After the Fire

  “Yes, and you people need to get back into the habit of waking up early for school,” said Will, sounding a bit like a father.

  “Not as early as last year,” Jerry replied. “We have a new school this year.”

  Now desperation seized Hyacinth. “Bedtime. Right now,” she insisted.

  But Emma, already at the door, was not finished. “We don't want to go to that new school. All my friends go to the old one, but Daddy won't let us. This one makes us stay till five o'clock every day, and I don't like it. I'm in third grade, and I'm old enough to go where I want to go.” All her grievances now suddenly rising to the surface, she poured out her lament. “What I want is to live here. I don't want to live in Florida anymore. I want to stay here with Mom, but she won't let us.”

  An odd stop occurred, a halt to the momentum, as when a machine or an organism breaks down without warning. Three glances fled around the room; each of the three adults touched each other's eyes and sped away.

  Hyacinth, whose heart had plunged into her chest, spoke first. “That's enough, Emma. We don't want to hear any more. I said go to bed. Now.”

  Mercifully, Francine got up to take charge, leaving Hyacinth alone with Will. They had both risen and stood now looking at each other, she with a violently burning face, and he with a puzzled, shocked expression. She was not sure whether it was also angry. After a few moments, he spoke.

  “You're not feeling well. I won't keep you right now. Go in to your children. I was glad to meet them.”

  Following him to the door and to the elevator in the outer hall, Hyacinth fumbled for words. “You don't understand. It's complicated. I meant to explain it to you tonight, but they came, and—it's a long story—not too long, I mean, but when we talk, you'll see what I—”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “we'll talk. We need to.”

  When the elevator stopped, he said goodnight and stepped in. With a soft whir, it descended.

  Francine asked anxiously, “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. My God, why did you bring them here without telling me first?”

  “I'm dreadfully sorry, but I never thought about it. There's nothing extraordinary about taking your daughter's children to your daughter's house, is there? I had the key, and we came, that's all.”

  “But in the circumstances—” Hyacinth wailed.

  “What circumstances? You've got big trouble written all over you, my heart aches, and I hate to say this, but it's what comes of your absurd secrets, of this crazy, unnatural situation, and— Oh, I don't know what to make of it, Hyacinth! What about Will? What's going to happen? Do you really think you can go on living like this? Do you?”

  “No. But must we talk about it right now? I want to give the kids a good day tomorrow before they leave, and I don't want to have red eyes from crying. What I need is to go to bed.”

  “All right, dear.” Francine's vexation drooped into sadness. “Get some rest. Get some sleep.”

  And another night passed.

  “Has everyone gone?” asked Will when he entered.

  “Yes, my mother has gone back to the country, and the children have—”

  “Gone back to their father?”

  “Yes, but listen, let me clarify everything, so you'll understand.”

  “I already understand. I've thought of nothing else since I left your house the night before last. I understand that you have consistently lied to me. What I don't know is why.”

  His sorrowful, keen gaze confronted Hyacinth. Scarcely knowing how to begin a reply, she labored, “I haven't lied exactly. I do admit that I have avoided telling the entire truth, Will, and—”

  “It wasn't an outright lie that you left on my answering machine? I found it when I got home. Sick with a fever, you said.”

  “I did that because they had come without telling me, and I wanted to see you alone.”

  “I think you were afraid that the children would divulge the truth, which is just what they did do.”

  “It isn't that simple, Will. Most divorces aren't simple. You don't know, you can't imagine it.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “We were very angry. I mean, I was. I told you about the other woman. So you see, when he wanted the children and they said—”

  “No, that was wrong, completely inside out. Begin again.”

  “When I wanted the children, of course I did, then they wanted to live in his house, my parents had taken them once to Florida and they had loved the beach and remembered it, they wanted his house, they're only children and that meant so much to them, so I didn't want to deny them, it would have been harmful to force them, so I—” She stopped. This was absurd. How could she have thought that anyone would believe this tale that she was rattling?

  Will's sorrowful, keen gaze still faced her. “But they don't want to stay there now,” he said.

  “I know, that's the awful part of it. I signed something, I didn't realize what I was doing, I was so confused and miserable about everything, but now it's signed and nothing can be done about it.”

  Again she stopped, these last words echoing. The words of an idiot they were, not those of a woman smart enough to have earned half a million dollars for herself in this last year.

  “Surely you must know that a divorce document signed under such emotional stress can be reexamined. Unless it was a court order. Was it?”

  “No, just between Gerald and me.”

  “It can be reexamined. You must take it to court.”

  She had arrived at the impassable mountain. Here it loomed, a grim stone wall. Pressed now with her back against it, she paused, constructed a little steeple with her fingers, steadied her thoughts, and tried to speak with reason and calm.

  “It wouldn't work. I've inquired. I would have to show that I was completely irresponsible when I agreed to let him have custody. Nobody would believe that about a woman who works as I work. Incidentally, that's one of the reasons the children are better off with their father. I work long hours, as you know.”

