Lifelines: Kate's Story (27 page)

“Just
a minute!”

She
shuffled to the bathroom and awkwardly pulled her brush through her hair. Why
didn’t she have real curls? Or, if not curls, smooth waves like Kate’s? Why
this spiky mess? When Kate found Han, she would go to him. Evelyn didn’t know
how to stop it; she’d tried everything she could think of.

She
picked up the hair spray and misted her hair, then brushed over the spray with
a shaking hand. Lipstick: her hand trembled and smeared the corner of her
mouth.

Did
she have time to change into the new caftan?

What
if Noel tired of waiting and left?

She
shuffled into the bedroom and pulled off the ugly purple caftan. She reached
for the red flowered one, but fumbled it and it dropped to the floor. Then she
had to pull the chair from the corner, and use it to balance on as she reached
down to pick up the caftan.

Had
she messed her hair again? She should have changed first, then fussed with her
hair. What if Noel left before she got to the door? She used the dresser for
balance on her way to the bedroom door, then slid her hand along the wall ...
stove, counter, kitchen table. She stopped at the door and before she opened
it, she smiled, a surprised smile to welcome Noel.

The
door stuck when she tried to open it.

She
struggled and finally it broke free and almost knocked her over.

“Noel!
What a surprise!” Her voice sounded wrong, because she’d been distracted by the
door. She got her smile fixed and touched the wall for balance as she stepped
back. “Come in. I thought you drove to Seattle today.”

He
stood in the center of the kitchen. She pointed to the chair across from the
one she always used. “Sit down, Noel. Sit there.”

“I
need to talk to you.”

What
had she done to make him frown, to take away the smile he always gave her?

“I’ll
just plug the kettle in. I’m so glad you came. I’ve wanted to play music on my
tape player, but I can’t make it work. Would you look at it?” She brushed past
him to the portable stereo on her windowsill, picked up a cassette and shoved
it at him. “This one. It won’t play. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

She
held her breath until he turned to the tape machine. Men liked to fix things,
and he was no different. She plugged the kettle in and took out a cup for Noel.
As she spooned instant coffee into his cup, she heard the music start.

“You
made it work! Thank you! I love my music so much, but I didn’t know what to do.
It tried and tried, but it wouldn’t play.”

“Evelyn...”

“You
take two sugars, don’t you?”

“Yes.
Thank you.”

She
talked about the garden in his yard, about the nasty weather—rain again,
although it was officially spring. By the time she poured the boiling water
into his cup, he’d settled in the chair. When she put his coffee in front of
him, some sloshed over the edge. She made a tiny whimper of protest.

“I’ll
get that,” she said.

“No,
Ev. Just sit down.” He pulled a tissue out of the box and wiped the coffee.

She
didn’t know what to do with herself, went to the fridge for her coffee, then
arranged it in precisely the right place on the table. Then she sat down and
moved it again, to make room for her ashtray.

She
realized she’d lost the smile, and she put it back on and said, “I hate this
rain. Are you hungry? I’ll get some cookies. Did it rain in Seattle?”

He
stopped her with a hand stretched over the table. “I’m not hungry. I don’t know
what to do. I went up to get the motor home.”

“I
thought it wouldn’t be ready until next week. Are you ... are you leaving?”

“No,
I’m not leaving.”

She
wasn’t reassured, because he looked unhappy, which reminded her of Han the last
time she saw him.

“You
said you would take me on a trip.”

“It’s
the engine.”

She
didn’t care about engines, she just wanted someone of her own, and she could
feel that he intended to leave, regardless of what he said. She wanted to rage,
or cry, but wasn’t sure it would be the right tactic with a man like him. His
quietness might mean he didn’t approve of messy emotion, although she knew he
liked it when she asked for help.

She
let her smile fade and made her eyes look the way she’d practiced in the
mirror. Soulful, like a deer’s eyes. “I’m so exhausted. This business with Kate
... I hoped a holiday, a trip ... just to get away.”

Even
though she disliked the idea of a camper and felt jittery at the thought of
leaving her house, she needed to leave. If Kate came and found Evelyn gone, she
would be sorry for trying to find Han. She’d stop her cruelty.

