Dollenganger 04 Seeds of Yesterday (20 page)

She hesitated to gain the strength to go on, while I sat stunned with her acuteness, for I knew the truth when I heard it--who would know better than I?
"Out there in the audience they think most of us are gay. They don't realize we're borne on the music, sustained by the music, made bigger than life by the sets, the applause, the adulation, and least of all do they realize that lovemaking is all that keeps us really nourished. Jory and I used to fall passionately into each other's arms the minute we were alone and only then could we find the release we needed to wind down enough to fall asleep. Now I have no release, nor does he. He won't listen to the music, and I can't turn it off."
"But you have a lover," I said weakly, fully understanding every word she'd said. Once I, too, had flown on the joyous wings of music, and drifted downward, sick because there was no one to love me and lend reality to the fantasy world I lo ed best of all.
"Listen, Cathy, please. Give e a chance to explain. You know how boring it is in t is house, with no one ever visiting, and the only time the phone rings it's Bart they want. You and Chris and Cindy were always in the hospital with Jory, while I was a coward and hung back, scared, so scared he'd see my fright. I tried to read, tried to entertain myself with knitting like you do, but I couldn't do it. I gave up and waited for the telephone to ring. Nobody from New York ever calls me. I took walks, pulled weeds from the garden. Cried in the woods, stared at the sky, watched the butterflies, and cried some more.
"Several nights after we found out that Jory would never walk or dance again, Bart came to my room. He closed the door behind him and just stood there looking at me. I was on the bed, crying as usual. I had ballet music playing, trying to recreate the feeling of how it had been with Jory, and Bart was there, staring at me with those dark, mesmerizing eyes. He stood waiting, just looking at me, until I stopped crying and he came closer to wipe the tears from my face. His eyes turned soft with love when I sat up and just stared at him I'd never seen his eyes so kind, so full of tenderness and compassion. He touched me. My cheek, my hair, my lips. Shivers began to race up and down my spine. He put his hands in my hair, stared into my eyes, and slowly, ever so slowly he inclined his head until his lips brushed over mine. I'd never guessed he could be so gentle. I'd always presumed he'd take a woman by brutal force. Maybe if he had touched me with rough, uncaring hands I would have turned away. But his gentleness was my undoing. He reminded me of Jory."
Oh, I didn't want to hear anymore. I had to stop her before I felt pity and sympathy for her, for Bart.
"I don't want to hear anymore, Melodic," I said coldly, jerking my head so I didn't have to look at the love marks that Jory might notice if she went to him now. "So now when Jory needs you most, you intend to fail him and turn to Bart," I said bitterly. "What a wonderful wife you are, Melodic."
She sobbed louder, covering her face with her hands.
"I remember your wedding day when you stood before the altar and made your vows of fidelity, for better or for worse--and the first worse that turns up, you find a new lover."
While she sniffled and tried to find better words to win me to her side, I thought of how lonely this mountainside home was, how isolated. And we'd left Melodic here thinking she was too upset to want to drive anywhere. Thoughtless about what she and Bart could be doing, never suspecting she'd turn to him-- the very one she'd seemed to dislike so much.
Still sniffling and crying, Melodic fiddled with her strap, while her washed-out eyes took on a certain wariness. "How can you condemn me, Cathy, when you have done even worse?"
Stung, I rose to leave, feeling that my legs had turned to lead along with my heart. She was right. I wasn't any better. I, too, had failed, and more than once, to do the right thing. "Will you forget Bart and stay away from him, and convince Jory you still love him?"
"I do still love Jory, Cathy. It may sound strange, but I love Bart in a different way, a strange way that has nothing at all to do with the way I feel about Jory. Jory was my childhood sweetheart and my best friend. His younger brother was someone I never really liked, but he's changed, Cathy, he has, really. No man who really hates women can make love as he does . . ."
My lips tightened. I stood in the open doorway condemning her, as once my grandmother had condemned me with her pitiless steel-gray eyes alone telling me I was the worst kind of sinner.
"Don't go before I make you understand!" she cried, putting forth her arms and beseeching me. I closed the door, thinking of Joel, and backed against it. "All right. I'll stay, but I won't understand."
