The next morning Jeff arrived at the house around 9:00. I hadn't slept much and was waiting in the front room, finishing my coffee when there was a knock on the door. I got up and walked over to the door. I still didn't want him to come inside; I didn't know why but it felt like something important. Some kind of statement that represented more than what it said on the surface. Jeff must have sensed it because he stood on the porch without a move towards entering. Charlie had been waiting with me and was right behind me with my luggage and he followed me out the door with it. As Charlie started to pass, Jeff reached for my bags. Charlie averted him and they both continued on to the back of the car. Jeff opened the trunk and stepped aside while Charlie placed the bags inside.
Jeff closed the top and checked it to make sure it latched. Charlie turned but Jeff stopped him, "Charlie," he said. His voice was kind, not his usual stern voice reserved for Charlie. "Thank you for taking such good care of your mother." I could see Charlie grow flush. I knew deep down that he wanted more from his relationship with his father. Charlie was so angry and protective of me.
"It's all right." Charlie said almost in a whisper.
Jeff stared at him until Charlie looked up. "I do love you, you know." Jeff said. He walked over and embraced Charlie. Charlie didn't hug him back, remained still but he didn't pull away either. After that Charlie walked over to me and hugged me." I love you, mom. Will you call us and tell us what's going on?"
"Of course, darling." I looked at him. He was so handsome, almost grown up. I touched his cheek and kissed him goodbye. He stepped back on to the sidewalk and watched us as Jeff pulled away from the curb.
I just stared out the window on the way to the airport. It was going to be a warm day, there was always a stillness and that came with the feeling of a rising heat on those mornings before it became unbearably hot. Neither one of us said anything almost the whole way. I wanted to cry but I was so exhausted and numb that I didn't. Jeff had someone make arrangements for when we arrived. There would be a car there for us. They'd reserved a hotel. It dawned on me. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd reserved one room for us when the situation called for two.
I turned to him, he looked at me and smiled. There was a gentleness in his expression.
"Did you have them reserve two rooms at the hotel?"
He nodded, "I did."
The occasion was too somber for any hint of flirtation or teasing. He just looked back at the road.
"Did you talk with the girl, Clara's friend?" He asked.
"Yes." It felt difficult to draw words. I wanted to be alone, back in my bedroom shrouded in darkness. I didn't have the energy for anything, not even conversation.
"Are we going to talk with her today?"
"This afternoon."
He looked at me, waiting for more information.
"Joan thought we should talk to the police. She called them for us, got the name of an police officer—a detective-- that we are to call after we get more information from Diane."
"OK. Can we get Clara tonight?" he asked. "Did the detective think we could get her?"
I shrugged my shoulders and looked back out the window. "I don't know if we can get her back all."
Jeff sounded concerned but also a little annoyed with me, "Jesus Eve. Don't say that."
Our plane took off at 10:00. Because of the time change we would arrive in San Francisco around 1:00 in the afternoon. We were to meet Diane at 3:00 at her cousin's apartment on Oak Street. Our hastily constructed plan was to go somewhere for lunch and talk about what information we wanted from Diane. We'd start to think through a plan and logistics. I was glad that he was there even though I wasn't comfortable spending so much time with him. I didn't think I could have handled it on my own, not the logistics and not talking with the police detective.
A pretty stewardess was pushing a cart down the aisle. The smell of eggs, bacon and coffee preceded her. Somehow the smell of all three and the roar of the jet engines gave me a terrible queasiness. When she got to us she stopped and smiled. She was young and had a fashion model beauty—I wondered if being attractive was a prerequisite to working as a stewardess. They all were beautiful. This was the kind of young woman Jeff would be attracted to. She was thin and had red pulled back in a twist. She wore false eyelashes and a pale orange lipstick. I expected him to say something flirtatious, but he didn't.
"Would you like the egg breakfast or pancakes and sausage?" she asked us.
"Nothing for me," I said.
"Eve," Jeff touched my arm but I discretely moved it closer to me, to escape his touch. "Please eat something. Some toast?"
"I shook my head."
"For you sir?"
I looked back out the window. I thought the same thing I always thought, looking out the window of an airplane as it moved through the sky. The clouds made the sky looked heavenly. Ordinarily it would have been an uplifting feeling. The bright whiteness. The soft ethereal texture of the clouds. But, flying to San Francisco to try and find Clara, the association with heaven was imbued with death. I couldn't stop the images of Clara being hurt. They were so clear and detailed. They were so horrible but I would never have been able to utter them. They were mine alone. It was my fear. After that I woke, confused at first, not remembering our trip or the reason for it. I turned and looked at Jeff. He was reading the New York Times. The breakfast dishes were gone. He put the paper down and looked at me, "Are you all right?"
I shook my head. "No."
I turned to look back our the window, but he took my hand, "Eve?"
I looked at him and felt tears come to my eyes.
His voice was quiet, I knew he was whispering to keep people on the plane from hearing our conversation. "It's going to be all right. Clara is OK. She hasn't been there that long. She's probably frightened and when she sees us she'll be glad for it."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"I know it. She'll be all right. I should have dealt with this a long time ago."
I looked down.
"Eve, I'm sorry I said that you were responsible for Margaret's death. You weren't. It has kept me up at night, saying that kind of thing to you. I know that a husband's affair is very hurtful to his wife."
I rolled my eyes and turned away.
