Promises

  Tell Margaret she’ll be better off! Margaret, of all women, who lived for him and family before everything. Family. His mother. Her mother. Their children. Even the cousins. He was hardly able to get the word out.

  “Thirty-nine.”

  “One year older than I am, but years ahead of me in living. Her children are almost grown! Of course, that’s a good thing for you. It’s not as if you were leaving her with babies on her hands, or with children too young to understand and accept the situation.”

  Accept! The day he would carry his things to the car, back out of the garage and down the driveway, would they be on the front porch watching him? Accept!

  “Anyway, from all that I read, divorce is much better for children than the atmosphere of a failing marriage.”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  “Of course it is. You’ve told me yourself that you’ve been snapping at them. And what about that scene they overheard while they were standing in the hall? Was that good for them?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, then. And it’s not as if you were going to move to Australia and abandon your children. You’ll live right here, fifteen miles away, and see them all the time, anytime. It’ll be much, much better for them in the long run.”

  Better for them!

  Megan that night, turning away toward the staircase. Her stricken face, with a dreadful knowledge being born. Julie, that wisp of a shadow, following him on every errand, looking to him over the piano keys, asking for his admiration. And Danny, the best catcher in the Little League.…

  “Don’t you think your children can sense that you don’t love their mother? You haven’t loved her for a long time, Adam, if ever. If ever.”

  Yes, it was true that he did not love Margaret, not in any way that sends a rush to a man’s heart or makes him count the days and hours before he will see her again. He cared very much for her, though; he wanted nothing to harm her ever. Ever—but that was something else.

  He stood up and got his coat, saying dully, “I have to go. I don’t want to go, darling, but I have to.”

  “I know.” She straightened his collar and for a moment they clung together in the doorway. “I’m not pressuring you,” she said. “I’m not saying you should go home and do it tonight.”

  Wanting to part on a light note, Adam smiled. “Hardly tonight. We’re going to Louise and Gil’s, remember?” And he gave a mock groan.

  Randi laughed. “Well, have a good time. Maybe the food will be worth it.” Then she grew serious. “Honey, think over what I’ve said. Get up your spirits and your courage. You can do it.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  On the way home, in the tumult of his thoughts, an image from some long-ago history class came suddenly to mind: a drawing of a medieval instrument of torture. It had shown a living man spread out and being pulled apart. What was its name? The rack? Yes, that was it. The rack.

  During the evening meal there were unexpected lapses into silence. Suddenly the normal talk about schools, sports, local events, or news of the world would come to a halt. And Margaret felt a wave of consciousness pass over them all, a great, swelling wave, a mutual awareness of change that had occurred or was about to occur. The three youngest would look up at the two eldest, questioning, and as quickly look away. Then either Adam or Margaret would hurriedly take up the interrupted topic as before. Where had Adam’s bright enthusiasm vanished? What had happened to his nature lectures, his Saturday-afternoon putterings with herbs and spices in the kitchen? Even his zeal for music, for Julie’s evening piano practice, had faded; half the time when she played, he fell asleep in his chair.

  Nothing had ever been said about the night of Margaret’s outburst. Remembering it with shame, she worried over the impression that she had written with indelible ink on her children’s minds, worried that, of all their myriad accumulated memories, this one would remain forever.

  Yet she could argue with herself: I am human and I’m not supposed to be perfect; I was driven, he drove me beyond my endurance. Should I then, she asked herself, say as much to my children? At least to Megan, who studies me sometimes with such a deep, troubled, curious gaze? Perhaps it is wrong to let childish ignorance last too long—as if, she thought wryly, children ever really are ignorant! Perhaps I should relieve whatever troubles Megan has by telling her simply that her father and I are going through a hard time and that these things happen and that they pass.