"Bart loves me, Cathy, really loves me. When he says it, I can't help but believe him. He wants me to divorce Jory. Bart has said he will marry me." Her tearful voice diminished to a husky whisper. "I don't truthfully know if I can live out my life with a husband confined to a wheelchair."
Sobbing more than before, she broke and from her kneeling position fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. "I'm not strong like you are, Cathy. I can't give Jory the support he needs now. I don't know what to say, or what to do for him. I want to turn back the clock and bring back the Jory I used to have, for I don't know this one. I don't even think I want to know him . . . and I'm ashamed, so ashamed! Now all I want to do is vanish."
My voice took on the steely edge of a razor. "You're not going to escape your responsibilities that easily, Melodie. I'm here to see that you live up to your marriage vows. First, you will cut Bart out of your life. You will never allow him to. touch you again. You will say no every time he tries anything. I am going to confront him again. Yes, I've already faced him down, but I'm going to be tougher. If I have to, I will go to Chris and tell him what's going on. As you know, Chris is a very patient, understanding man with a great deal of control, but he won't condone what you're doing with Bart."
"Please," she cried. "I love Chris like a father! I want him to keep on respecting me."
"Then leave Bart alone!
Think of your child, which should come first. You shouldn't be having sex now anyway, it's sometimes not safe."
Her huge eyes closed, squeezed back the tears; then she was nodding and promising never to make love with Bart again. Even as she vowed,
I
didn't believe her. I didn't believe Bart either when I spoke to him before I went to bed.
Morning came and I hadn't slept at all
.
I rose, tired and listless, putting on a false smile for Jory before I tapped on his door, announcing myself. He invited me to come in. He appeared happier than he had last night for some reason, as if overnight thought had calmed him down. "I'm glad Melodie has you to lean on," said Jory as I helped him to turn over.
Each day Chris, the nurse and I took turns moving his legs and massaging them when the therapist wasn't there to do it for him. This way his muscles wouldn't atrophy. His legs, due to the massaging, had regained a little of their former shape.
I took that as a huge step forward. Hope . . . in this house of dark misery we were always clinging to hope we colored yellow--like the sun we'd seldom seen.
"I was expecting Melodie to come in this morning," Jory said with a bit of wistfulness, "since she failed to even stop by and say good night last night."
Days passed. Melodie disappeared often, as did Bart. My faith in Melodie had eroded. No longer could I meet her eyes and smile. I stopped trying to talk to Bart and turned to Jory for companionship. We watched TV together. We played games together. We competed in silly jigsaw competitions to see who could find the right pieces faster. We sipped wine in the afternoon, grew sleepy by nine and pretended, pretended that everything would work out fine.
There was something about being in bed most of the time that made him exceptionally fatigued. "It's the lack of proper exercise," he said, pulling on the trapeze fastened to his headboard. "At least I'm keeping my arms strong--where did you say Melodie was?"
I put down the bootee I'd just finished and picked up the yarn to make another. In between games I knitted and watched TV. When I wasn't with Jory, I was in my room typing the journal I was keeping of our lives. My last book, I told myself. What more did I have to say? What else could happen to us?
"Mom! Don't you ever listen to me? I asked if you knew where Melodie was, and what she's doing."
"She's in the kitchen, Jory," I said quickly. "Busy preparing just the kind of dinner you like most."
A look of relief brightened his face. "I'm worried about my wife, Mom. She comes in and does small things for me, but her heart doesn't seem in it." A shadow fleeted through his eyes, quick to disappear when he saw my piercing look. "I say to you all the things I need to say to her. It hurts to watch her pulling away from me bit by bit. I want to speak out and say I'm still the same man inside, but I don't think she wants to know that. I believe she wants to think that I'm different because I can no longer dance or walk, and that makes it easier for her to break away and release all the ties that bind us. She never talks to me about the future. She hasn't even discussed names for our child. I've been looking in books for just the right names for our son or daughter. I tell myself, like you said, that she's pregnant, and I've been reading up on that subject, too. Just to make up for my former lack of interest . . ."
On and on he talked, convincing himself with his own words that it was her pregnancy that was responsible for all the changes in his wife.