There was a moment before he spoke again, "Eve, I'm going to really try and not get angry when you respond to me that way. I know how upset you are."
I looked at him again. "Isn't that a ridiculous thing for you to say?"
"Isn't what?"
"That you know how a wife feels—"
"What I'm saying is that the affair—our affair—wasn't what made Margaret commit suicide."
"I'm sure you're trying to make me feel better, but I know that's not true."
He raised his eyebrows. I couldn't look directly into his eyes. I was heartbroken by the absence of Clara. I was vulnerable but also I had a tendency to believe him when he was acting that way towards me. My thoughts were spinning and my body felt crushed. It felt sore as if I had been beaten.
"Margaret had a lot of problems." He waited but still I looked down at my hands. "She'd tried many times, Eve. Before I even met her she had been hospitalized."
The word hospitalized shot through me. I wanted to kill him. I didn't know if it was just all the anger I'd felt for the things he'd done or that his honesty was much too late.
I looked at him, "hospitalized? So you had experience with that sort of thing?"
His jaw tightened and he was examining me intently. He let out a breath.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right."
"I know what Margaret thought about our affair. I know that I was the cause of her death."
"How do you know that Eve? I just told you that she had these problems already. Eve, she was completely psychotic by the end."
I started to cry when I thought about it, "I found her diaries and letters that she wrote to her mother. Her mother returned everyone of them, never read them."
Jeff nodded and looked down. I was still crying but softly because I didn't want anyone on the plane to hear. I wiped my eyes and composed myself.
"Why did you do that, Eve?"
"Because I'd remembered a box of her things that Marian had packaged for our move. After our separation. I saw the box again when I was putting things away after Charlie's graduation party. After what Clara told me..."
He shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that to yourself."
"But I did. And I found out. She felt horrible in Sellwood. There was one day in particular that she wrote about. I remembered it too, Jeff. She was outside the community house with Clara. I'd forgotten that day until I read her diary. She was sitting alone, holding the baby." I looked out the window. The thought of my behavior on that day send a terrible chill through my body.
"Eve," he touched my arm.. "Stop. It doesn't matter."
I turned back, "Any woman would know it mattered. Even if I told Joan she'd understand what I was talking about—it was cruel of me. I remember that morning. I remember the dress I was wearing—just as she described it in her diary. She knew who I was because of pictures and sketches she'd found in your portfolio."
He looked down and I could see that what I was saying struck a nerve. He felt guilty too.
"There I was with all of my friends. She wrote that she thought I was so happy because I was in love with you. And that was exactly right. You and I had made love that mooring. You stayed at my house afterwards and I posed—"
"How can you remember all those details."
"Well, I do. I was in love with you. I remember that day exactly. Margaret's journal entry reminded me. I remember the dress. Making love you that morning, then posing for you." I stopped and put my hands over my eyes. I was so ashamed. I let out a breath, "Oh my God. I wasn't raised to do those things.."
"Eve." When I looked at him he was shaking his head. "It doesn't matter what she knew or what she said. Yes, I'm sure it hurt her."
I kept my voice low but I was definite in my conviction. "I felt superior to her. I was showing off talking with all the women there. I remembered. I remembered looking right at her and feeling superior to her. I was enjoying it because I knew you loved me and you didn't love her."
"You did not enjoy it, Eve. You're not that kind of person."
"I am. I did do that. I did feel that. She knew it too. The rest of her diaries were so full of darkness."
"Did you read any from before our affair?"
I was silent for a moment. I had, I knew what he was getting at.
"If you did, then you know she had that darkness long before you. Eve, I have to tell you something."
I waited.
"The time Clara remembers wasn't the first time she'd tried—we were married only four years and in that time there were many times. She'd attempted suicide twice and in the end she was completely crazy. I tried to do the right thing. After Clara was born...Eve I wasn't like I am now."
"What are you like now?"
"Back then, at first, I wasn't so adverse to the idea of a family— I tried. I didn't have a full house staff. I came home after work."
I didn't say that I felt he was incapable of being that kind of man. I didn't say anything but I sensed he knew what I was thinking. It must have been my expression.
"Eve, please don't mock me whenever I try to be close with you."
"I didn't say anything."
"God damn it, Eve. Yes you did." He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "After Clara was born, she tried to hurt her. And again after Jeffery was born. It was never safe to leave Clara alone with her. I knew that."
"What did she do?"
He shook his head and looked away for a moment. I could see his face grow flush. He looked panicked; he looked like a child. "I don't know what it was about Clara." He shook his head. He swallowed hard and let out a breath. "Both times she took Clara into the bath, she was intending to kill her."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't want to describe it to you." He shook his head. "She was crazy, Eve."
"OK." I whispered. His words took a moment to sink in and when they did, I felt myself starting to cry. "You saved her, though. You saved Clara." It made me cry again. He reached for my hand but I crossed my arms and turned and looked out the window. I heard the landing gear lock into place. I felt the plane begin its descent. I tried to remember what Clara had told me. I thought she had said her mother tried to give her a bath but she hadn't wanted to. She felt it was too early. I watched San Francisco seem to rise up, grow larger and closer as we landed. My mind moved to a million different thoughts. I remembered Jeff sending me to the hospital after Charlie was born. I remembered Margaret writing in her diary that Jeff wanted to marry me after I became pregnant. I felt old. I felt tired. I felt responsible for my daughter's pain.
