Shakespeare's Counselor (12 page)

The next morning, right after Carrie checked me over, I went home. Jack was silent for the short drive, and so was I. When we got to the house, he came around the car and opened my door. Slowly, I swung my legs out and got up, glad he'd brought me clothes to replace my ruined jeans. Trying to be modest in a hospital gown would've been just too much. I was a little shaky, but he let me make my own way into the house.

When I looked around the living room, I was stunned.

“Who?” I asked. Jack was focused on my face, his own dark and serious. “What…?”

A vase of pink carnations was on the table by the double recliner. Three white roses graced the top of the television. A small dried bouquet was arranged in a country basket on my small bookshelf.

“Go lie down, Lily,” he said.

I shuffled into our bedroom, saw two more little flower arrangements and two cards. I sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and eased back. I swung my legs up.

“Where'd these come from?” I was realizing that my initial idea, that Jack had gotten them all, was just plain crazy.

“Carrie and Claude. Janet, the dried arrangement, and she brought some chicken. Helen Drinkwater left a card in the door. Marshall brought you a movie to watch; a Jackie Chan. Birdie Rossiter sent flowers and included a card from her dog Durwood.” Jack's voice was very dry. “The Winthrops sent flowers, Carlton from next door dropped by and left a card, the McCorkindales brought flowers.” Jack picked up a notepad he'd dropped on the night table. “Let's see. Someone named Carla brought you a sweet-potato pie. Someone else named Firella called, said to tell you she'd be bringing by a ham tonight.”

People here in Shakespeare had been kind to me before, helped me out when I needed it, but this was a little overwhelming. The Drinkwaters, for example. Since when had they cared about my well-being? The McCorkindales? I'd been beaten black and blue before and they hadn't noticed. Something about my losing a baby had struck a chord.

“How did they find out so fast?”

“You were brought up in a small town and you haven't figured that out?” Jack tried to sound teasing, but couldn't quite manage it.

I shook my head, not feeling smart enough to figure out how to untie my shoes.

“McCorkindale, the minister, visits at the hospital every evening. Beanie Winthrop is a volunteer Pink Lady. Raphael Roundtree's oldest daughter is an admissions clerk, so Raphael carried the news to Body Time. I had to call your clients and tell them you couldn't come in this week, so they knew. I arranged with the sister of the woman who does Carrie's office for the Winthrops and the Althauses to be covered this week, and she's best friends with Carla's little sister.”

“You did?” I was so startled by all this that I was caught off balance. “I won't go to work this week? But Carrie said I would be okay tomorrow,” I said. I could feel the blood rush into my face. “I could—”

“No,” Jack said flatly.

There was a long silence.

“What?” My fingers began to roll into fists.

“No.” Jack's face was quite expressionless. “You are not. And before you get that look on your face, listen to me. What Carrie actually said was, you would be feeling fine tomorrow if you took it easy. That means no work. That means you really do stay home and take it easy. Now,” and he held up a warning hand, “I know you're going to get into the ‘I have to earn my living' speech, and I know you're going to get mad.”

He was quite right about that.

“But, I am telling you, you are finally going to take the time you need to recover from something, and I am going to make sure you do it.”

“Who are you to tell me anything?” I was starting off low, but I could feel the pressure building.

“Lily, I am…your…husband.” With the emphatic spacing of someone who wants to be clearly understood.

And all at once, like the tidal wave that precedes a hurricane, understanding washed over me. As though it would hold me in the room, my fingers clenched the bedspread as I stared without focus, the stunning facts washed off my anger. I had lost
our baby
. This man was
my husband
. I gasped air in desperately, fearing I would choke.

Jack stepped closer to the bed, obviously worried.

I felt tears run down my cheeks. I couldn't seem to let go of the bedspread to get a Kleenex.

“Lily?”

Wave after wave of complete comprehension swept over me, and it felt as though no sooner did I rise to my feet in the surf than another surge swamped me. I was weeping for the second time in two days. I hated it. Jack handed me tissue after tissue, and when the worst had passed, he stayed there, not moving, clasping me against his warmth.