  Will did not answer. Without looking toward him, she was yet aware that he was examining her. Afraid of seeming foolish by wearing the usual silk robe with its promise of a long sweet night, she had dressed carefully and proudly; her feet, in high-heeled pumps, were crossed at her ankles, and her small diamond studs glistened in her ears. The significance of all this would not have escaped Will's critical and subtle mind. She knew him well.

  But perhaps not well enough? He was tapping the wooden chair arm as he spoke. “It won't do, Hyacinth. It's not good enough. What is the true reason that he got away with this? What did he threaten?”

  “Threaten? No, no! He loves the children, and they wanted to be with him, that's all there is to it. I guess they love the beach house more than they love me,” she said ruefully, and then with an easy smile added, “Oh, I don't mean that exactly, but they're only children, and it's more fun for them there than here. So even though it hurt and still does hurt, I do what's best for them.”

  “A case of maternal sacrifice, then. Very touching.”

  “Please don't be sarcastic, Will. I happen to be telling you the truth.”

  “No, Hyacinth. It's simply not true, if it ever was. You'd better think up a new one. You heard Emma right here in this room. They want to be with you. Why won't you have them?”

  She was beginning to sweat. He was driving her in circles, and she said so, protesting, “You keep making me repeat myself. You know I work long hours, and I have to do some traveling. I just told you that a minute ago.”

  Will shook his head. “There are too many holes in your story. This whole thing is just so sad…. I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to this, or saying what I have to say. There's so much…. Who is this man Arnie, anyhow? I don't like his type. To hear him talk, you'd think he was your children's father. Why these regular dinners you have with him? And the fine presents, the mare? Some casual present! Hardly like handing a person a Hershey bar.”

  “To begin w
ith, I didn't accept the mare. And as long ago as when we were in Paris, I explained who he is. Don't tell me you're making this fuss because you're jealous of Arnie.”

  An instant later, she knew she had made a mistake because he saw through her intent.

  “You're trying to divert my anger by confusing the issue, and it won't work. Yes, your so-called friend Arnie is a part of this lie, and until you tell me the whole thing, we can't—”

  When he got up to stand at the window, she followed. Down below, life crawled; a shrieking ambulance snaked through traffic; like huge beasts, buses lumbered along the curb, and walkers darted for safety before the light should change. No one down there knew—or would have cared, if he had known—what was happening in this room, where her heart—and surely Will's heart, too—was going to break. A terrible fear ran down her spine as if she were lost somewhere on an ocean or in a jungle without a path.

  She could hear his breathing. And laying her head on his shoulder, she pleaded, “I love you, Will. And you love me. Does anything else count?”

  He did not move, nor did he put his arm around her, but speaking as if into the air or to the street below them, he replied.

  “Do you remember the time I told you about my affair with the married woman? I told you not because I wanted you to think I'm some kind of saint, which God knows I'm not, but because I wanted to come clean about myself, to keep nothing of myself away, or have secrets from you. We can't live together in a house where the closets are locked and only one of us has the key.” And pulling away, he looked down at her, straight down into her eyes. “Now I see why you never talked about your children. I thought it was strange, yet when you gave me some sort of explanation, I accepted it. But there's too much concealed here. Even your lie about having a fever,” he said with sudden scorn. “You wanted to make the children happy, so you let your husband keep them. Can you expect me to believe anything you say?”

  Although he had not moved toward her, she shrank away. She was helpless before his power, and her tongue did not move.

  “Your husband—your former husband—is a physician. He has a respected position in the world. He may also be a scoundrel, that's possible, but still, he could never have claimed this advantage over you if he hadn't known he could get away with it, that you were unable to prevent him.” Will's voice rose. “What is it that you are not telling me, Hyacinth?”

  He was ten feet tall, and his eyes were like sparks. Still unable to speak, she had to look away.

  “What is it that you are not telling me?” he repeated.

  “Nothing,” she managed to murmur, so low that Will stooped to hear her. “Nothing. I've told you what I can, and you won't believe it.”

  That keen ear heard every syllable. “What you ‘can’? Then there must be things that you can't.”

  God help me, she thought, and murmuring still, said, “Please.”

  She thought that his eyes were wet now, but since her own were blurred, she was not sure.

  “Don't you see that we can't go ahead like this? That there's no future for people who can't be honest with each other at the start?”

  She parted her lips, but no sound came.

  “You won't say any more?” Will asked.

  “Please,” she repeated.

  Stunned as if all senses had fled, she still sensed his departure, the door's closing, and the stillness. After a long while, she went back to the window and looked down. Lights had come on, and the sky, like a warm blanket, smothered the city. She wanted air. She wanted to open the window, to let herself out into the air and down. How many seconds would it take to reach the street, simply to plunge into that night and feel no more?