  Yet she said nothing. For surely it would pass. In many ways life was already resuming its usual course. On a day when Margaret had taken her class on a field trip, Julie developed a dangerously abscessed tooth, and Adam had to be summoned from work. By the time Margaret returned, Julie was home again, lying on the sofa, while he applied compresses and fed her with ice cream. When poor old Zack got sick, both Adam and Margaret took him to the vet, saw him out of this world, went home to break the news to Danny, and gave what comfort they could. When Julie got the second lead in the ninth-grade play, Margaret and Adam sat in the front row, and Adam brought a bouquet of pink rosebuds.

  And so, in some ways, life seemed to be trying to get back on its usual course.…

  Yet Adam did not sleep. In the wide bed where they lay apart, Margaret was painfully aware of his tension. Without raising her head to peer through the darkness, she believed that she saw him on his back with arms at his sides. She imagined that his fists were clenched. Waking sometimes in the middle of the night and sensing his absence, she would listen for his footsteps in the hall, creaking over the old floors. Back and forth they went, fourteen steps to the turn and fourteen steps back. It was maddening. And now it was she who lay awake until eventually he returned to the bed.

  One night she got up and confronted him. “What is it, Adam? Why can’t you sleep?”

  “What are you getting excited about? Have you never heard of insomnia?” Then, in the dim hall light, he must have seen her despair. “I disturb you,” he said, “and you need your sleep. Perhaps I should use the downstairs bedroom for a while.”

  In another era, when people had household servants, a “hired girl” had slept in a little room at the back of the house. Later, when Margaret’s mother had stayed with them after her accident, she had used it. Since then, no one had.

  Hearts do sink, Margaret thought. There’s a good reason for every cliché. And she replied very quietly, “Yes of course, if you want to.”

  Megan was the one who inquired why.

  “He isn’t feeling well,” Margaret told her. “He doesn’t want to keep me awake.”

  “I see,” said Megan, stone faced.

  And where do we go from here? Margaret asked herself. He has left our bed. There was no one, no one at all, no shoulder on which to lean. Besides, she had too much pride, whether stupid and false or not, to lean on anyone. If Nina had been home, perhaps—no, probably—she would have been the exception. But it would be a year this coming summer since she had spoken to Nina. I shall simply have to lean on myself, she thought. In the end that is what we all have to do.

  THIRTEEN

  From the enclosed terrace where they were placing the furniture, Nina could see the peacock-blue Atlantic and a line of snow-white beach umbrellas along its rim. From every window on the housefront this view expanded to the horizon. If you were to fly straight across the ocean from here, she reckoned that you would probably land in Morocco.

  The house was marvelous, with airy spaces and flowers everywhere, on tiles, in great glass bowls, and on the walls. Not in the usual Florida style, it was more like a planter’s house in Bermuda or on a Caribbean island. The exterior was the palest pink, and Nina had furnished it as the planters had furnished theirs when they brought their Chippendale treasures from England. Willie and Ernie had let her handle most of the work by herself; she had secretly been nervous about having so much responsibility, but now that everything had turned out well and everyone was so pleased, she was feeling much pride.

  “It was a great
idea of yours, Nina, telling the folks to enclose this terrace. Jerry and I only get to use the place during school vacations when Florida’s too hot for outdoor sitting, so we’re going to appreciate it, I can tell you that.”

  The speaker was one of the owners’ daughters, and it was for the benefit of three generations that they had bought and refurbished this vacation house, complete to Mother Goose murals and a canopied crib.

  Nina smiled. “It looks as if you’ll be making good use of the nursery.”

  The other young woman smiled back. “Me first and next my brother’s wife. This house intends to be used.”

  The table was set for lunch when Nina fastened the last tieback on the last curtain. Driving away, she saw the husband walking home from the beach with his little boy riding on his shoulders. Together they would all sit down at the table and plan the rest of the day. And although there was certainly not the least resemblance between this lavish house and the one in Elmsford, they both gave forth the same feeling of stability and calm, so that all the way back to her hotel she had a sense of happy recollection.