Noel
said, “Ev, I hate the way your daughter treats you. I wish I could ... it’s not
right. If I could take you away, if we could go today ... but when I went to get
the motor home, the engine made this sound ... it needs a new engine. Three
thousand dollars. I don’t know what to do.”

Evelyn
felt her smile return; he wasn’t going to leave her. “I’ll give you a check,
and you’ll get the engine fixed. Then we’ll go on a trip.” Together, like a
honeymoon.

Of
course, they hadn’t ever gone to bed together. Maybe they never would.
Sometimes older men couldn’t do it. If Noel had that problem, she would
understand. It would be their secret, and he would be so grateful to her for
not expecting sex from him.

She
said, “I’ll get my checkbook.”

“Ev,
your daughter called me. She thinks I’ve cheated you out of money. I don’t
think it’s a good idea for you to write me another check. We’ll have to forget
about the motor home, forget the trip we’d planned. I’m sorry.”

Always,
Kate destroyed what Evelyn wanted. Kate, jealous because her mother had found
happiness. Kate had tortured her with words and accusations, trying to get her
to sign that letter to try to find Han. But Evelyn hadn’t signed, and Kate
hadn’t found him yet. So what if Han lived in Canada six years ago? He never
stayed anywhere more than a year. Kate would never find him.

Please
don’t let her find him.

“It’s
my money,” Evelyn muttered.

“Ev,
remember I told you about borrowing money from the company I used to work for?
Kate knows about it, she told me—warned me that if I—she said she would call the
police, lay charges.”

“No,
she won’t!” Evelyn didn’t realize she’d shouted until she saw Noel back away
from her. “She can’t do that, because it’s my money.” She stumbled to the
little drawer, but when she pulled it open, her checkbook wasn’t there. “Where’s
my check book? Did Kate take it? She takes everything from me!” Evelyn felt
frantic rage, and tears. “She has no right! It’s my money, my life. She—she—”

“Ev!
Sit down, Ev. Please sit down.”

“My
checkbook. I need my checkbook.”

He
led her to her chair. “Your checkbook’s here, right on the table. See, right
there. Please sit down, I don’t want you upset.”

“Give
it to me, please.”

Noel
handed her the checkbook.

“It’s
my money.” Her hand was unsteady. “I’ll make it for five thousand, because
you’ll have other expenses.”

“Evelyn,
I owe you too much already.”

“Think
of it as our motor home. I need to pay my share.” She wouldn’t look at him when
she said the words, in case he didn’t want to share the camper with her. She
couldn’t bear him to reject her now.

He
took the check from her and folded her fingers between his hands. “Ev,
sweetheart, I can’t believe how lucky I am that you believe in me.”

She
felt warmth flood her face. “You’ll take me away?”

“I’ll
do whatever you want.”

“How
long will it take to get the engine repaired?” What if Kate found Han before
they left? If Kate found him, she would need to leave right away.

Noel
said, “The engine will take a week. Do you want to leave next weekend?”

She
turned her head and looked at the fridge, the stove, and the corner of the
living room. She didn’t want to leave, but if Kate found Han she’d have no
choice, because then everything would end. “Let’s get the motor home first,
then we’ll make plans.”

“We
need to talk to your daughter, make her understand I haven’t cheated you.”

“You’re
not to say a word to Kate.”

If
Kate found out, she might find a way to ruin her mother’s life again.

E
ver since
she drove away from Wendy Trudeau’s house Jennifer had been unable to sit
still, and she couldn’t sleep that night. She’d been assertive, facing down the
woman who held Alain in a loveless marriage trap. She’d told the truth, and
hadn’t her mother always said people needed truth, that more damage was done by
secrets and lies than had ever been done by the truth. As long as your
intentions are good and loving, you won’t do harm with the truth.

Good
and loving intentions.

But
real life was more complicated. Jennifer had blasted the lie between Alain and
Wendy, and forced them to deal with reality ... with Alain’s love for Jennifer ...
with his overactive sense of duty to Wendy, who wasn’t crippled at all.
Jennifer had told the truth, but would Alain understand how she ached every
time she thought of him with Wendy? He must, because he loved her, and they
needed to be a family.

