Looking Back

  Amanda sighed. “I spoke to a young man who lives across the street here. He’s just out of law school this year and he won’t charge much. I told him I don’t have much money.”

  An inexperienced young man to argue against Alfred Cole! It was almost cruel. But still, you never know …

  “I’m all confused, Cecile. I’m not myself. This means that Larry is suing me for divorce, doesn’t it? Not the other way around?”

  Quite definitely, Amanda was not herself, to ask a question like that.

  “Yes, he’s suing you. The custody of Stevie will be part of it.”

  Amanda turned even more pale than she was already. Then she flushed and cried out, “Are they going to take him away from me? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I’m not telling you anything. A judge will decide who is the better parent, where the child will be best off.”

  There was a long silence. It was as if an enormous heavy hand had clamped down over the room and the two people in it. And then Amanda spoke, so softly that Cecile had to lean toward her to hear.

  “I don’t suppose anyone could decide in my favor after what’s happened.”

  “I don’t know,” Cecile replied truthfully. “You’re still the mother—”

  “He’s all I have now,” Amanda murmured. “I love him so—I’ve always loved him but I—somehow I wasn’t able to show it as I wanted to.” She stood up, walked to the end of the room and back.

  “I’ll have to fight, Cecile. I don’t exactly feel up to it, but I’ll do it.”

  “Of course you will. You’re a strong woman.”

  What else was there to say? I wouldn’t give much for her chances, Cecile was thinking as she kissed Amanda and left.

  Some weeks later when Cecile opened the front door, the dogs raced to greet her. The two handsome collies had been L.B.’s pride, so Norma had said, but she had no room for them, and Larry would have nothing to do with them. So they had been left in a kennel since that awful night in July.

  “In prison,” Peter had protested, “through no fault of their own. It’s cruel. Let’s take them.”

  A friendly pair, they led her now into his workroom, where they liked to lie under the table next to his feet. It was as if they knew he was their rescuer.

  And Peter really was a rescuer, not merely of abandoned animals, either. Through their years together, Cecile had slowly been discovering the depth of his often-concealed kindness. Other people, the man who painted their fence, or a secretary in his office, had often disclosed to her what he had done for their benefit. Hearing her now, he swung around in the swivel chair and immediately, with some concern, asked about Amanda.

  “I had planned to visit her again today, but Norma came over instead with news. Her father-in-law’s partner has been having talks with Amanda’s lawyer. It’s pretty clear that Amanda will never get more than visitation rights.”

  “Did you expect anything more, with her history?” Peter responded.

  “Not really. I only hoped—I called the house, planning to talk to Larry today, but as usual he wouldn’t come to the phone. Elfrieda said he was still in bed. It was noon, too.”

  “Complete nervous breakdown, it seems. I wonder what comes next.”

  “I hate to imagine. He still won’t pay any attention to the baby.”

  “Well, then, he ought to give him up and let Amanda have him, without any more legal fuss or delay. That’s my opinion,” Peter said stoutly.

  “The strange thing is that he won’t. He wants to punish her by witholding the child.”

  “She’s the mother! Is there any question that she can’t have her child?”

  “That will be solved in a long, drawn-out divorce. Oh, lord, why ever did she wreck her life like this?”

  Past the window the low sun gilded the grass. Birds, sparrows, jays, and cardinals swarmed around the feeder. “Our backyard is our Garden of Eden,” Cecile said suddenly. “Poor Amanda could have had one, too.”

  “Until she ate the apple, darling.”

  “Such a bitter apple! Love’s not supposed to taste bitter.”

  Peter smiled. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of that poem you always quote: ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways’—and you’re trying to fit it into poor Amanda’s story.”

  “I guess I am,” she conceded.

  “Well, don’t try, darling. You’ll never make a perfect fit out of it. You just have to accept that a good person can do something abominable.” He sighed. “Let’s get down to our own business. Take a look at this.” Holding up a long sheet of paper, closely printed, he continued, “I’ve been working on it all afternoon. I came home early from the office, put everything else aside to get this done right. It’s a succinct description of the project, a map in words. It’s a summary for the benefit of bankers who like to grasp things quickly and get right to the point. Read it and give me your opinion.”