“I'm sorry,” I said, trying hard not to care that I sounded quavery and weak. “Jack, I'm sorry.” I felt guilty that I hadn't been able to carry his child, guilty I hadn't managed better than Karen Kingsland, though there was no comparison between us. “This is so stupid,” I managed to say, and was grateful when he didn't agree.

I didn't know I'd gone to sleep until I woke up. Jack had had a bad night, too, and I could tell from his breathing that he was dozing behind me. I thought over what he'd said to me. I made myself admit that he'd made sense. I made myself admit that before, when I'd gone back to work early after an injury, I'd done myself harm.

Even though I'd known I loved Jack for months, I was shocked by the power he had in my life. I hadn't thought this through; I guess you can't, you love someone without counting the change. I began to wonder what influence I exerted over Jack. He didn't smoke or drink; though he'd formerly done both to great excess. He'd hardly had time to think about another woman, and I knew ahead of time how I would handle that: it would be very bad.

I couldn't think of anything that I wanted Jack to do, or not do, differently. So…Jack was perfect? No, that wasn't really how I felt. I knew Jack was imperfect. He was impatient, which meant he didn't always take time to plan things out. He relied too much on intuition. He had a hard time handling his pride.

I rolled over to face him. I looked at his eyelids, at the relaxed face with its thin nose and slightly puckered scar. Jack had been divorced twice, and he'd had the disastrous affair with Karen Kingsland, a cop's wife. Karen had been in her grave for five years now. For the first time, I wondered what the other wives had looked like, where they were now. For the first time, I was admitting to myself that I was one of those wives. One result of keeping our marriage secret was that I hadn't had to consider myself really Jack's wife, hadn't had to acknowledge the whole load of baggage and implication that was carried in the word
wife
.

Well, we could make of it what we would.

Sooner or later, I had to tell my parents.

I could picture them doing cartwheels in the streets, but I could also imagine them sobering up when they thought of the fact that Jack had been married twice before. And they'd have to consider Jack's notorious affair with Karen, whose husband had ended up shooting Karen dead in front of half the Memphis Police Department—and on television.

Well, all those women—including Karen, who'd been using Jack to make her husband pay attention—were idiots. Anyone who let Jack go was, by definition, a fool.

I didn't often think of cosmic systems, but in this instance I had to conclude that these other women had only parted with Jack so I could have him.

The doorbell rang, and when Jack didn't twitch, I eased off the bed and padded barefoot down the hall through the little living room, to answer the front door.

Carol Althaus and Heather were wearing matching short sets, pink-and-purple plaid cotton camp shirts tucked into pink shorts. Carol was holding Heather's hand, and in her other hand she had a Hallmark gift bag. Carol looked far uneasier than her daughter.

“Oh, I'm afraid we woke you up!” she said, eyeing my rumpled hair.

“I was awake. Come in.” I stood to one side, and Heather was across the threshold in a flash, tugging at Carol to follow. Once the two were seated, Heather said socially, “This is such a nice little house, Miss Lily.”

“Thank you.” I wasn't often called upon to show company manners. “Can I get either of you a glass of ice water or some cranberry juice?”

“Thanks, no, we can only stay a minute. We don't want to wear you out.”

“Are you feeling better?” I asked Carol.

“Oh, yes! You know how it is. Once the morning is past, I'm fine.” Then she realized I certainly did not know how it was, and she closed her eyes in mortification. She made a little waving motion with her hand, as if she were erasing what she'd said. Heather was looking at her mother like she'd grown horns.

“If I'm not up to par by next Monday, I believe Jack called you to say he'd arranged for someone else to help you out?” Social talk was definitely uphill work for me.

“You're gonna come back, though, aren't you, Miss Lily?” Heather's narrow face was tense as she leaned toward me.

“I plan on it.”

Her shoulders collapsed with the weight of her relief. “We brought you a present,” she said, and slid off the loveseat to carry the bag over to me. She gave it to me ceremoniously, her face serious.