When we got into the rental car I said, "you'll have to get a map. Do you want me to go inside and get you one?"
"I know where we're going," Je said as he started the car and put it into reverse to pull out of the parking spot.
"How do you know where we're going?"
"I already had a map of San Francisco. After you gave me the address, I figured out the route."
"Why do you have a map of San Francisco?"
"I've been here on vacation several times."
I had the same feeling I had the night before when he said that he and Anna went to Hawaii every year. I shook my head and rolled my eyes before turning away. "Good for you."
He stopped backing out and put his hand on mine. "Eve?"
"What?"
He didn't say anything so I turned back to him. He took off his sunglasses and his eyes met mine. I felt conspicuously jealous. I didn't even know why the trips bothered me so much. I'd done things with Matt while we were together. Certainly things that Jeff would have been jealous of.
"I asked you to go on trips with me when we were married. You didn't want to. You didn't want to leave the children. You remember that don't you? So we'd stay at the beach for a month instead."
"What makes you think I care about your romantic trips with Anna?"
He put his sunglasses back on and shook his head. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand before he started driving. "God damn it." He said under his breath.
It turned out we didn't have time for lunch. I didn't care, I was anxious to meet Diane and get the information we needed to go talk with the detective. Diane lived in an area called Height Ashbury, it was a caldron of hippies and kids Jeff would have called derelicts. It wasn't like both of us hadn't encountered the younger generation or knew about some of the political unrest. Of course we did, we both taught young people. We had three teenagers, but I think walking down Haight street to get to Diane's house was almost too much for Jeff. I could read his thoughts as we passed groups of teenagers sitting on stoops, or camped out, cross-legged on the sidewalk. Every few yards the smell of grass wafted past us. Jeff had a look of utter disdain. It was a warm day and other peculiar stenches permeated the air.
He looked like one of the police officers in the news, trying to take charge of a group of rebellious teenagers. He'd stay "step aside," when he tried to guide us through a crowded section of sidewalk. When the kids saw us most of them, looking high on dope, laughed or just ignored us.
"Jesus Christ," he said to me, "I think it's the end of civilization."
Despite the gravity of the situation, it made me laugh.
He stopped for a moment waiting for a group of kids to clear the way so we could get by.
I took his hand and moved closer so he could hear me. "It's not the end of civilization, we're just old, Jeff." I said.
He shook his head and when he looked at me, his eyes stayed fixed on mine for a minute. He stopped and his face softened. "You're right we are old." Then, he bent down and kissed me on the cheek.
"Here it is," he said once we arrived at the apartment Diane was staying at. The house was a Victorian with many, many stone steps leading up to the door. We both walked up and once on the porch, I had to catch my breath.
"That's quite a climb," he said, pressing the doorbell.
A moment later, Diane appeared at the door. The flat had a long hallway from the front door leading back to what looked like a light filled kitchen. Four or five doors lined the hall and as I passed I noticed a parlor and three small bedrooms. The rooms were painted in bright colors and the parlor had a mural of a mandala with a cartoon looking girl on one side and an angel on the other. The house seemed clean and although it looked like young people lived there, it seemed innocent enough. It was a comfort to know that Clara hadn't been staying with dope addicts or other nefarious characters. Jeff and I followed Diane into the back room, which was in fact a kitchen. An old wooden table sat in front of two tall windows. The sills and wood around the panes were painted a light purple. Several posters hung on the walls, all rock bands I thought although I didn't recognize any of the names. The posters looked psychedelic and I thought of Clara's large pupils and crazy behavior. Diane looked just the same except maybe a hint of hippie, but it was conspicuously deliberate. She looked like the same clean and fresh girl she had always been. She had on a skirt with green, orange and brown stripes. She wore an orange tunic over it, just showing the bottom inch of the skirt. She wore on sandals. Her hair was still shoulder length but was held back with a scarf.
She fixed us a coffee and we sat down at the table.
"Diane," I said, "this is Mr. Lambert, Clara's father."
"I know Mr. Lambert," she said brightly. She looked at Jeff. "Don't you remember that Clara and I had sleepovers at your apartment when we were in middle school? Sometimes you'd take us for ice cream. I loved your apartment. It was my favorite of all our friends' houses." She smiled at him.
Jeff nodded. "Of course I remember you Diane." He smiled politely. I expected him to look at me with a look of satisfaction, but he didn't even seem to notice that what she'd said –in some small way-- disproved my claims about how horrible a father he'd been.
"Diane," he said, "Mrs. Lambert told me that you have information about the people that Clara went with?"
She nodded. "We were at the park a couple of weeks ago and there was a boy there. He was very good looking and Clara and I both thought he liked her." She stopped and turned flush. She looked a little uncomfortable talking with us about meeting boys and the things they were doing in San Francisco.
"it's all right," I said, "we're not judging you. We just want information about Clara."
"I know. I just feel terrible about all of it. I should never have taken Clara with me knowing that she was running away."
Jeff squinted a little and examined the girl while she looked down at the wooden table. I noticed a pack of cigarettes and a full ashtray. I almost asked for one but didn't. I realized that there really was more going on in that house then it appeared. Not just smoking, but they were teenagers. I'd already seen Clara on drugs. These kids did drugs too. I was sure of it.
Jeff rubbed his chin for a moment, "Diane." He said. He always had authority over a situation. She looked up and waited.
"Where did Clara go?" He asked.
