A Perfect Stranger (29 page)

It was this feeling that she carried with her into the autumn in San Francisco and that made her turn down her mother's offer to meet her in New York for a few days when she was there on her way to Brazil with the usual horde. Raphaella no longer felt that she should do things like go to New York to meet her mother. Her place was with John Henry, and she would not leave him again until the day he died. Who knew if her months of ricocheting between her own home and Alex's had not in some way sped John Henry toward his death. It would have been useless, of course, to tell her that any speed in that direction would have been welcomed by no one as much as by John Henry himself. Now she almost never left him except for her occasional walks.

Her mother had been vaguely disturbed at Raphaella's refusal to join her at the Carlyle and wondered briefly if she was still angry at her father for what had passed between them in July. But Raphaella's letter of refusal didn't sound as if she were pouting. It sounded more as though she were oddly withdrawn. Her mother promised herself that she would call her from New York and make sure that nothing was the matter, but with her sisters and her cousins and her nieces and their constant errands and shopping and the time difference, she left for Buenos Aires without ever having had a chance to call.

It wouldn't have mattered to Raphaella anyway. She had no desire to talk to her mother or her father and had decided that summer that she would not return to Europe again either until after John Henry had passed on. He seemed to be living in a state of suspended animation, sleeping most of the time, depressed when he wasn't, refusing to eat, and seeming to lose whatever abilities had remained. The doctor told her that all of it was normal in a man of his age with the shocks he had suffered from the strokes. It was only surprising that the determination of his spirit had not been more acutely affected before. It seemed only ironic to Raphaella that now as she devoted herself to him fully he seemed to be at his worst. But the doctor told her that he might also get a little better, that perhaps after a few months of lethargy he might inexplicably perk up. It was certainly obvious that Raphaella was doing everything to entertain him, and now she even began to cook small gourmet dishes in order to tempt his palate and induce him to eat. It was a life about which most people would have had nightmares, but which Raphaella seemed not even to notice. Having given up the only thing that she had cared about and relinquished the only two people she had loved in a long time, Alexander and Amanda, she felt it no longer mattered to her what she did with her time.

November disappeared like the months before it, and it was December when she got the letter from the publishing house in New York. They were enchanted with the book she had sent them, surprised that she didn't have an agent, and wanted to pay her two thousand dollars as an advance for the book, which they would have illustrated and hoped to release the following summer. For a moment she stared at the letter in amazement, and then for the first time in a long time she broke out in a broad smile. Almost like a schoolgirl she raced up the staircase with the letter to show John Henry. When she got there, she found him sleeping in his wheelchair, his mouth open, his chin on his chest, making a soft purr. She stood there for a time, watching him, and then suddenly felt desperately lonely. She had wanted so much to tell him, and there was no one else to tell. Once again she felt a familiar pang for Alex, but she pushed the thought instantly away, telling herself that by now he had found someone else to replace her, that Mandy was happy, and that Alex might even be married or engaged. In another year he might even have children. She felt that perhaps indeed, she had done the right thing for everybody concerned.

She folded the letter and went back downstairs. She realized, too, that John Henry had known nothing about the stories she'd been concocting for the children, and he would find it very strange if she brought him the news of a book now. It was better to say nothing. And of course her mother wouldn't be interested, and she had no desire to write to tell her father. In the end there was no one to tell, so she sat down and answered the letter, thanked them for the advance, which she accepted, and then later wondered why she had. It was an ego trip that suddenly seemed very foolish, and after she gave the letter of acceptance to the chauffeur to mail, she was sorry she had done it. She was so used to denying herself everything she wanted that even that little treat now seemed out of place.

Feeling annoyed with herself for doing something so silly, she later asked the chauffeur to drive her out to the beach, while John Henry slept away the afternoon. She just wanted to walk in the fresh air and see the dogs and the children, feel the wind on her face, and get away from the stale air of the house. She had to remind herself that it was almost Christmas. But it didn't really matter this year. John Henry was too tired to care if they celebrated it or not. Briefly she found herself dwelling on the Christmas she had shared with Alex and Mandy and then once again forced the memories out of her head. She seldom even allowed herself even those now.

It was almost four o'clock when the chauffeur pulled the car up alongside the vans and the pickups and the old jalopies, and smiling at the incongruous vision she knew she presented, she slid into a pair of loafers she often wore at Santa Eugenia and slipped out of the car into the stiff breeze. She was wearing a little curly lamb jacket with a red turtleneck sweater and a pair of gray slacks. She didn't dress as elaborately as she used to anymore. To sit beside John Henry while he slept or dine from a tray in his room as he gazed sightlessly at the news on the television, there didn't seem to be much point in getting dressed.

Tom, the chauffeur, watched Raphaella disappear down the stairs onto the long sandy beach, and then he glimpsed her again as she wandered near where the surf broke. Eventually he could no longer distinguish her from the others, and he climbed back into the car, turned on the radio, and lit a cigarette. By then Raphaella was far down the beach, watching three Labradors chase each other in and out of the water, and a group of young people wearing blankets and blue jeans were drinking wine and playing their guitars.

The sound of their singing followed her further down the beach as she wandered, and at last she sat down on a log and took a deep breath of the salt air. It felt so good to be there, to be out in the world for a few moments, to at least see others living even if she could not do much living herself. She just sat there and watched people passing, arm in arm, kissing, side by side, talking and laughing or jogging past each other. They all seemed to be bent on going somewhere and she wondered where they all went when the sun went down.