Jack came from the hall to sit on the arm of my chair. He introduced himself while Carol eyed him much as she would have a pet tiger. Heather seemed less anxious and more interested.

There was a card in the bag, one with a teddy bear on the front. The bear's arms were spread wide and the legend inside read, “Big Hug.” Okay.

The gift had been picked out by Heather, I knew as soon as I extricated it form the nest of yellow tissue. It was a figurine of a harassed-looking blonde with a dustcloth in one hand and a broom in the other.

“That's you,” Heather explained. “Do you like it?” She edged very close while she waited for me to speak.

“That's just the way you stand at the end of the day,” Jack said, over my shoulder. I could tell he was smiling from the sound of his voice. I reexamined the slumped posture of the figurine and suppressed a snort. “I like it very much,” I told Heather. I glanced at Carol to include her in my thanks. “I'm going to put it on these shelves over here, so my company can see it.”

Jack was off the chair arm and carrying the figurine very carefully over to my small bookcase. He positioned it dead center on top, looked to me for my approval.

“Thanks,” I said. “Heather, does that look okay?”

“I want a hug,” Heather said.

I tried to shove my surprise aside quickly. I scooted forward in the chair and opened my arms. It was like holding a bird. A sharp grief lanced through me, and I had to restrain myself from holding the child tightly to me. I sighed as silently as I could, patted Heather on the shoulder, and gently let her go.

*   *   *

Jack drove in to Little Rock on Monday morning, leaving me with a long list of restrictions: only a light amount of exercise, only a little driving, no cleaning.

After I ate a slow breakfast, I realized I felt much better—physically, anyway. It was still only seven fifteen, and I was already at loose ends. So I went to Body Time and got on the treadmill for a while, and did a little upper body work. Marshall Sedaka, the owner of the gym, came out of his office to talk to me, looking more muscled up than ever. I thanked him for giving me the Jackie Chan movie. After he'd commiserated with me awkwardly over the miscarriage, he told me about the woman he was dating now. I nodded and said, “Oh, really?” at the right intervals, wondering if he'd ever look at Janet Shook, who'd been doing her best to attract him for years.

Tamsin and Cliff were being shown the ropes by one of the young men who seemed to stream through Body Time on a regular basis. They liked working out, Marshall had told me one day when he was feeling discouraged, so they thought they'd like working at Body Time. The fact was, as I'd found myself from my recent experience at the gym in Little Rock, that working for low pay in a gym is just the same as working for low pay at any other job. This particular young man was one I vaguely recognized as being a friend of Amber Jean Winthrop. In fact, I was almost certain he was one of the crowd by the Winthrops' pool, the day Howell Three had gotten so upset.

Tamsin was looking lumpy and lost in her Wal-Mart workout ensemble of cotton shorts and black sports bra, topped with a huge T-shirt that must have been borrowed from her husband. Cliff was not faring any better, projecting discomfort and uncertainty though he was wearing an old pair of sweatpants that he must have saved from college and an equally ancient T that was full of holes.

“What a role reversal,” Tamsin said, with a wan smile. “Here we are in your place of power, instead of mine.”

She hadn't taken the words right out of my mouth, since I never would have said that out loud, but she'd taken the thoughts right out of my head. And it was interesting that she thought of the health center as her “place of power.” The assault that had taken place in her own office must have shaken her to her mental and emotional foundations. Considering that, she'd made a great recovery.

“You're gonna start coming in every morning?”

“Well, we're going to try. Cliff and I both have been eating too much; we've just been so nervous. That's what I do when I'm nervous, I head for the doughnuts. Jeez, do you have any body fat at all?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling awkward.

“I'm glad you feel well enough to come in this morning,” Tamsin said, her dark eyes uncomfortably sympathetic.

“Thanks for your visit while I was in the hospital,” I said dutifully. “I enjoyed the flowers.”

“When I lost my baby…,” she began, to my discomfort. But just at that moment, Cliff gestured to her to rejoin him, since the young man was explaining yet another piece of equipment.