  There it was, his beautiful conception, the circle with the terminal-turned-cultural-center at the hub of the wheel; the radiating spokes were as clear in her mind as if they already existed. There were the tree-lined driveways with bicycle paths and pedestrian paths alongside; the low-rise inns and comfortable housing behind them ran to the end, where lay the green open spaces on the edge of the river.

  And there he stood almost glowing, the dear author of this art. For it was art, and for the second time that day, though with an entirely different reason, Cecile was intensely moved.

  “It must be a strange feeling when you’ve worked so long. I’m thinking of Michelangelo, when he finally completed the Sistine Chapel.”

  Peter’s laugh exploded. “Wow! Listen to my wife! Don’t ever let anybody hear you say anything that dumb, will you!”

  “The hard work, the dedication are what I meant. You’ve put your whole heart into this.”

  “Well, I can’t say I haven’t.” He looked at the clock. “I’ve got to rush back to the office. Some fellow who was supposed to come tomorrow got the dates mixed. What about you? Going to the hospital?”

  “I’m going to see Amanda, to see how she’s coping with the not-so-good news.”

  * * *

  “I suppose,” Amanda said, “that you might call this a just punishment. At least, I know my mother would say so. She was very fond of Larry; she called him a prince. And he really is, he really is a good man—it’s a pity …” Cecile was thinking that, if not for Norma’s love and care of Stevie, she would be forced to reveal the truth about Larry’s condition. And yet, perhaps not, for her parents had told her that Alfred Cole was certain of the outcome, regardless of Larry’s condition—short of outright insanity. Amanda will never get custody, not in this city’s courts, he had declared. And Alfred Cole knew what he was talking about.

  Amanda had steadied herself. At the clinic, Cecile had often witnessed, and marveled at, the way some people can lift themselves out of the pit and show great bravery in the face of bad news.

  “Yes,” Amanda repeated, “just punishment.” “Your lawyer agrees about the outcome, then?” “Yes. He’s very bright, and he’s gotten other opinions, besides. My morals, you see.”

  “There was nothing wrong with your morals until—” Amanda raised her hand. “Enough, Cecile. Thank you for all the good things you’ve done, but don’t make me cry again. I have to start life over, and do better.”

  Now it was Cecile who needed to cry. For goodness knows what reason, she seemed to see Amanda sitting there in Dolly’s chair, wearing the Sundale uniform she had worn long ages ago.

  “If L.B. were here, Cecile, he would hope I would let Larry keep the baby—and I understand. To lose a wife, a father, and then a child—a child he so adored—it’s too much. And Larry is vulnerable, anyway. Did you know that about him?”

  “No. I thought quite the opposite.”

  To lose a baby you have held in your arms, Cecile thought, must be—must be the worst, worse than my twins. And she could not help but ask again whet
her there truly was no use in fighting the case.

  “Not at the cost to everybody’s health, and money. And what good would it do for me to have visitation rights when Larry hates me so? Of course he must, and Stevie would feel it. No, a clean break is best for him.”

  Amanda got up and opened the window, where a large brown moth was desperately fluttering.

  “It was trapped,” she said, “and I had to free it. It was trapped, like me that day I sat on the bench across from the post office after the doctor had told me I was pregnant. Does it sound too stupid for me to say that I can relate to a moth? I need to go far away. Far. Then perhaps I’ll forget.” A sad smile touched her mouth and receded. “You don’t really believe that I’ll forget.”

  No, Cecile did not believe it. There were some things that would never leave you; she herself had ceased to lament her unborn twins, but would she ever forget them? She looked about at the dim, mole-colored room and out toward the sleepy street. “Yes, if you need to leave here, go. Go to work, Amanda. Fill your mind.”