"Just a minute," she said and got up and left the room.
I looked at Jeff. He looked weary. He just raised his eyebrows.
"I don't trust her," I whispered. He didn't say anything, he was looking at me but I could tell he wasn't thinking about what I'd said. I thought he was trying to take in the whole situation.
"Don't you agree?" I asked nudging his arm a little.
It shook him from whatever he was thinking about. "What? That she's not trustworthy?"
I nodded. "She acts too sweet and polite." I said.
A smile crossed his lips. "I don't know." He took a deep breath and let it out. His expression turned serious again. He reached for my hand under the table and held it.
She came back with two pieces of paper. I took a sip of my coffee and held the warm cup in my hands.
"Can I get you another cup, Mrs. Lambert?"
"No. Thank you, Diane."
"Mr. Lambert? Would you like some more?"
"No thanks. What do you have there?" he asked, reaching for the papers.
She handed them to him and she sat back down. I leaned closer and looked at them with him. They were both flyers for a group called The Church of the Children of Bacchus. One was an invitation to some sort of dinner. It was hand written then mimeographed. The one for the dinner had a hand sketched picture of a man in a robe, holding what looked like the sun up with two hands as if it were an offering. The second looked similar with the same group name. The illustration was again hand sketched. It was of three satyrs around a bunch of grapes. The second flyer was announcing a church service scheduled for the next day.
He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "this is ridiculous," he said. "What in the hell is she thinking?" Once we'd examined the flyers we turned to Diane.
"These are the people?" Jeff asked, "Are they all young people or..."
She frowned as if to say I'm sorry. "I don't know. I only know about the boy and his friends."
"What was his name?"
"I think it was James."
"James?" Jeff repeated.
She nodded.
"Do you know his last name?"
She shook her head. She took a delicate sip of coffee then put it down on the table. It was a mannerism that made me think of an aristocratic old lady. "No. She told me his name after the first time she met him. We were in the park and there was a rally. We were sort of interested in the cause, but mostly we just wanted to be with everyone—all our friends. Well, we did care about the demonstration but...We were sitting on a blanket just—" she stopped herself. "I don't remember exactly what we were doing but we were with a couple of other girls. Then this boy—James—came over to Clara. He asked if he could sit down. I said no, but she wanted him to. They talked for a long time and then he gave her this flyer." She reached across the table and touched the one for the dinner meeting. "This one. When we got home she told me how much she liked him. That he was the first boy that she'd ever felt she could really talk to."
"How long did they talk?" I asked.
"It was at least two hours. In fact, the others in his group came over and said they were leaving. He stayed with Clara."
"Did she go to this dinner?" I asked.
Diane shook her head. "No. She didn't want to go alone. And my cousin Nancy told us not to go at all. That we should stay away from things like that."
"What did Clara think?" Jeff asked.
"She wanted to go but I wouldn't go with her. But then there was a concert in Golden Gate Park and –it was crazy. Honestly—he was there again. There were thousands of people there. What were the chances?" she looked at me for some reason.
"I don't know," I answered reflexively. I realized how exhausted I was. I hadn't slept and I'd hardly eaten in a few days. My voice sounded hoarse.
"What happened then?" Jeff asked.
Diane raised her eyebrows and her expression made it clear that she didn't feel comfortable talking to adult about such subjects. "She..." she looked out the window for a moment. I noticed for the first time that it opened to a square courtyard surrounded on all sides by the backs of similar Victorian buildings. There was a round brick patio in the center. It looked like it had been a pretty English garden at one time, but other than the patio, it was just dirt and it looked like there was a fire pit off to one side.
"She left with him." Diane finally said. I saw Jeff raise his eyebrows as if he were going to punish Clara once we found her.
"Did she come back here to the apartment?" I asked.
Diane nodded. "She did. Later. Really late that night." She bit her lip and looked at Jeff first, then me. "I think she was on drugs."
I could tell that was the last time she'd seen Clara. "Was that when she left with the boy?"
Diane nodded. "I asked her to wait until the morning that she should call you, Mrs. Lambert. She acted like I wasn't even there. She just grabbed her clothes and threw them into a duffel bag. Then she left. I looked out the window, down to the street and I saw James and two girls waiting there."
We all sat still for a moment.
"Where'd you get the other flyer?" Jeff's voice sounded weary. If she had just met a boy and made a bad decision it wouldn't have been that worrisome, even if we didn't like it. This situation was different. The way the flyer looked and what Diane's cousin had said about the group.
"That's the weird part. I was in golden gate park, some friends and I were looking for someone who could tell us where Clara went. That's when I saw that same boy James. He was there again, this time passing out the flyers. He held one out for me. I don't think he even recognized me. He was acting the same way towards me as he had with Clara. Then, I asked him 'Where's my friend Clara?' He didn't say anything and didn't give me a flyer. He just turned and walked away. He passed out a few more flyers to other people nearby but he left shortly after. He seemed like he was stoned or something. I asked someone if I could have the flyer he had given them. This one here for the church service."
"When was this?" I asked. I could see why she was worried. This boy was no longer with Clara? He had lied to draw her in. I began to panic. Where was she? "Why didn't you call the police Diane?" I snapped.
She and Jeff both turned to me. I was clearly upset. My hands were trembling and I started to cry.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lambert. I didn't know—that's why I called you. I called you right away."
"I don't understand what's happening." I put my head in my hands.
