Possessions (24 page)

“But . . . I don't understand. How did she get in the life preserver?”

“We assumed Craig put her there—discovered her dead in the water, got her to the life preserver—we never knew why—then
was so exhausted he was carried away in the current and drowned. Obviously a faulty theory. But that was why everyone called him a hero. Jumped in without a lifejacket to save his sister.”

“And then—swam away?”

“And then swam away.”

“Why?”

“You'd have to ask him.” She shivered again. “I'd better make you some coffee.”

“No, don't. I'd like to go home. Please.”

He nodded. “A good idea. It's been a long evening.” His arm was around her waist as they walked to the door. “I have a place at Tahoe; if you'd like to get away we could go there for the weekend.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but you keep forgetting that I have two children. And I'd like some time alone. Could you give me a few days?”

“A few days.” He rang for the elevator and they rode down in silence, and in silence drove to Katherine's apartment. “I'll call next week,” he said as she opened her door. “You were an exciting woman tonight.”

She shook her head again, not looking at him. She was worn out and would have liked some comfort; of all the things he might have said, that was the last one she wanted to hear.

*  *  *

All weekend, Katherine was haunted by Derek's story. During the days, she was with Todd and Jennifer, but at night, remembering it, even as he had told it in his cold, flat voice, she began to imagine it vividly. Yet the more real it seemed, the less she could understand it. Craig enraged and losing control of himself? Craig physically attacking someone? Impossible. Craig never even raised his voice. When he was angry he withdrew into himself, shutting everyone out. Then, some time later, he'd begin talking again, smiling and even-tempered, and no one would ever know what his thoughts had been, or how he'd resolved his anger.

And he hated physical violence; he would never lift his hand against anyone.

But what if there were another Craig, who could become enraged, throw insults and wild accusations, lose control of himself . . . and try to strangle his cousin?

And embezzle . . . and desert his family.

Craig, which one are you?

The children slept, the lights of an occasional passing car swept across the sofa bed where Katherine lay, while she relived Derek's story again and again, trying to know who was the man she married.

How many of his silences had been caused by the memory of seeing his sister die?

How many of his secrets had been about Derek, and furies he could barely contain?

Why didn't you talk to me about them?

She went to the front window and looked out at the quiet street. The first time Craig had talked to her was at the opening of an art exhibit in Vancouver. Katherine was standing before a painting of a man sitting hunched over at the counter of an all-night restaurant, when, beside her, a stranger began talking about the vision of loneliness in that painting and the others in the exhibit. His voice deep and warm, he talked about the way Edward Hopper's people were painted within rectangles—windows, rooms, doors—to show how they felt trapped, cut off from the world; and somehow Katherine had known he was talking about himself. By that time they had exchanged names and were having dinner together.

He had seemed so calm and steady, his dark eyes somber, his full beard making him look older than his twenty-six years, there had not been a moment when Katherine had not loved and trusted him. Standing in the window of her apartment in San Francisco, she remembered his eyes, and his warm voice, and the way her skin felt when he held her—the first time she had ever been touched by a man, the first time a man had seen her naked, the first time a man had looked at her with desire.

“Craig,”
she whispered, aching for him. But then she thought how long ago that had been. She had always believed they had so much love but all those years, since he first spoke to her, Craig had carried that terrible story inside him, and never let her share it.

If that really
was
the story.

The idea came suddenly. The truth, Derek had said with a faint smile. How did she know? Claude had told the official
version; Derek had told his. But Derek himself had said he didn't like Craig. Why should she believe he was telling the truth?

The only one who could tell her was Ross. The last thing Katherine decided before falling asleep late Sunday night was that she would call him the next morning.

But those confused thoughts and questions about Craig had filled only a part of that hectic weekend. Long before, Katherine had promised Jennifer and Todd—to make up for her evenings out—that those two days would be theirs, to plan any way they wished. And so, just when she wanted to be quiet, the hours were crammed with excursions and chatter, hurtling on buses and cable cars from one part of the city to another, forcing herself, through the clamor of her own thoughts, to listen to her children.

