For Love (35 page)

Ryan is almost next to her on the ladder – it startles her – painting the window to his bedroom.

‘You look starving,’ Lottie says, holding up the white paper bag with the sandwiches in it. ‘I have lunch.’

He starts down. ‘I actually ate a couple of hours ago, so I’m not. Starving. But I’ll take some coffee if you want to make it.’

When he comes in, Lottie is already at the sink, rinsing out the coffeepot. She puts the kettle on to boil. ‘Why didn’t you make coffee?’ she asks.

‘I did. It was horrible,’ he says. ‘Hey, where did you
go
? I thought you were sleeping late. Then I thought you were really sleeping late. And then I thought you must be
dead, and I checked on you and you weren’t even there.’

‘The Cameron chase again. I found him.’

‘Oh. How
is
he?’

‘Well, I didn’t talk to him, actually. But I know he’s okay, which is the main thing.’

‘But where has he been this whole time?’

‘Oh, out and around. A little crazy, as you might suspect.’ She thinks of his voice on the telephone. ‘But he seems to be back to the normal routine now.’ She spoons the
grounds into the paper filter. ‘He visited Mother today.’ This is true. It sounds normal, and it is true.

But Ryan is barely listening. ‘Well, good,’ he says. ‘And I found out about the service. Jessica’s service.’

‘And?’

‘And it’s tomorrow, at twelve-thirty. I wrote it all down. Elizabeth came over and told me. She wants you to call her when you get in. Like, now.’

‘Thanks.’

‘She said it was very important, quote unquote.’

‘Okay. I will in a bit.’

‘I just deliver the messages.’

He goes into his room. Lottie hears him washing up. He comes back bent forward from the waist, his hands and face dripping. He uses three or four paper towels to dry himself.

‘You look as though you’re just about done out there,’ she says. ‘True?’

‘When I finish these windows. I figure a second coat tomorrow, and that’s that. Unless you want me to do any more inside.’

‘I don’t think so, hon. There are a few more things I can do. But we’re not about to start anything radical.’

‘That’s what I thought. So. I’ve been trying to decide whether I want to go directly home, with you, and
then
come back east and visit Dad; or stop to see him on the way
to Chicago.’

‘Well, I don’t know exactly when I’ll be heading back to Chicago.’ The water is starting to boil. She’s glad to have to turn her back to him.

‘Oh.’

‘Of course, you can go on ahead of me. I’m sure Jack will have no problem with that.’ She pours the water into the grounds, watches it begin to dribble through.

‘I don’t think so, actually. I mean, no insult intended, it’s just that it is his house, you know. I just . . . I don’t know. I’d rather you were there.’

‘There’s a room all set for you. All your stuff.’ She turns around now and rests her buttocks against the sink.

‘No. I know. It’s just, you know. The car and all. And . . . well, I’d just be more comfortable.’

‘I understand.’

‘So. So I guess i’ll go to Dad’s for a week or so. That’s about what he’s been talking about, lengthwise.’ He gets a cup out of the cupboard and comes to
stand by the pot. The dripping has slowed. He looks at Lottie. His face seems vaguely fearful to her. ‘Think you’ll be heading back by then?’

‘Yes,’ she says lightly.

So that’s when she’ll do it. Good. And then she’ll see. She imagines her return: she imagines Jack, absurdly, standing as he was, in the driveway with the old dog, watching her
approach, just as he watched her depart.

Well, whatever happens, she says to herself, Ryan deserves some time in Chicago. He deserves to see his friends, to move in with his books and trophies and yearbooks and sports equipment and old
letters and homework; all the stuff he’s religiously saved all his life with an avidity and affection that has always startled Lottie.

Together they watch the last drops filter through. Then Lottie lifts the paper cone and grounds, still dripping a little, and throws them away.

Ryan pours a cup and sips it, carefully. ‘Okay. So that’s set. I’ll call Dad in the next day or two, then. Let him know.’

Lottie watches him for a moment. ‘You going to work some more?’ she asked.

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘I think I’ll come out and help you, hon.’

‘You’re supposed to call Elizabeth.’

‘I got the message, thank you. I
will
call her, later.’

‘Okay.’ He shrugs.

‘I’ll go change into painter’s stuff,’ Lottie says.

‘Fine with me,’ he says, and heads, carefully balancing his full cup, toward the back door.

While Lottie is upstairs, though, Elizabeth comes over. Lottie hears her in the hall, calling, the way she did earlier in the summer.