Jeff put his hand on my back, "It's all right, Diane. You did the right thing. Mrs. Lambert and I am going to talk to the police after we leave here."
I regained composure but couldn't look at Diane again. I didn't think she'd done the right thing at all.
"Mrs. Lambert," she said, "I'm sorry. I should have called you from the beginning. I'm sorry. I feel terrible."
I looked at her. She was just a girl just like Clara. "It's all right. Mr. Lambert is right. You did the right thing."
She picked up the purple flyer. "I wanted to give you this because this meeting isn't until tomorrow morning. So maybe the police will want you go to there."
"I saw that," Jeff said, "we'll see what they think."
We called the detective from Diane's house. We went right over to the police station and met with him. His name was Steve Calnan. I was so wrought with fear and panic that I hardly remembered any of it. Jeff did all the talking. The plan was for me and Jeff to go to the group's service. Detective Calnan would come with us and there would be several more officers waiting around the corner in squad cars. The detective said that he didn't think that group was violent, but they needed to be careful because if they thought it was a police raid that there was a small chance that could have weapons. He said there was always the possibility that things could get out of control. He said if Clara didn't come willingly we couldn't force her because she was 18. If she wasn't there at the service, then it could be more complicated because sometimes the groups have people in other locations and they send the new members out of the area. But not always. The group's meeting was at 10:00 the morning at a church in a neighborhood near Golden Gate Park. We'd meet him at 9:00 at the station.
I felt terrified as we drove back to the hotel. My hands were trembling and all I could do was peer out at the city, it's beautiful light seemed sardonic to me. It was like a nightmare—like the evening Jeff had returned to the house after the incident at the lake—It was eerie: the appearance that things were normal, but a nightmare lurked just around the corner. It was both jarring and numbing. My thoughts were assaulting me, I saw meaning in everything. All I envisioned was Clara, my beautiful little girl, drugged; on a bus somewhere with these crazy people.
Jeff reached across the seat and took my hand, "It's all right. Eve, your hands are shaking. You're freezing. I promise it will be OK. Detective Calnan didn't' seem very worried about her safety."
I was too afraid. I knew it was too much. I was no longer myself at all. For all the times I'd felt I was going crazy, I really had. I started crying.
Jeff reached over and touched my arm, "It's going to be all right, Eve."
I looked at him, I wiped my eyes. I was so numb that he seemed very distant. It was as if he'd grown smaller and was drifting away from me. Or I was slowly detaching from him as I was lured into a terrible dream.
He gave me a tender, paternal smile. "Sweetheart, it'll be fine."
Tears fell. I looked at him and he glanced back from the road to look at me again.
When I spoke to my voice was hoarse. I was so close to crying that it was hard to get the words out. "Would it be all right if I stayed in your room tonight? I'm so afraid." I asked.
"Of course you can," he whispered.
"I know you reserved two rooms." I said.
"Because you would have killed me if I hadn't." He tried to joke, but I was frozen.
I looked back out the window and thought about Clara. I wondered where she was. If she was safe, if she was still in the city. My stomach seemed to steadily tighten. I had a terrible premonition that she was, in fact, on a bus; being take to another part of the state, or even another part of the country. I imagined her gone from us forever. If that were the case, I wouldn't be able to take it. I knew I didn't have the strength. I also knew from my own experiences having been committed to the hospital that once you are submerged in abuse and once people decide who you are and begin to treat you as someone else, a part of you dies. I didn't want any of Clara to die. I wanted all of her in tact. I wanted my little girl safe. I felt so helpless.
I didn't realize I had been sobbing. Jeff had pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Eve, look at me." I could tell from his voice that he was started to get worried about my emotional state.
I turned to him. I must have been hyperventilating. I was dizzy, seeing black spots. "I'm so afraid." I moved to him and he put his arms around me. I leaned against him and cried.
He rubbed my back. "It's all right, Eve. She's OK. You heard him, it's not a dangerous group. Look at me."
I pulled away. He wiped the tears from my cheek. "She's all right. You have to be strong so we can do this. It really is a silly group of young people. It's not like what you're imagining. It's not a dangerous situation."
"But he said they could be armed. If they thought it were a police raid--"
"It's just a silly group of kids. That was the absolute worst case—almost no chance at all."
I shook my head, "I don't think so. Why are they having police cars around the corner? I don't think he was telling us everything. They wouldn't involve all those police. You know it as well as I do."
"Eve. Darling, you have to calm down. You're panicking. You're thinking the worst. Let's go to the hotel. I'm going to insist that you eat something. You'll have a drink. You can take a bath and go to sleep."
I nodded and tried to regain composure. Instead of crying, I just froze.
The Fairmont was a very nice hotel in a beautiful part of San Francisco. There were views of the city, the water and the Golden Gate Bridge. I knew that he would have reserved the most well-appointed rooms, likely suites with plush carpets and a sitting area. There would be fresh fruit and chocolates, a full bar. Just as I'd expected the hotel was extravagant and tasteful. Just as Jeff was accustomed, a doorman, dressed in a red blazer and black pants came and opened our car doors for us as we pulled into the circular drive. A bellhop immediately walked over to the trunk for our luggage. It was a production just making sure we got into the lobby. Jeff always knew I was not impressed with these things, but even more so since I'd studied feminism and politics. At the same time, I had to admit the aesthetic of wealthy places was pleasing to the senses. The Fairmont lobby was expansive, a large crystal chandelier hanging above an enormous space. The floors velvety looking red carpeting, gold sconces.