  But then she did feel: Oh, Jerry! Oh, Emma! And turning away from the window, she went back to lie down alone in the darkness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dear Hyacinth,

  This is the most painful letter I have ever had to write. This is the saddest experience of my whole life. I have been wondering whether it is the saddest for you, too, and I have to conclude that it cannot be because if it were, you would, weeks ago, have given me the only thing I ask of you, a truthful account of your past. I have written to you, we have spoken twice over the telephone, and still you deny me, although I have told you clearly that without perfect honesty, we cannot continue in life together. Surely you must see that.

  At this point, I have to give up. I have to say to you what I dreaded to say, what I never dreamed it possible to say, and that is: good-bye. I am trying to find peace again for myself, and with all my heart I wish the same for you.

  Will

  In a black, upright script, these few searing sentences marched across a single page and trembled between Hyacinth's two hands.

  In her room, lit by a weak lamp, the lonely night stretched without end through the apartment, out into the street and the world. Light, cheer, hope, love, sun— all of them were faded. What was left? The children, who were in truth not really hers anymore? The glittering “career” that, for her at least, had lost its glitter?

  “You need to work,” Francine had warned. “Work is the antidote for heartache.”

  She had telephoned almost daily since that night when Will had met the children and everything had fallen apart. To her credit, she had asked no further questions. Well, thought Hyacinth, she hadn't really needed to; anyone could have predicted the course of events. She had only offered help (but there was none) and spoken kindly platitudes about keeping busy. Fran-cine herself was always busy with her projects; three scholarship college girls lived in the house; she liked giving personal charity; and besides, “they were good company.” Francine knew how to adjust and cope.

  From Arnie, too, had come well-meant advice. When, after a few days, she had not answered the telephone, he had become worried, called Francine, and learned what had happened. If Hyacinth were not feeling so ill, she would even now be amused by the fact that behind his consolation lay a certain satisfaction with the disappearance of Will.

  It was midnight. Reminding herself that tomorrow was to be another busy day and that she had already skipped more than enough days' work, she laid the letter aside and switched off the lamp.

  “You don't look well,” Lina said. She had been scrutinizing Hyacinth for the past few weeks and making these comments.

  Also well meant, thought Hyacinth, like Francine's and Arnie's comments, but also to no avail.

  Unfortunately, Lina refused to let the subject alone. “I'm truly, truly sorry, Hyacinth. I thought you were wonderful together, a perfect match for each other.”

  It was not clear whether Hyacinth was supposed to agree or not. And Lina continued, “Fortunately, he seldom comes here. There's really no reason anymore for him to come, since we'll be meeting once or twice a year at corporate headquarters. So you won't have to see him here, which makes it easier for you, I'm sure.”

  Unquestionably, she was waiting for an explanation of events, such as who had dropped whom and why, but since it was not forthcoming and Hyacinth's vague gaze was directed toward the gray sky beyond the window, she switched to practical matters.

  “Do you realize that you've been mentioned in almost every major magazine by now? And even featured in three? Do you realize what you've accomplished?”

  What good is it, thought Hyacinth. It has no meaning. I'm ill. I have no energy.

  “I'm not worth much to you right now,” she said. “I've even been thinking that you may not be wanting me any longer.”

  Lina's black eyes rounded as she cried her amazement. “Not want you? Why, you little fool, you can go anywhere. Anywhere! Do you know that? In one hour you could get enough credit to walk out of here and set up your very own business. Whenever you want to, you can.”

  “I would never think of doing that, Lina. Never. Why, you're the person who gave me my start. Would I do that to you?”

  There was a sad touch to the older woman's little smile, as she looked at Hyacinth.

  “Not many
people are that loyal, my dear. Not anymore. You're from another age and another place. I don't mean that as a disparagement, not at all. It's a fine innocence that you have, a lovely naïveté, for all your talent.”

  “That's what they always say about me. I'm naïve.” And Hyacinth gave a rueful laugh.

  The fall days straggled like a beaten army. First summer, not entirely finished, burned through a stifling smog. Then came fierce autumn rains to batter the city's very stones and bones and give further emphasis to Hyacinth's defeat.

  Now she began to work as she had never done before, all day and half the night at home, forcing the last shred of her unwilling energy. She worked because there was nothing else.

  One day Arnie telephoned. He had not been in New York since the night he had met Will. She would never have expected to feel such a glow of gratitude as the one that came with the first note of his voice.

  “Hello, Hy. I'm in town. How about dinner? Usual place? Usual time?”

  He was enthusiastic and intimate, and he wanted to see her. Anticipation, in one instant, drew the scene: lights, warmth, music, and a person, a human being, who wanted to see her.

  “I'll pick you up at work, and if you feel like doing it, we can walk uptown. Okay?”

  “Very much okay. Six forty-five?”

  “You work late!”

  “That's nothing. That's early. We're getting the spring showings ready.”

  She was sitting at her desk when Arnie arrived and stood for a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene. His eyebrows were raised in frank surprise. She understood that he must not have expected such a scene: the room, much smaller than Lina's and much more simply furnished, must nevertheless be fairly impressive, its desk piled high with papers and its bulletin board tacked solidly with photographs and clippings.