“Look!” Todd demanded. It was Sunday afternoon, almost the end of the exhausting weekend, and they were walking through the Exploratorium, a cavernous museum of scientific exhibits made to be manipulated, examined, and played with as painless lessons in science and nature. Jennifer had rushed Katherine to some of her favorites: light bulbs that lit when she clapped her hands, a mirror that made her seem to float above the floor, a strobe light that left her shadow imprinted on a screen after the light had been turned off.

Then it was Todd's turn. “Look!” he demanded, pulling Katherine with him to a television screen. As he stood before it, his face appeared, transformed electronically into hundreds of different-sized squares that gave him one eye larger than the other, three sections of chin, a two-part nose, a jaw line stepping crazily up and down, “Terrific, huh?” He tilted his head, turned to look back over his shoulder, stuck out his tongue. “That's me. Terrific, isn't it?”

“Oh, Todd.” Katherine knelt on the concrete floor and put her arms around him.

“Isn't it terrific!” he demanded, standing rigidly within her arms.

“Yes,” she said. And it was. Because after weeks of sullen silence, Todd finally had found a way to tell her how he felt. “You're broken up into pieces, aren't you?” she said, still kneeling beside him. “Part of you in Vancouver and part of
you here; part of you wanting Daddy home and another part mad at him for being gone. And I guess part of you being mad at me, too, for selling our house and dragging you here and then leaving you with Annie a lot of the time.”

Todd stared at her. “How do you know all that?”

“You told me, by showing me the pieces on the screen. But, Todd, doesn't part of you love me, too?”

“Sure.” But he did not move. Once he would have put his arms around her and kissed her. My son doesn't trust me any more, Katherine thought.

“Well,” she said. “We'll have to talk about all those pieces. But for now—” She stood up and looked around. “What happened to Jennifer?”

They found her at the entrance to a separate room. “Wait till you see this,” she said with a grin, and plunged in, giving no warning of what was inside.

Katherine felt like Alice in Wonderland: her familiar world disappeared as she seemed to shrink to the size of her children and they grew like giants above her. “I love it, I love it,” Jennifer chanted, dancing about, and Todd, racing from one wall to the other, stopped briefly to kiss Katherine on her cheek. “It's the angles!” he shouted gleefully. “We learned about it in school. There aren't any right angles and the floor is slanted, and the ceiling is, too, and everything's crazy, so
we
look crazy.”

Katherine did not understand, but it was more important that Todd had kissed her, and that once again the two of them had found a way to tell her how they felt. Later, at dinner, she said to them, “So you want to cut me down to size, is that it?”

Jennifer looked up cautiously from her soda. “We kind of joked about it. Did Todd tell you?”

“I didn't!” Todd said indignantly.

“You both did,” Katherine said. “When you took me to that crazy room. Pretty smart, shrinking me down like that. But why can't we just talk, if you're unhappy? Do we have to go to the Exploratorium every time, so I can figure out what's bothering you?”

They exchanged a look. “It's just that we don't know what's going to happen,” Jennifer said. “The other kids talk about Christmas and Easter and next summer, but we can't. We can't even talk about next week.”

“Yes you can,” Katherine said quietly. “We'll be here next week; we'll be here for lots of weeks.”

“How do you know?” Todd demanded.

“Because—” She took an envelope from her purse and handed it to them. “This came in the mail yesterday.”

Jennifer read the postmark, then slowly pulled out the piece of blank paper folded around five one-hundred-dollar bills. “The same as last time. There's no letter.”

“No. But it was mailed in a town in Manitoba. I guess that means Daddy is moving around a lot and still doesn't want us to know where he is.”

“Well, fuck him,” Todd growled.