"Why don't you sit down while I check us in," he said.
I nodded and sat on one of the semicircular couches. My eyes stayed fixed on a large, round marble table on top of which was an enormous, exotic flower arrangement. It reminded me of Jeff's father's home. I thought of the first time I'd been there. My first impression had been that Jeff's father was a pompous letch; that turned out to be the case. A rotund man with red cheeks, who at one time I was sure was very handsome but no longer. He'd seemed to have a residual charm, but with age had fermented into a thinly masked nastiness. He never liked me, neither did Jeff's sister Julia. I didn't know what right they thought they had to judge m—
Jeff interrupted my thoughts. When I looked up at him, I felt self-conscious for letting my mind go on and on about how much I hated his family. It must have been my tormented state of mind.
"What is it?" he asked. I realized he could see the expression on my face. He must have read my anger. "Did something make you angry?"
"Nothing. Why?"
"We're all checked in." He said.
At any other time, I would have had an extreme kaleidoscope of conflicted emotions over going to a hotel room with Jeff. I didn't care. I just wanted to be with him because I was so frightened. I just wanted to be with someone who knew me the way he did. I looked at him.
"Are you all right?"
I nodded.
"I ordered you something to eat. I want you to rest." He tilted slightly his head and gave me a worried smile.
I stood up and straightened my skirt. "I wish we could go get her right now."
"They don't know where she's staying. Otherwise we would. I promise she'll be all right."
When I entered the room, it was as I'd expected. Opulent. Everything was the finest quality. The bed was had a mahogany head board. The bedcover was a pristine white cotton. Two upholstered chairs were arranged by a window that overlooked the bay. We were high enough up that I could see the city, the lights of the large buildings starting to break through the approaching dusk. The bay was bright blue. I walked over to the large window and pulled the heavy velvet drapes open even further. I stood and looked out. Everything was so lovely and picturesque. I was tired. I knew that was it, but I couldn't help but think of Jeff in places like this with Anna. I also couldn't shake the truth that over the years, Jeff did have a relationship with the children. That when they were with them, he and Anna, took them out for ice cream or arranged sleep overs. I wish Diane hadn't said their apartment had been her favorite place to sleep over. I knew that under the surface of this jealousy and anger was Clara. The only time I'd ever felt so much anguish over worry for my child was when I was in the mental hospital, not seeing Charlie for a month. I could feel his cries, it was a physical pain inside my chest. It had kept me awake, it drove me crazy. My child had needed me. I still had dreams about it. Plain, undisguised memories. The darkness, hearing him cry and my voice calling out to him. I felt the same about Clara. I could feel her fear. I was even more afraid of her vulnerability. Could it have been like the detective said, was it possible that she was on a bus being taken somewhere and brainwashed?
Jeff broke my thoughts, "I'm sorry that we didn't get something nicer. It was last minute. They didn't have any suites."
I turned to him. I had been transfixed on the view. I had been swallowed by my thoughts and emotions.
"What is it?" I asked. I walked over to a chair and sat down. I removed my shoes and rubbed my feet over my nylons. "What did you ask me?"
"No. I didn't ask you anything." He sat on the edge of the bed, "I was just remarking that the room was small. All the nice rooms were taken for the night."
I leaned my head back and looked up at the ceiling. There were pressed plaster tiles, Squares with raised edges and subtle circle in the center. I took a deep breath and let it out. I looked at him for a moment. "I'll survive."
He opened his mouth to say something then he stopped himself. He raised his eyebrows.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You're the only woman I've ever met who doesn't like rich men."
"I don't feel like joking right now."
He walked over to me and bent over and kissed me on the forehead. It made me feel like a child.
He went to a liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of scotch. Jeff had ordered dinner while we were in the lobby and somehow the tray of food was already there. It sat on the table in front of me. I recognized the smell of chicken and a white-wine broccoli smell. Jeff handed me my glass and then he moved to the window. There was a view of the city and the bay beyond. I pulled the metal covers off the plates. I took a few bites of chicken and then put my fork down and picked up my glass.
"Aren't you going to eat something?" I asked him.
He was still standing in front of the window looking out over the bay. He turned towards me. He shook his head. "I will later." He turned back to the view.
"Thank you for letting me stay with you. I know it isn't—I know I shouldn't. Anna's probably worried about the whole situation with us being together."
He kept his focus out the window at the lights of the city. He didn't turn back to me. His voice sounded flat, unemotional."I don't know if she is. Worried."
"You don't like when I talk about her?"
He looked back at me. "No."
I stared at my drink, thought about it but didn't take a sip.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Did you want something else to drink?"
"No. It's just that I'm going to try and stop." I took a sip. "Drinking. I'm trying to stop."
He smiled at me. "I can see that. It's admirable."
I grew serious again. "I feel very lost in my life." I said. "I've been trying to understand why I did that with a few weeks ago. It was my fault. I initiated it. It's the same thing all over again."
He looked at me skeptically. "Really Eve. I knew the minute I walked in the door that we'd be together that night."
"That's quite a thing to say."
"Why?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "It meant something to me. If you were just playing a game then--"
"That's not what I said."
I took another sip. "We don't even know each other, do we?"
"What do you mean?"
"We say we do, but I think we're just attracted to each other."