I cleared my throat and used my chance. "Jory, I've been giving this serious thought. Your doctor said once you'd be better off in the hospital than staying here and having someone come to help with your rehabilitation. You and Melodie can rent a small apartment near the hospital, and she can drive you each day to Rehab. It's almost winter, Jory. You don't know about winters in this western mountainous part of Virginia. They're freezing. The wind never stops blowing. It snows often. The roads leading here from the village are often blocked. The state keeps the highways and expressways open, but the small private roads to this estate are often closed. I'm thinking of the days when your nurse won't be able to come, or your physical therapist, and you need daily exercise. If you live near the hospital, all your physical needs can easily be met."
He stared at me in hurt surprise. "You mean you want to get rid of me?"
"Of course not. You've got to confess you don't like this house."
His eyes darted to the windows where the rain was coming down hard, driving dead leaves and lateblooming roses into the earth. All the summer birds had flown away.
The wind whipped around the house, finding its way through small crevices, shrieking and howling in this replica just as much as it had in the old, old original.
Jory said from behind me, as I just continued staring out, "I like what you and Mel did to these rooms. You've given me a haven safe from the scorn of the world, and right now, I don't want to leave and face those who used to admire my grace and skill. I don't want to be separated from you and Dad. I feel we've grown closer than we've ever been, and the holidays are coming up.
"And if the roads from here to there might be closed for my nurse and my therapist, they'll also be closed for you and Dad. Don't put me out, Mom, when I most want to stay. I need you. I need Dad. I even need this chance to grow closer to my brother. I've been thinking a lot about Bart recently.
Sometimes he comes and sits nearby, and we talk. I think, at last, we're beginning to be the kind of friends we were before your mother moved into that house next door, way back when he was nine . . ."
Uneasily I fidgeted, thinking of Bart's dual face, coming in to be his brother's friend and seducing his wife behind his back.
"If it's what you want, Jory, stay. But give it more thought. Chris and I could move to the city just to be with you and Melodie, and we can make things as comfortable for you there as they are here."
"But you can't give me another brother at this late date, can you, Mom? Bart's the only brother I'm going to have. Before I die, or he does, I want him to know I care what happens to him. I want to see him happy. I want him to have the kind of married life I share with Mel. Someday he's got to wake up to the fact that money can't buy everything, and most certainly, it can't buy love. Not the kind of love Mel and I have."
He looked thoughtful, as I inwardly cried for him and his "love"; then a blush rose up from the neck of his sports shirt covered with a red sweater that put color in his wan cheeks. "At least, I should add, the kind of marriage we used to have. It's not much of a marriage now, I'm sorry to admit. But that's not her fault."
A week later I was alone in my room, furiously writing in the journal, when I heard the pounding of Chris's footfalls as he ran and burst in on me. "Cathy," he said excitedly, throwing off his topcoat, hurling it to a chair, "I've got wonderful news! You know that experiment I was assisting with? There's been a breakthrough." He pulled me up from my desk, shoved me into a chair before the roaring fire. He explained in minute detail all that he and other scientists were trying to accomplish. "It means I'll be away from home five nights a week, now that winter's come. The snow isn't cleared until around noon, and that gives me so little time in the lab. But don't look sad, I'll be here on weekends. But if you object, tell me honestly. My first duty is to you and our family."
His excitement over this new project was so evident I couldn't dash his enthusiasm with my fears. He'd given so much to me, to Jory and Bart, and received so little appreciation. My arms went automatically around his neck. I scanned over his dear, familiar face. I saw faint etchings around his blue eyes that I hadn't noticed before. My fingers in his hair found silver that was coarser in texture than the gold. There were a few gray hairs in his eyebrows.
"If this is going to make you unhappy, I can always quit and forget about research, and devote all my time to my family. But I'll be very grateful if you give me this opportunity. I thought when I gave up my practice in California that I would never find anything to interest me more, but I was wrong. Perhaps this was meant to be--but, if necessary, I
can
give it up and stay here with my family "
Give up medicine entirely? He'd centered the major portion of his life on the study of medicine. To feel useful gave added zest to his life. To keep him here just to please myself, doing nothing that would contribute to mankind at this crucial point when he felt vulnerable by being middle-aged, would destroy him.