When
Gail, her downstairs neighbor, hammered on the wall, Jennifer realized she’d
been pacing back and forth, the floor creaking under her feet. She couldn’t
forget the way Wendy’s eyes had turned icy and flat. Surely that coldness
proved Wendy cared nothing about Alain?

If
so, why had Jennifer woken at three in the morning, running from a dreamland
monster with Wendy’s eyes?

Alain
... darling, please come. I need you desperately.

Had
he spoken to Wendy? Had they arranged the divorce yet? Even if they had, she
knew Alain would be too well-bred to phone his future wife from the house he
shared with his old wife. Soon he would pack his suitcase and throw it in his
car, and then he’d come to Jennifer and ask her to marry him. They wouldn’t
marry until the divorce was final, of course. No matter, so long as they
married before the baby arrived.

She
pulled the curtain aside and searched the street outside. Parked cars, but no
sign of Alain’s red Camaro.

He
would come soon.

She
prowled to the dresser, staring into the mirror as she walked. The first thing
Alain loved about her was her walk, then her hair. She grabbed the brush and
stroked it through her hair again and again, but her hair remained dull and
lifeless. If Alain came now, she’d greet him with lifeless hair. 

Shampoo
... conditioner. She shed her clothes on the way to the bathroom, turned on the
shower and dug in a drawer for the treatment shampoo she’d bought last week.
Guaranteed to leave hair sleek and shiny. Under the shower, she massaged the
foam into her hair, piled her hair on top of her head, and scrubbed at her
scalp, whipping the suds into a creamy crown.

She
scrubbed herself from armpits to arches, rinsed the suds from her hair in a
stream of warm water. Her hair felt slippery and sexy now, if only Alain stayed
away until it dried.

Two
o’clock in the afternoon. He wouldn’t come so early; so she’d have time to
air-dry her hair. She laughed at herself, because now she wanted him to slow
down, delay his arrival, because she wasn’t ready. She let the shower run over
her clean hair, over her breasts and her belly. One day soon, when she stepped
out of the shower, she would wrap herself in a towel and walk into her
husband’s arms. Her own family: Jennifer, Alain, and their baby.

She
stepped out, toweled her hair dry, and then shook it down her back. She combed
the tangles with a pick, but there weren’t many; the treatment shampoo had
unraveled her snarls. With her hair smooth and sleek, she toweled her arms,
breasts, stomach, and buttocks. Finally, she dried between her legs. If Alain
came now; she’d be ready for him. When she opened the door wearing only a
towel, his eyes would flame with passion. She smiled as she lifted the white
towel and spread it over the shower rod to dry.

A
solitary smear of red marred the hanging towel.

She
backed away and flattened herself against the door. She’d wiped herself dry,
between her legs. Her period.

Her
baby ... Alain’s baby.

A
lie.

They’d
made love on the perfect day, at the peak of her fertility. She’d lain quietly
afterwards, resisting Alain’s suggestion that she get up to make coffee. Twenty
minutes without motion to give his sperm every chance in the world to swim
home.

From
a long way off, she heard someone pound on the wall, but God knew, if she was
pacing, she had a right to it. She’d even felt nauseous the last few mornings,
from the fullness of new life in her belly. A lie; the fullness signaled only
her period coming. No baby.

The
pounding. Each thud penetrated her head, driving home hot pain. Then why didn’t
someone answer the damned door?

She
felt the blood of failure trickle between her legs.

From
below, a man’s voice bellowed, “Jennifer! Damn you, answer the door!”

Alain.

She
sat on the toilet with a thump, the stuffing drained from her legs. She pulled
open the drawer where she kept tampons. There had to be a baby.

She
didn’t know what to do.

Why
wouldn’t the pounding stop?

She
stood and walked into the bedroom. Underwear. Bra. The black dress on the bed
taunted her; she’d meant to wear it when she told Alain about the baby. Tears
scalded her cheeks as she pulled open the drawer and fisted her hand in a
t-shirt. Below, she heard something crash, then footsteps on the stairs.

She
pressed the shirt into the space between her breasts. She couldn’t move, even
her eyes were locked on the door he would come through.