For a second or two, Lottie thinks of not answering, simply hiding. She doesn’t want to hear about Cameron’s midnight visit. She doesn’t want to defend taking Elizabeth’s
letter, or to talk about what Larry – Lawrence – was doing over here for so long last night. She doesn’t even want to discuss the lies Elizabeth has told about Jessica and Ryan,
about Cameron and Jessica.

But somehow she’s been implicated in all this; somehow there is this scene to play out too. And then, she tells herself, she
will
be finished. ‘I’m up here,’ she
yells back.

She hears Elizabeth come to the foot of the stairs. ‘Shall I come up?’

‘
No
. No, I’m changing. I’ll be right down.’

She takes her time, carefully folding the clothes she’s removed. Finally, carrying her paint-dotted, worn-out running shoes, she starts down the stairs.

Elizabeth begins to talk before Lottie has reached the landing. ‘Charlotte, listen, you have
got
to do something about Cameron. I came over earlier. I’ve been frantic. I need
your help.’

Lottie raises her hand, as if to ward this off, to slow Elizabeth down. ‘This stuff is between you and Cameron, Elizabeth. Whatever’s going on is strictly between you two.
There’s nothing I can do – that I’m going to do.’ Lottie sits down on the stairs and starts to put one of her shoes on.

Elizabeth is silent. Lottie ties her shoe, not looking at her. Then Elizabeth says urgently, ‘Char, please,’ and Lottie lifts her head. Elizabeth’s eyes are glistening.
‘You’ve got to listen. He’s gone crazy, Charlotte. He sneaked into the house last night. I . . . In the middle of the night, I woke up. I heard a noise, and there he was. Just
standing there, in the bedroom. God! Looking at me! At Lawrence and me. I was terrified.’

‘Of what, exactly?’ Lottie’s voice is calm. She slips her other foot into its shoe.

‘What do you mean? Of everything! Of him, for one. Of what in God’s name he was doing. Of Lawrence’s waking and seeing him, and . . . who knows? A fight? I mean, what did he
want
? What if Lawrence had seen him?’ Elizabeth’s hands are in motion all this while, the silver bracelets glinting.

‘What
did
he want?’

Elizabeth stops. She stares at Lottie. ‘How can you be so calm? I find this . . . This is very irritating, Charlotte. Your response. This is crazy, his behavior. And you know it.
He’s out of control.’

‘What do you think he wanted?’ Lottie repeats. She bends to tie the other shoe.

‘How would I know? I called him, actually, this morning, and for once he answered the phone, and I asked him just that. And he said some ridiculous thing about wanting to make himself
look at it
. At us. Jesus.’

‘Well, so that’s what he wanted.’ She pulls the bow tight.

Elizabeth’s face changes, watching her. She says, ‘Charlotte, you think this is crazy too. Don’t tell me that you don’t. This is absolutely nuts.’

Lottie gestures back toward the kitchen. ‘I have some stuff I have to do now, Elizabeth. Do you want to come out and talk to me while I paint?’

‘
No
,’ Elizabeth says. ‘Charlotte, look. What I would like is for you to get him under control. I have one more day here to get through, just this service tomorrow, and
then I’m gone. And I’m just terrified. I’m really scared.’

‘That Lawrence will find out.’

‘No!’ she wailed. ‘No, not even that. Lawrence is gone, I told you that. I mean, that’s the point, really. I’m alone now. I’m alone and I’m
terrified.’

Lottie stands up. She’s on the third step. She’s taller than Elizabeth up here. She likes the feeling. ‘Elizabeth, I’d like you to try to understand that I haven’t
got a prayer of
controlling
Cameron, as you put it. I can’t even get in touch with him. And if he’s hurt or angry, or whatever . . . I don’t know, maybe he has a right to
be. You’ve treated him shabbily. You’ve been a real shit through this whole thing. No one else has mattered, not Cam or Jessica or even Ryan, for God’s sake. You’ve lied to
everyone around you. Telling Jessica’s mother she went out to moon over Ryan.’

Elizabeth’s face is livid, suddenly. Her hand rises and rests on her bosom, the carefully painted nails set wide apart.

‘Oh, that’s the least of it, of course,’ Lottie says, disgusted with herself. ‘I mean, that can’t hurt Ryan, really. Or anyone, I suppose, for her to think that.
But you’ve just been so damned . . . self-serving, at every turn.’

Elizabeth turns away. She draws a slow breath and exhales loudly. Then she says, in a small voice, ‘There’s a lot at stake for me, Char.’

‘And not for Cameron?’