“Todd! Don't talk about your father that way! Do you hear me? You will not talk about him that way! We don't know why he's doing this. All we've heard is what other people say—we haven't heard his side. And until we do, we'll wait for him, and not forget how he took care of us for years and years, and”—her voice wavered—“trust him. Because we love him.”

“We can get a bigger apartment with the money,” said Jennifer. “I can have my own room.”

“No. I'm sorry, Jennifer, but we're only going to use the money when you and Todd need clothes or special things for school, or to pay Annie. The rest we'll put in the bank.”

“But he sent it for all of us.”

Slowly Katherine nodded. “I know. It's not easy to explain.”
He can't get off this easily. If he wants to support us, he has to let us share his life. When he's ready to do that, I'll be glad to take his money. Until then
 . . . “We should try to make it on our own. We don't know that the money will keep coming. And I think it's important, while we're waiting for him, to try to build our own life.”

Jennifer gave her mother one of the piercing looks that Katherine found so unnerving. “Is that why you go out with Derek Hayward all the time?”

“I don't go out all the time,” Katherine began defensively, then caught herself. “I go out with Derek for companionship. He's a friend. Just as you're making friends at school. We all need friends. You should understand—”
Don't overdo it.
“You can understand that. Now how about telling me what the program will be for the Christmas concert?”

Deflected, because the chorus was a new experience and they were excited about it, they described again the Friday-night rehearsal, and by the time they left the restaurant, no one was complaining about not being able to plan for the future. Because, Katherine thought, we're making one every day.

But later, standing at the window while the children slept, going over and over Derek's story, aching for Craig, trying to imagine him lunging forward to get his hands around his cousin's throat, wondering about the secrets wrapped within his silences, Katherine clenched her fists in frustration.

Craig, which one are you?

The more she heard about him, the less she understood. And even when she decided to call Ross, and ask him about Derek's story, she wasn't sure how much she would know. Because as the weeks and months passed, Craig was becoming a different person. And so was she.

“What would you two think,” she said casually to Jennifer and Todd at breakfast, “if I decided to do my hair a different way?”

Tilting their heads exactly as Craig did, they eyed her. “How?” Todd asked.

“I don't know. Leslie has some ideas. I thought I'd ask her.”

“Will you look very different?” Todd asked.

“I don't think so. I'll have the same face.”

“Then why do it?”

“To look my best when I try to sell my jewelry.” She corrected herself, telling the truth. “Just—to look my best.” It had nothing to do with business. It had to do with change.

“I think it might be all right,” Jennifer said. “As long as we recognize you.”

“If we don't,” Todd said ominously, “we'll go off with some other mother who'll probably be an ogre in disguise, looking for human children to work in her basement, sweeping out the bones of people she's eaten, and the only way we can escape is to tie the bones together into a ladder and climb out—”

“Oh,
Todd!”
Jennifer said. She gathered up her books for school.
“Are
you going to change your hair?” she asked Katherine.

“If you and Todd don't mind.”

“I guess we don't.”

“Then I guess I will.”

*  *  *

“About time!” Leslie exclaimed that evening. “Now—I just happen to have a list. Hairdresser, masseuse, manicurist, facial. What do you call the woman who gives the facial? Face-maker? She who saves face?”

Laughing, Katherine said, “Leslie, I was only thinking of a new hair style.”

“Hair does not stand alone. Would you paint only one leg of a chair? Listen, lady, I have great plans for you. Here's a salon of experts, waiting to do your bidding—all of them conveniently at Heath's where you get an employee discount. I'll make an appointment for next Saturday at nine. Count on half a day. Yes?”

“Yes,” Katherine said. And on Saturday she floated through the morning in the mirrored peach-and-silver rooms of Heath's salon—a hothouse fairyland that banished the everyday world. For four hours she luxuriated in scented steam, creams and gels, son sponges, brushes and puffs, and the caresses of skilled hands shaping her hair, filing her nails, massaging her muscles. Erasing, she thought a little sadly, the last traces of Vancouver.