? She has a lot of her own guilt to deal with.”

  “I shouldn’t have said the things I did to her.”

  “So, you’ll call her later and apologize. It’s never too late to apologize. Besides, you expect too much of yourself. You always have.” Laura reached over and took Gail’s hands in her own. The valet stood beside the locked door and watched the scene with growing interest. “Listen to me,” Laura continued, ignoring his prying eyes. “You’ve handled this awful thing that’s happened to you remarkably. Maybe even too remarkably. Outwardly, you’re the proverbial pillar of strength. What’s happening inside you, Gail? You’ve been bottling everything up. There has to be a whole lot of rage, and it’s going to come out in one way or another. It has to. That little scene you played with your mother-in-law was bound to happen sooner or later. It’ll probably happen again with someone else.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “People who love you will understand.” Laura looked toward the impatient young man waiting by the car door. “You ready?” Gail nodded, and Laura pressed the appropriate button to release the lock.

  The valet promptly held open Gail’s door, staring at the two women uneasily.

  “You gettin’ out?” he asked almost timidly.

  Gail studied his face, the small brown eyes and long, even nose. His skin was fair, almost baby smooth, and he had large, straight teeth. She studied his hands on the car door. They were big hands with short, fat fingers and nails chewed down to the skin. She pictured those hands around her neck. “Gail,” Laura called, coming around to her side and watching as Gail stepped onto the sidewalk. “Nancy’s going to love those shoes,” she said, trying to smile.

  *

  They had to wait in line, and when they were finally led to their table, they found themselves seated with ten other women, none of whom Gail recognized. She felt grateful.

  Gail looked around the room as discreetly as she could, keeping her eyes down, willing herself into invisibility. There were approximately two hundred women present, each one extravagantly turned out and glowing with anticipation.

  Gail searched the room for Nancy but couldn’t find her.

  “Have some wine,” Laura advised softly. “It’s nice and dry.”

  “Where’s Nancy?” Gail asked.

  Laura looked around. “Probably backstage organizing things. You know Nancy. She likes to be in total control.”

  “Total control,” Gail repeated, taking a sip of her wine, thinking how meaningless those words really were.

  “Your husband’s a lawyer, isn’t he?” one of the women asked Laura from across the table. Laura nodded, a crooked smile crossing her face. She had never liked to be known for her husband’s occupation. “I’ve been called
for jury duty . . .” the woman continued.

  “She’s been called for jury duty,” another woman at the table repeated loudly for the benefit of the others who might not have heard.

  “Hang him,” someone said immediately.

  “I don’t want anything to do with him,” the first woman whined. “I want to know how I can get out of it.”

  “You can’t,” Laura told her with casual authority, “unless you can prove that it would cause great hardship to your family or to your health. It’s your patriotic duty.”

  “Damn,” muttered the woman. “Have you ever served on a jury?”

  “Can’t,” Laura reminded her. “Like you said, I’m a lawyer’s wife.”

  “That disqualifies you?” Gail asked, suddenly interested. She realized she knew little about how the legal system actually operated.

  “Apparently, the logic is that I know too much. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, that line of thinking. Also, the fear is that with a husband who is a lawyer, one might be unduly influenced by his opinion.”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about what went on,” someone said.

  “You’re not supposed to do a lot of things,” Laura told her, and, as if on cue, each woman turned away from the table to pick up the trail she had left behind before the sudden burst of conversation.

  Gail looked down the long, rectangular table. They were seated six women to a side. She noted a total of twenty such tables on either side of a newly erected runway that ran down the middle of the large, ornately decorated room. In the middle of each table sat a centerpiece of fresh flowers. The dishes were of delicate Lalique china. A small champagne glass of fresh fruit sat on each plate, but no one made a move to begin. Gail wondered if they were waiting for someone to say grace.

  “So tell me all about your appointments,” Laura said suddenly, turning back in Gail’s direction, catching her by surprise.

  “Oh, they weren’t very exciting. Just job interviews. Nothing special.”

  Her response had been too weak and Laura was too smart and too persistent to let it go at that.