He examined me, took a sip of scotch, then he said, "Is that right? Just attraction?"
I nodded. "I think so."
"I don't agree. I know you very well."
I looked down at my glass. I shook my head.
"I know how much you love the children," he said, "and that deep down you think that's the only real love you have. I know you often feel responsible for the things I've done to you." He looked at me. "I know you feel alone and other than the children, the only time you feel genuinely loved is when I make love to you."
It felt so exposed and embarrassed. A panic grew inside of me. It was different than anything I remembered feeling before. I was being ripped open and I had no strength to fight. Maybe all those things were true. Maybe Jeff did know me.
"Please don't say any more." I whispered. I put my head in my hands and cried. A voice inside me just kept repeating I can't do it. I'm not able to do this with Clara tomorrow. I can't. It was visceral. I was too afraid to hope for it to be as easy and simple as the detective made it out to be. I felt any hope would curse it. That left me with my only alternative, imagining the worst. It was tearing me up, I just wanted my brain to stop.
He walked over and took my hands. He led me up to standing. "Why don't you get some rest?" He put his arms around me for a moment before walked over to the bed and I sat down. He sat beside me.
I looked up at him. "What else do you know about me?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I know you. I'm attracted to you, but I also know the person you are. Eve, I honestly wish we could go back and start over. There is such a scar across all of it."
"I can let the past go, but there's no way to trust you. That's the problem."
He grew distant. "Yeah you're probably right about that. Let's just get through tomorrow." He started to stand up.
I held his arm. "Where are you going?" I asked him.
He looked at me and smiled. It was genuine, but weary. "Just getting a cigarette." He stood and took a cigarette from the pack and lit it. He stared out the window while he smoked. He didn't try to engage me in any more conversation.
"I'm going to bed." I said.
"All right," he didn't look at me. I watched him for a moment, the shape of him in front of the large window. I saw the city lights glowing and in places blinking the whole distance to the bay. Then, there was just the golden gate bridge, lit up. It was a clear enough night that I could see it's the orange painted structure spanning the bay. The lights leading out into the distance. I remembered someone telling me that the bridges around San Francisco were like bracelets. I tried to place where I'd heard that. Who would have told me that?
I stood and unzipped my skirt, pulled it down over my slip.
He turned to me, "are you going to bed?"
"Yes, I just told you I was."
"I guess I wasn't listening. I'm sorry."
"I unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. I placed it on the chair next to the bed with my skirt. I removed my stockings and put them aside too. I was in my slip. I had my nightgown lying across the bed.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"Not really." He turned back to the window.
I walked over to him and stood next to him. "What are you thinking?"
When I looked out the window, I focused on the movement of cars and busses down below. I watched the motion. Jeff blew out smoke from his cigarette. I found when I shifted my focus I could see our reflection in the glass. I could see his blank expression, staring out but into nothing. "She really did have an abortion you know." His voice was flat.
"I didn't expect you to say that."
"I made her get one."
"Oh," was all I cold manage.
"Before she died." He looked at me. "It was like I told you. She was pregnant." His confession was followed by a long silence.
"Oh." I was frozen. My mind returned to the letters and journals. I hadn't read anything about it, but of course the abortion was likely just days before she had taken her life. I had to recalculate the information I had. Whose was to blame for her death?
"She got worse with every childbirth. I didn't want her to have another baby and try to hurt one of the children again. It was like with you and the hospital. I wasn't thinking."
"I don't understand. I'm sorry."
Finally he looked at me. "Don't understand what?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know what you mean, that's all. About the hospital."
"An abuse of power, I guess." He put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table.
I nodded and let out a deep breath. "I read all of her journals and letters. It seemed she was very unstable—. There were a few times after Clara was born that she said you sat with her at night. In her dark room."
"I did."
"So you tried to help her." I moved to the table and picked up a cigarette. I lit it with the lighter and put the lighter back down.
"Why don't you come sit with me on the bed?" I asked.
I picked up the pack of cigarettes and walked over to the bed. He sat down. He looked exhausted.
"Here let me fix you another drink." I took his glass and filled it with more scotch. I walked back over to him. He was sitting up in bed on top of the perfectly made bed. I sat down next to him. I gave him his drink.
He smiled at me.
I smiled at him. I touched his cheek. He seemed like a child in a way. I moved closer to him and started untying his tie.
"What are you doing?" he put his hand in my hair and moved it away from my face.
"Just helping you." I said. I pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned his shirt. He wore a white t-shirt underneath. I put my hand on his neck, "you're handsome," I whispered. I picked up my cigarette. "I always wondered how you—could have been with her. I suppose I should have asked you years ago."
"I was teaching in California."
"She was one of your students?"
He shook his head and took a drag. "No. I took her out as a favor."
"To who?"
"My mother was friends with her mother."
"Her mother was terrible. I spoke with her when I was looking for Clara."
"She's a bitch."
"You were a lot older than Margaret. Why would they arrange something with a man ten years older?"
"That didn't matter. It really was out of character for me to do a favor like that." He looked wistful. "I never wanted to disappoint my mother. I thought it was a small favor. I didn't take her out but two times."
"And she slept with you? A girl like her?"
He laughed. "You don't know much about girls."
"What a thing to say." I shook my head and looked away.
He put his hand on my arm.
I flicked my cigarette ash into the glass shell ashtray. I looked at him. "Why weren't you already with someone by then. Married?"
