Counterpointe (34 page)

Light slanted low through the branches of the trees surrounding the village and they walked for a time in that golden light.

“As to why I came on this trip. Well, one day, it hit me. I could leave L.A., and nobody would miss me. Oh, sure. The guy who had to cover my shifts at the hospital, he’d miss me, but other than that...” She frowned, her gaze on the ground. “You believe in serendipity, Rob?”

“You mean coincidence?”

“More than coincidence. The stumbling over some piece of information right when you need it, or meeting someone who says something and you realize it’s an answer to a question you hadn’t asked yet but needed to.”

“Like Kekulé dreaming about snakes and coming up with the structure for benzene,” Rob said. “Or Fleming discovering penicillin because his cultures got contaminated. It happens all the time in science.”

“I think it happens all the time in ordinary life, we just don’t notice it. When I started on this trip, I was thinking about leaving medicine.” Her steps slowed along with her words.

“I couldn’t see the point anymore. Patching up gang members who’d been stabbed or shot, just so they could go out and stab or shoot someone else. And then I’d patch up the someone else and...” She made a circular gesture with one hand and turned onto the narrow path leading to the stream the village used for its drinking water.

“Your appendix reminded me of how I used to feel when an operation went well. I realized maybe I was making a difference, even when I couldn’t see it. Funny. I had to come all this way to discover what was right in front of me.”

“My appendix is pleased to be of service.”

“How about you?” She pointed at his left hand.

He’d meant to leave his ring behind, but at the last minute he’d been unable to do it.

“Have you been married long?”

He shook his head. “A couple of years.”

“Married before?”

He had it coming. She’d answered his questions, after all. “She was the first.”

“So what happened?”

“She was a dancer. The prima ballerina in a major company. She was injured. Without dance, she wasn’t sure who she was. I took advantage of that. Got her to marry me.”

“She could have said no.”

“I could have helped her without marrying her.”

“And after that?”

“She got pregnant. Lost the baby. Pushed me away. Wouldn’t let me comfort her. It was...dreadful. I kept hoping she’d get better, but she didn’t. Finally, I accepted it wasn’t going to work. That’s when I decided to come on this trip.”

They reached the small stream and stood watching the water curl by.

“Would you have regretted not marrying her as much as you appear to regret marrying her?”

He stood thinking about it. Not to answer Sam, but because it was something he ought to know. Except, it was unknowable. As unknowable as whether he’d ever loved the real Clare or a fabrication that existed in his imagination.

“You ever had an operation?” he asked instead.

“No, thank goodness.”

“It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Lets things leak out you can normally keep under wraps.”

“Well, if you can’t talk to the person who’s seen what you’re really like on the inside, who can you talk to?”

Indeed.

“You know,” she continued, sounding solemn. “There are those who say we know we’re becoming wise when we see value in our deepest pains.”

“You manage that yet?” he asked.

“I think it takes a very long time and lots of experiences, both good and bad.”

He wondered if six months in the jungle and two encounters with death would be enough.

Clare was surprised to hear Denise’s voice on the apartment intercom since it had been months since they last spoke. Then she opened the door to find not only Denise but Stephan. Stephan, whose bad day had ended her career.

“My God, Clare, your hair. You’re Odette, in the flesh. It suits you.”

Clare motioned them inside, not letting Denise’s comment wound. Odette. The White Swan. “It’s been awhile.”

“My fault. Totally,” Denise said.

But it wasn’t. After she lost the baby, Clare cut her ties with the past. Not that difficult to do. With the exception of Denise, as far as the company of Danse Classique was concerned, she’d as good as dropped off the planet.

Clare led them to the living room, asking if they wanted something to drink. Playing little Mary Homemaker as if it were a role.

“Nothing for us, Clare. We came because we have fantastic news.” Denise pulled her down to sit next to her on the sofa while Stephan grabbed one of the dining table chairs, swung it around, and straddled it, facing them.

“Stephan had this absolutely, stupendously, fabulous idea.” Denise glanced at Stephan, a proud expression on her face. “We’re doing a fundraiser to help dancers transition into other careers. We’ve got a theater lined up and most of the company is committed to perform, and we thought, that is, Stephan and I, that you might be willing to choreograph a number for the two of us. You know. Like those dances you used to make up after rehearsals?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But, Clare,” Denise said. “It’s a terrific chance to stick a finger in Justin’s eye. We know how rotten he treated you after your injury. If you hadn’t married Rob, well, you would have had a really tough time.”