  “I have a job offer, and I’m accepting it. Dolly talked to one of our customers about me, and she knows somebody in California who’ll take me into her dress shop.” Again Amanda showed that wan, small smile. “I’m said to have a flair for clothes, but the funny thing is that I’m not a clotheshorse anymore and haven’t been for a long time. All that changed when I—when I was with him.”

  “You can say the name,” Cecile said gently. “You mean Mr. Balsan.”

  “With L.B. We read together and we talked about the music we’d hear and the places we’d see if—if things were different. I have never met a man like him, except maybe your husband.” And clasping her hands in the gesture that Cecile remembered so well, Amanda cried out, “I know, oh, God, how I know that what we did was a moral horror! If I—if we had known what hurt would come of it, we would have stopped. But I want you to think of one thing if you ever do think of me: We loved each other. We had no right to, but we did. And for us two it was a beautiful love. We loved each other until the very last day.” For a moment Amanda’s voice broke. “I understand now why he had to leave me. It was because, in the end, he could not hurt his son. He was a good man, L.B. was, and always had been. I can’t believe he’s dead. I think of him every day, and I will always think of him.”

  Was it not astonishing that there could be any beauty or truth in an affair as sordid as this?

  “And what about you, Cecile?” Amanda asked.

  It was almost time to end the sorrowful meeting. What was done could not be undone. And so, after answering a few innocuous questions, Cecile did bring it to an end.

  “Let me know where you’ll be,” she said as she embraced Amanda. “I’ll be here for you if ever you need me.”

  At the bottom step she looked back to where Amanda stood in the doorway. She was the brightest object on the little street, as she always had been everywhere.

  Suddenly Cecile was tired. This morning she had faced Amanda’s grief, while now in the afternoon she was facing Norma’s anger. Sometimes, no matter what the subject with which she tried to divert Norma, it always returned to this fundamental anger. Even the dogs had led her back to it.

  “I used to be fond of them, but I can’t stand the sight of them now. In my—” Obviously unable to say the word father, she stopped and resumed, “—in the house they always lay under a table or under the piano. I see they still do.”

  Cecile looked over to where the two dogs were dozing. Even those innocents were too much for Norma in her bitter rage.

  “I can’t understand how you could bring yourself to visit Amanda. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d say it was a bit—well, disloyal of you.”

  It was the second time Norma had said it, and Cecile gave the same answer. “Not at all. I couldn’t simply let her disappear, could I? Think about it.”

  “I’m thinking about it and I could, gladly, with great pleasure. She’s nothing but a slut.”

  “As I sat there today, Norma, I suddenly saw her walking in at our door, the country girl come to the university with her old, banged-up suitcase and her head of curls.”

  “I don’t want to think about that, Cecile. I’m not like you.”

  “Well, she hasn’t hurt me the way she’s hurt you.”

  “No, you’d be different even then. Peter would, too. You’re well matched, the two of you. Sometimes I think you’re the best people I’ve ever known. And sometimes you’re so good that you wouldn’t even avenge an injury, which is stupid.”

  “Don’t make saints out of us,” Cecile said firmly, “because we’re not. I’m only saying that Amanda is something more than a tramp without a conscience. She’s a complicated human being, as we all are.”

  “And I say again that this kindness of yours can go too far. I don’t give a damn. If it wasn’t against the law, I’d shoot her, and I don’t mind saying so. What she’s done to my brother! I’m going to fight for him and Stevie and care for them as long as I live. I’d do anything for either one of them.”

  Norma was a fighter. Strange, Cecile thought, that I never realized how small she is, there in the low chair with those poor legs stretched out. Why, she’s been defending those legs all her life! She’s accustomed to fighting.

  “Have another cup of tea. It’ll soothe you,” Cecile said.

  So they sat for a while and talked, keeping to neutral subjects such as Norma’s Latin textbook for beginners. Soon it would be time for Norma to leave, and five o’clock could not come soon enough for Cecile.