She looks directly at Lottie. ‘This is my marriage. It’s my life. It’s my children’s life.’

‘Isn’t it possible, just possible, that he sees this as his life? That he sees his life, in fact, as – preposterously, of course! – of equal importance to yours?’
Lottie smiles a harsh smile.

Elizabeth is shaking her head. ‘Somehow he has to know, he had to know, that it was a fling. It was a summer romance. We never talked about the future, I never lied to him. If he thought
otherwise, he deluded himself. Himself.’

‘Well, then. I think he may have deluded himself. What a pity.’

‘That tone is hardly helpful, Charlotte.’

Lottie snorts, a bitter laugh. ‘Let me say, Elizabeth, that I feel no obligation to be helpful to you. I was helpful to you with your husband.’ She pauses for a second; she’s
aware of a flush rising to her face. ‘Your little soirée. And then I found out that you’d led him to believe Cameron and Jessica were somehow involved. And I still kept my mouth
shut, which was asking a lot. Or doing a lot. Unasked. So the idea that I now have any further obligation to you just . . . boggles my mind. For God’s sake.’ Lottie comes down the
steps. ‘And now I have to go help Ryan, if you don’t mind.’

‘I do mind.’ Elizabeth is standing in the way.

‘Well, that’s too bad, then.’ Lottie moves to step around her, but Elizabeth steps sideways.

‘No; you need to listen to me for just a minute. What I’m telling you is important. Charlotte, listen!’ Her voice shrills.

Lottie moves past her, crosses the dining room. Elizabeth is walking directly behind her. ‘You have to talk to him. Listen. I’m warning you, he’s dangerous, Char.’ Her
voice rises as she speaks.

As she’s stepping toward the screen door, Lottie looks back at Elizabeth.

‘He is; he’s dangerous. Charlotte, in San Francisco – listen to me!’ Her voice rips, and she grabs Lottie’s elbow. Her fingernails dig in, and Lottie cries out.
Through the old screening, she sees Ryan rise and turn to look in at her, confused, and then start to move up the steps; but freeze in the dappled sunlight when he hears Elizabeth, behind Lottie,
begin to cry – a raw, gasping sound.

‘In San Francisco I had . . . to get a restraining order. Do you understand what that means? I had to go to the police.’ She releases Lottie; she covers her face. ‘I had to
tell them he meant to hurt me. That he wouldn’t leave me alone.’ Lottie has turned to watch her. ‘Oh, God.’

Lottie stands motionless, feeling imprisoned, trapped. After a minute Elizabeth’s body stills, she wipes at her eyes. When she speaks again, her voice is whispery but under some control.
‘He followed me, everywhere I went. For two whole days. And then he broke in. He was yelling outside. I locked everything; all the windows too. I thought he’d have to go away if I
didn’t answer. But he broke the glass, he broke in. Do you understand? He . . . pushed me around, he was yelling. He was there for four or five hours. I don’t know. He wouldn’t
leave, he wouldn’t let me use the telephone. And when he fell asleep, I sneaked out. Out of my own apartment. I had to get the police to come back to my own apartment, to get my thesis. To
get my thesis.’ She laughs suddenly and wipes her eyes again with the back of her hand. ‘Can you believe it? My thesis – it was my life at that point. And I thought he would
destroy it. I thought he wanted to destroy my life. I thought he would want to hurt me so badly that he would tear it up. The main thing on my mind was my fucking thesis.’ Elizabeth steps to
the counter and peels off a paper towel, wipes her face with it and blows her nose. ‘I had to stay with friends until he had left town. He wouldn’t leave me alone.’ She and Lottie
stand for a moment, not looking at each other. Then she speaks again. ‘And now he’s doing the same stuff again. The same thing. Charlotte, I don’t want to call the police. I
don’t want to get him into trouble. I mean, it seems so risky for him, with Jessica’s death and all. You’ve just got to help me.’

Lottie looks out the screen door. Ryan has sat down; she can see the top of his head just above the stoop. She looks back at Elizabeth. ‘I just want to ask you,’ Lottie says,
‘why you ever would have started up again with him this summer after all that. I mean, what were you thinking of?’

Elizabeth lifts her hands. ‘Oh, Charlotte, you saw the shape I was in. I wasn’t thinking, I was just reacting. Grabbing. Someone who loved you that much . . . wouldn’t
you?’ Lottie doesn’t answer. ‘I needed him,’ Elizabeth says. ‘And how was I to know? I mean, that was
years
ago. We’re grownups now. I never could have
imagined anything . . . that he would be so . . . unchanged.’