But she did have a tough time. Marrying Rob hadn’t prevented it, just postponed it.

Stephan picked up the discussion, sounding as earnest as Denise. “What happened to you forced us to think.”

“It shouldn’t end the way it did for you.” Denise’s lip trembled and, for a moment, she stopped speaking. “We’ll all need something to do, eventually.”

“Yeah. Nissie’s right. Not thinking about it doesn’t keep it from happening.”

It was all coming at Clare too fast. Denise turned philosopher and Stephan sticking his neck out with an idea Justin was sure to hate. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I’m leaving, you see. Moving back to Cincinnati.”

“When?” Denise asked.

A good question. Tyrese was still in the hospital and nobody could estimate how long his legal case might drag out, and Clare wasn’t leaving until that was settled.

“Soon.” She rubbed her head then found herself staring at Denise’s hands. On the fourth finger of her left hand was a ring.

Clare reached out and touched it. “What’s this?”

Denise blushed and looked over at Stephan. “We’re getting married.”

“Why, that’s wonderful news.”

“Yeah. Well.” Stephan shifted uncomfortably. “About the benefit?”

Denise gave Clare a steady look. “Don’t you dare say no. We won’t accept it. We need five minutes of choreography to the music of your choice. We’re getting married in June. Consider it a wedding gift.”

“I can’t do it.”

Denise patted her hand. “It’ll be such fun, working together again.” She looked at Stephan, who stood and replaced the chair. Then Denise smiled at Clare, as if she had said yes instead of no.

Clare closed the door behind Denise and Stephan and stood for a moment, clutching her arms around herself. It felt as though a cold breeze was wafting through the apartment, chilling her. She stumbled into Rob’s study and huddled in his easy chair, trying to stop the shaking.

Tyrese and now this.

All of it pushing at her, making her restless and uncertain, just when she’d started to feel normal and purposeful for the first time since her injury.

With her departure from Boston on hold because of Tyrese, Clare began to search for a temporary place to live so she could vacate the apartment before Rob returned. She shared her frustration with Sally during one of their after-school coffees. “Everything I look at is ugh!” She shuddered at the memory of dingy apartments and resident hotels smelling of cats, curry, and cabbage, and most of them far too expensive.

“I have a friend who lives in an upstairs apartment in her parents’ house in West Roxbury. She’s getting married and she wants to make sure the apartment is rented to someone who will be nice to her folks and not throw wild parties.”

Clare shook her head. “No way can I afford a nice apartment in West Roxbury.”

“Let me take you to meet them. Maybe you can work something out.”

The Rosens insisted on renting to Clare.

“It won’t be for long, you know.”

“Honey, you may love it so much you’ll decide not to leave, after all,” Mrs. Rosen said.

Next, on Vinnie’s advice, Clare signed up with a temporary employment agency. They called right away with her first placement—filling in for a maternity leave in the office of the Chairman of the English department at Northeastern.

The perfect position, since she’d be near both Hope House and Children’s Hospital. The only problem would be her proximity to Rob once he returned, although, luckily, his office was in a different building.

After Denise and Stephan’s visit, the thought of going back to where her marriage ended kept nudging at Clare.
 
Nothing about the impulse made any sense, except perhaps as part of the overall effort she was making to understand herself and her relationship with Rob.

On Saturday, she finally gave in to the idea, although she made several wrong turns before she finally found the cottage. Stepping out of the car, she zipped her jacket against the cold fingering its way down her neck, and tucked her hands in her pockets. Sea and sky were both gray today with whitecaps and scudding clouds—weather as uncertain as her mood.

She walked around a dune, then stopped to examine the cottage, something she hadn’t done the first time. Like a child’s drawing, it was a simple square with a peaked roof, a door in the middle, and windows on either side. The tower to the one side was the fanciful kind of addition a child would make.

The blue-gray siding and rose-colored door accented with white trim gave the cottage a pleasant, welcoming demeanor. As she examined it, the steady wind keened through the grass and sea oats, producing a rattling that melded with the sough of the waves coming on shore. A percussion section of sorts to accompany the faint melody that sprang to life in her head—the first time she’d heard her music since the trip to Vieques.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on that music—a piano playing a dancing
allégro
accompanied by a single, solemn violin. She walked to the firmer footing at the edge of the surf, listening to the music, and beginning to picture choreography to complement the notes. Without conscious volition, her body moved, responding to the music.