It was then that she found herself watching a man who was running. He came from far down the beach in a straight line, running almost like a machine, without stopping, until finally, still moving with the smoothness of a dancer, he slowed to a walk and kept coming down the beach. The fluidity of his movement in the distance had intrigued her, and as he came closer she kept her eyes on him for a long time. She was distracted by a group of children, and when she looked for him again, she saw that he was wearing a red jacket and was very tall, but his features were indistinct until he came closer. Suddenly she gasped. She just sat there staring, startled, unable to move or turn so that he wouldn't see her face. She just sat there watching as Alex came closer and then stopped when his eyes fell on her. He didn't move for a long time, and then slowly, deliberately, he walked toward where she sat. She wanted to run away, to vanish, but after seeing him run down the beach, she knew she didn't have a chance and she had ventured quite far from where she had left the car. Now relentlessly, with his face set, he came toward her, until he stood before her, looking down at her sitting on the log.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment and then, as though in spite of himself, he smiled. Hello. How are you? It was difficult to believe that they hadn't seen each other in five months. As Raphaella looked up at the face she had seen in her mind so clearly and so often, it seemed as though they had been together only the day before.

I'm fine. How are you?

He sighed and didn't answer. Are you fine, Raphaella? I mean really' . She nodded this time, wondering why he hadn't answered when she asked him how he was. Wasn't he happier? Hadn't he found someone to replace her? Wasn't that why she had released him? Surely her sacrifice had instantly borne fruit. I still don't understand why you did it. He looked at her bluntly, showing no inclination to leave. He had waited five months to confront her. He wouldn't have left now if they'd dragged him away.

I told you. We're too different.

Are we? Two different worlds, is that it? He sounded bitter. Who told you that? Your father? Or someone else? One of your cousins in Spain?

No, she wanted to tell him, your sister fixed it for us. Your sister, and my father with his goddamn surveillance and threats to tell John Henry, whether it killed him or not' that, and my conscience. I want you to have the babies that I'll never have ' .

No. No one told me to do it. I just knew it was the right thing to do.

Oh, really? Don't you think we might have discussed it. You know, like grown-ups. Where I come from, people discuss things before they make major decisions that affect other people's lives.

She forced herself to look at him coldly. It was beginning to affect my husband, Alex.

Was it? Strange that you only noticed that when you were six thousand miles away from him in Spain.

She looked at him pleadingly then, the agony of the past five months beginning to show in her eyes. He had already noticed how much thinner her face was, how dark were the circles beneath the eyes, how frail were her hands. Why are you doing this now, Alex?

Because you never gave me the chance to in July. He had called her four or five times in San Francisco, and she had refused to take the calls. Didn't you know what that letter would do to me? Did you think of that at all? And suddenly, as she saw his face, she understood better. First Rachel had left him, giving him no chance to win against an invisible opponent, a hundred-thousand-dollar-a-year job in New York. And then Raphaella had done almost the same thing, flaunting John Henry and their differences as an excuse to walk out. Suddenly she saw it all differently and she ached at what she saw in his eyes. Beneath his piercing gaze she dropped her eyes now and touched the sand with one long thin hand.

I'm sorry ' oh, God ' I'm so sorry' . She looked up at him then and there were tears in her eyes. And the pain he saw there brought him to his knees beside her on the sand.

Do you have any idea how much I love you?

She turned her head away then and put up a hand as though to stop him from speaking, whispering softly, Alex, don't' . But he took the hand in his own and then with his other hand brought her face back until she looked at him again.

Did you hear me? I love you. I did then, and I do now, and I always will. And maybe I don't understand you, maybe there are differences between us, but I can learn to understand those differences better, Raphaella. I can if you give me the chance.

But why? Why only a half life with me when you can have a whole one with someone else?

Is that why you did it? At times he had thought so, but he had never been able to understand why she had severed the tie so quickly, so bluntly. It had to be more than just that.

Partly. She answered him honestly now, her eyes looked in his. I wanted you to have more.

All I wanted was you. And then he spoke more softly. That's all I want now. But she shook her head slowly in answer.

You can't have that. And then after a long pause, It's not right.

Why not, dammit? There was fire in his eyes when he asked the question. Why? Because of your husband? How can you give up all that you are for a man who is almost dead, for a man who, from what you yourself have told me, has always wanted your happiness, and would probably love you enough to set you free if he could?

Alex knew John Henry had in a sense set Raphaella free already. But he couldn't tell Raphaella of that meeting. Her face bore witness to the terrible strain under which she was suffering. To add to that, to tell her that John Henry knew of their relationship, was unthinkable.

But Raphaella wouldn't listen. That wasn't the deal I made. For better or worse' in sickness and in health' until death do us part. Not boredom, not strokes, not Alex' .I can't let any of that hinder my obligations.

Fuck your obligations. He exploded and Raphaella looked shocked and shook her head.

No, if I don't honor what I owe him, he'll die. I know that now. My father told me that this summer and he was right. He's barely hanging on now, for God's sake.

But that has nothing to do with you, dammit, don't you see that? Are you going to let your father run your life too? Are you going to be pushed around by your duties' and obligations' and your sense of noblesse oblige? What about you, Raphaella? What about what you want? Do you ever allow yourself to think of that? The truth was that she tried not to think of it. Not anymore.

You don't understand, Alex. She spoke so softly that he could barely hear her in the wind. He sat next to her on the log, their bodies so close that it made Raphaella shiver. Do you want my jacket? She shook her head. And then he went on. I do understand. I think you did something insane this summer, you made one giant sacrifice in order to atone for what you thought was one giant sin.

But again she shook her head. I just can't do it to John Henry. Alex could not, try as he might, tell her that the one constant in her life her relationship with her husband had already been altered.

Do what, for God's sake? Spend a few hours away from the house? Do you have to chain yourself to his bedpost?

She nodded slowly. For the moment, yes. And then, as though she owed it to him to tell him, she went on. My father was having me followed, Alex. He threatened to tell John Henry. And that would have killed him. I had no choice.