  She had planned a swim on this last day before returning to New York, but had no sooner entered her room before the telephone rang.

  “What’s up?” asked Keith. “How’s everything going?”

  “Just perfectly. I’m in the most gorgeous hotel. Willie and Ernie treat me like a princess when I go on these business trips.”

  “Why not? You are a princess. How would you like some company?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve got a little business to do in Florida, and I can take an extra day if you want me to.”

  “If I want you to! I’m floating around in a wonderful room with a king-sized bed.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t dare come there. There’s bound to be somebody on the east coast of Florida who knows me. Or the west coast too.”

  “Where, then?”

  “My brother’s horse farm. Or I should say his and my farm. I’ve some matters to attend to there. Can you fly up for an overnight? It’s about twenty minutes by air from where you are.”

  “What about your brother? I mean, do you—”

  “Trust him?” Keith laughed. “With my life. Anyway, he won’t be there. A couple of maids will make us a nice dinner, and we’ll have the place to ourselves except for them and the horses. Doesn’t it sound good?”

  “Very good,” she said.

  A long, low house lay within a grove of pin oaks at the end of a long, curving drive. Green level fields were intersected by rail fences and were dotted now, in the bright afternoon sun, by the dark shapes of grazing horses.

  “It doesn’t look at all like Florida!” exclaimed Nina.

  “Not the Florida most people think of. I’ll never forget the first day I saw it. The rain was teeming and it certainly didn’t look its best, but I knew I wanted to have it. The funny thing is that I hardly ever get a chance to use the place. But my brother and his family get a lot of fun out of it.”

  They walked into a great central space with a fireplace at either end, a gleaming wall of windows, leather sofas, and stacks of books all around.

  “If you can say that any space this huge can be cozy, I’ll say so,” Nina remarked.

  In various nooks and corners stood clothes racks holding outdoor gear, tennis rackets, fishing rods, and boot trees.

  “Most of that stuff belongs to Pete’s kids. He’s my older brother. He’s got teenagers. Come on, I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep. Where we’re going to sleep, I should say. Then we’ll go out and look around the grounds. Do you know anything about horses?”

  Nina laughed. “Only that they eat oats and that some people ride them.”

  Excited and enjoying himself, Keith raced her through the upstairs hall into a room with dark Spanish cupboards and a carved bed, hung with red silk, whose fat pillows reminded her of Prague; tonight would be their first entire night together since then. And, she knew, he must be having the same thought.

  “It’s a pity you don’t ride,” he said. “Maybe now’s a good chance to give you a lesson.”

  “Oh, not now!”

  “Why? Not scared, are you?”

  “No, honestly not, only embarrassed about looking foolish. Besides, I have nothing to wear.”

  “Jeans will do. I’ll send Camilla to find one of the girls’ hats and some boots for you. The hat’s for safety’s sake and you’ll need boots because sneakers don’t fit right in the stirrups. If there’s anything else you need, just ask Camilla,” Keith called back over his shoulder. “She understands English pretty well.”

  The marble bathroom opened into another bedroom. Through the partly open door a wall of photographs and medals was visible to Nina, and entering farther, she saw that they belonged to a boy about Danny’s age, as well as to a magnificent horse whose bridle he held.

  “Nice picture, no?”

  “You must be Camilla,” Nina said, turning to the woman, hardly more than a girl, who presented an armful of boots and hats.

  “You try on. Yes, nice boy. You have kids?”

  “No,” Nina spoke briefly, not wanting to be caught up into any intimacies about herself.

  But Camilla was only a “kid,” curious and talkative. “They have five. Big, big boys. Tall. Come here, ride horses all day. Nice family.”

  “Yes,” said Nina. “I’ll take these. And thank you, Camilla.”

  Keith was waiting at the front door, and they started off across the fields.

  “I’ve a pocketful of sugar cubes for you. They’ll help you get acquainted. Look there,” he said, as they stood leaning over a fence. “Now, there’s an example of a prime English Thoroughbred.”