"I didn't want to marry anyone. I was perfectly content to—"
"It's a little old that's all. I mean not to be married at 30."
"Well I married her. She was pregnant."
"Was she in love with you?"
"No. She hated me." he stared at me. "The reason I wasn't married at that time was because I had never met anyone I loved enough. I was forced to marry Margaret because she was pregnant. I never wanted to marry anyone until I met you."
"And then again when you met Anna."
He let out a breath, snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "I can feel these things before you even say the words."
"What did I say? Why is it all right for you to tell me how easy it is for you to get women and yet I can't--"
"All right. You win." He leaned his head forward and rubbed his neck. He shook his head. "You should go to sleep."
I felt a wall come down. Something had shifted or maybe it was just that he'd drawn it to the surface. I stood and walked over to my side of the bed. I sat down. I picked up my nightgown and put it on my lap. Jeff kept his eyes focused towards the window. I removed my slip and put on my long, silk nightgown. Still, he didn't say anything. When I pulled down the white blanket, the sheets were starched and clean. The fabric felt cool against my skin. I patted down on the pillow. I knew he was hurt by the way he was behaving. He wouldn't even acknowledge me. I lay down and turned on my side facing the other direction. I examined the walls, the blue striped wallpaper. I ran my fingers over the white cotton sheet. I thought about Clara. I hated thinking about her at night time. I imagined her crying and my mind flashed on the moments holding her in my arms. All of the years --from the minute I'd met her-- she wanted to be close to me. When she was sick with the flu, I spent two days with her. Holding her in my arms until she fell asleep. Even more recently, just a couple of weeks ago when this all started. She regressed to a small child, "mommy."
I turned to him, "Jeff?"
"What is it?"
"Don't be angry with me. Not tonight. I'm so frightened."
"Just get some rest, Eve."
I closed my eyes and felt completely alone.
After an hour or so, I woke to Jeff next to me in bed. It was late. He whispered, "Eve?" he was right beside me; he softly touched my face.
"What is it?" I was tired but I woke myself up. "What is it?"
He didn't say anything for a moment. I When I looked at his face, into his eyes I recognized the intimacy. It wasn't just that he was handsome and I was attracted to him.
"Why don't you ever let me tell you I love you?" He whispered. He kissed me softly on the lips.
"Jeff, I'm tired. I can't talk about this right now. I'm sorry."
I was about to turn over but he said, "Eve. I—"
"What is it?" I whispered.
He moved closer to kiss me. I felt his hand over my silk nightgown. He followed the contour of my body from my stomach back up to my breasts. The fabric felt smooth on my skin and I knew it wouldn't take much for me to want him, but at that moment I didn't.
I took his hand in mine and stopped him. "I don't want to. I'm tired. I'm worried about Clara. I don't want to."
"OK." His voice was low, gentle. "Eve." He stared at me a moment, "would you come back to me if I ended things with Anna?"
"I don't want you to break up with your wife, Jeff."
He smoothed my hair. Ran his fingers over my cheek, down my neck. He asked me again. "If things were over with Anna, would you come back to me?" He examined me, started to say something but didn't.
"Have you been drinking—since I went to sleep?"
"I'm being serious. Would you?"
I looked away for a moment, let out a breath. "I don't know. If you were – if things with you and Anna changed. I guess—hypothetically I would..."
"You would what?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Of course I'd love to go out with you sometimes. I miss you. I can't say I want to suddenly be married to you again. I wouldn't want to just jump into something like we always do. I'd like to spend time with you, but you and I can't. It always turns out bad. It can't work with us. "
"Why?"
"Let's not do this now. I don't want to think about it, all right?" I touched his cheek, "good night." I turned over to go back to sleep.
He moved closer to me. His body felt warm and I could feel myself slipping. I knew he could feel my breathing change. He adjusted my hair to one side and kissed my neck. It was the same tender way as always and feeling his lips on my skin heightened my senses. I couldn't say anything. He gently pulled the strap of my night gown over my shoulder. He kissed my bare skin. He stopped and said, "but you said you might? You might let me take you out sometime if I wasn't with Anna?"
I could feel myself wanting him. My body grew warm and relaxed against him "I know what you're doing," I whispered.
"No you don't," he said against my skin before he kissed my neck again.
I felt my breathing deepen. I turned over and faced him. I stared at him for a moment. "You say this now, but you'll see. When you get home and back into your life with Anna--You'll see that you're happy and don't want anything to do with me. Let's just get Clara home. Ok?"
"You'll see." He kissed me. "You'll see Eve. It can work with us." He moved his hand over my stomach and this time feeling him touch me over the silk fabric felt good. I didn't want him to stop.
"I know what you're doing," I whispered.
"No you don't." He moved on top of me and kissed me.
"I'm tired of always wanting you," I said softly.
He studied me. He moved his hands to my thighs, felt over my silk nightgown. Then he slowly pulled it up over my hips.
I let out a sharp breath and waited for him to make love to me. I touched his face and moved to him and kissed him. "Make love to me," I said. "I want to."
He touched my hair. "Why do you want to?" He touched my face and ran his hands down, lingering on my neck. He looked serious. I knew he wanted me to say I loved him but I knew if I did something would change. I would be vulnerable and I didn't want that.
"Tell me."
My heart was racing with fear and desire. "You know I do." I said.
"Then say it, Eve. Tell me."
"I love you."