  Sometimes, she thought as she closed the front door, it is easier to work with troubled strangers at the hospital than to be involved with one’s oldest friends.

  “What kind of a day did you have?” Peter always asked when he came home.

  “A complicated one. I came away with such an ache, after seeing Amanda! You would have, too. It wasn’t just a fling, Peter, although most people would think so and I had thought so, too. They really loved each other. They really did. And yet it was so utterly wrong. And then in the afternoon Norma came by.”

  “What, again?”

  “It seems to help her to vent her worries. She wasn’t too pleasant, I can tell you that. Of course, she’s absolutely frantic about Larry. He’s become a total recluse. She thinks he’s ashamed to go back to the old office, but he has no other place to go to, and he needs to get out of the house. He needs to be revived. To be inspired.”

  “Poor guy.” Peter frowned and shook his head. “Let me think. I might have an idea or two. You know what? The man I’m seeing this afternoon is having me restore a wonderful little 1910 theater out in Watersburg. He also owns a row of decrepit stores out there that he wants to gentrify because the whole area is changing. That might be a good thing for Larry. It’s right in his line. You can tell Norma about it. I’ve got another thing in mind, too. Tell Norma I’m serious. I’ll find something. Poor guy,” he repeated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  You cannot believe,” said Norma to anyone who asked, “what has been happening to Larry. After the summer’s disaster, we thought he was losing his mind. And he was. We were witnessing a complete breakdown. And then, after going through hell, we got the idea—actually, it came from a psychologist, a friend of Lester’s—of presenting him with a definite plan for work, something spelled out that would equal or surpass anything his father had ever done. And you know, I think that’s what has finally appealed to him, the thought that he could surpass his hated father. So, having grown up with real estate and construction, I got together three or four possibilities for him to mull over, condominium developments, a mall—big possibilities. Larry always knew how to put through a deal, how to pull a syndicate together and get the financing; in fact, a lot of the Balsan work these last few years was not L.B.’s, but his.

  “He’s actually made an office out of the den. The computer was already there, but now he’s added a telephone extension and a fax. Obviously he’s working hard on somethin
g, but he doesn’t tell me what it is, and I don’t ask. It’s enough to see a small smile on his face again. We had given up hope, I tell you. I’ll never forget the day—it’s only a couple of weeks ago—when for the first time he picked up Stevie and hugged him the way he used to do. Stevie had come downstairs from his nap and run to me. So I looked at Larry and I said straight out, ‘You’re all he has. I’ve told you that. Do you realize it?’ And Larry looked back at me, and he burst out crying, and picked up Stevie and kissed him.

  “I’d been going over there every day, you know, to check on Stevie, but there’s no need for that anymore. I only go now and then, the way normal relatives do. Now that Larry is beginning to rally—imagine, he was carving a Halloween pumpkin for Stevie yesterday—I can lead my own life again.

  “By the way, when you see him, be sure to call him ‘Dan.’ He’s very insistent about that. A new life needs a new name, I guess. It’s really a miracle.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On a quiet autumn evening with winter about to descend, Peter and Cecile, walking homeward hand in hand and holding flashlights, saw a car in their driveway.

  “Why, it’s your father’s car!” Peter exclaimed. “Did you expect him?”

  “Not at all. I wonder—”

  “Of course! Roland and Baker are in New York this week, tying the final knot with the big lenders at Bishop National. And your father’s so excited that he can’t wait till tomorrow to tell us about it.”

  “So this is it? The knot tied?”

  “Yes. They’re the major players in the whole deal. That’s where the big mortgage comes from.”

  “It seems to me this has all taken forever.”

  “Just about four years. That’s not long when you consider the enormous size of the project, the dickering with all the owners, some guy who holds out for his crazy price because he knows you need six feet of his property, the court cases, environmental commissions, the local politicians, the zoning people—four years is par for the course. As for me, I’m only the architect. All I had to do was sit down alone and think.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m terribly excited, Cele. You’ll probably have to tie me down when I see them turning the first shovelful of earth.”