  A stately stallion with a coat like black satin came at a trot to thrust his quivering nose across the rail.

  “He knows we have something for him. Hold out your palm, Nina.”

  After a moment or two awareness spread across the field and four more handsome heads leaned over the fence.

  “Pete knows almost all of them by name, even the ones he intends to sell. Oh, look there, Nina! Now, there’s something interesting for you. See that gold-colored fellow? See anything different about him?”

  She said carefully, “His face is especially thin, and his neck seems much longer.”

  “Right. He comes from Central Asia. It’s an ancient breed, very rare. I forget the name. Pete learned about it and somehow managed to get hold of one. They’re very strong, very elegant, but not as fast as our regular Thoroughbreds. Come on, let’s go to the stables and put you onto a saddle.”

  A little wind came up, ruffling the trees, bending the grass, and perhaps delighting the horses, for many of them went running with it.

  “What a wonderful day!” cried Nina.

  The stables were cool and fragrant with the sugary scent of last fall’s remaining hay. A mother was nursing her foal, born yesterday.

  “She’ll be a beauty, don’t you think so, Mr. Keith?” asked one of the stable boys.

  “Like her mother, a gentle lady. Have you got another gentle lady for my friend? This is her first time on a horse.”

  So a docile, rather elderly mare was led out for Nina; Keith explained how you mount on the left, keep your heels down, adjust the reins around the little finger, and straighten your back.

  “Now, off we go, Nina. I’m right behind you.”

  She was not a bit nervous. They walked slowly around the paddock. After a while they went out onto the bridle path. After a while more they began a slow trot. The wind rose higher, beating softly on Nina’s flushed, sun-warmed cheeks.

  It was all marvelous, a golden day.

  * * *

  The candle flames swayed in a sudden gust from the open window. Music filtered out of the great room into the dining room. This beauty was contagious; invigorated by the afternoon’s activity, and yet rested, Nina felt lovely. She felt the pearls resting on her throat. She felt the delicacy of the hand that held her
glass of wine.

  Keith was smiling at her. “You’re having fun,” he said.

  “Oh, yes! Wouldn’t you love to stay here forever?”

  “I could never afford to. Actually, I have only a moderate interest in the land. My brother makes money with the horses, you see.” Suddenly Keith grew serious. “He’s a fairly rich man, I’m really not.”

  It seemed to Nina that, lately, he had been mentioning rather often that he had concerns about money. He must have been having some troubles about it at home.

  And she reached across the table to touch his hand, saying gently, “I see that you’re worried, aren’t you? I suspect you’re thinking about keeping up two homes and all that. Don’t be afraid that I have any illusions about your wealth. I’m earning a fine income myself, and I’m very careful with it. I wasn’t reared in luxury, just in a nice middle-American home. What’s that old saying: ‘Use it up, wear it out’? Something like that. Well, I know how.”

  When he did not respond she knew that her words had moved him; he had seen that they came from her heart.

  Now into the silence the music broke with rising power. Keith stood and went to the player. “Landowska on the harpsichord. I’ll turn it up.”

  The melody soared into the room; passionate and trembling, it mounted, broke, and descended in a sweet, flowing stream. Somewhere in its depths there recurred a phrase that Nina recognized: Julie had been practicing it the last time Nina had been home. And she was pierced by a sudden sad nostalgia.

  Home! In the evening after dinner there was music, or talk, or the whisper of turned pages.… They were together.… At that pink house, lunching by the sea today, they had been together.… Here in this house now, where the tennis rackets and the boots stand in the corner and the boy smiles beside his horse in the photograph upstairs, and the rocking horse left over from somebody’s childhood is still in the hall, they are together.… In New York, in the apartment, there is only waiting, waiting alone.

  The candles’ constant flicker was making her dizzy. Feeling faintly sickened, she pushed the dessert aside and took a long drink of water.