Life Penalty (22 page)

Gail wondered how Jennifer was doing with Mark and his wife. Would Julie be there when Jennifer returned from school today? Would she remember to get Jennifer up in plenty of time on Monday morning or would she be too busy rushing to her own job? Julie worked as a secretary for an accountant. Would she have enough time and energy left at the end of the day to be bothered with a moody teenage girl? Though Jennifer adored her father, would he be strict enough with her about her homework and her bedtime? Would he make sure that she and Eddie stuck to their curfew?

Several times during the lengthy drive, Gail had been tempted to ask Jack to turn the car around and go home, but then she reminded herself that they would be back on
Monday evening and that Jennifer would undoubtedly manage fine without her for a couple of days. Probably better, she thought, recalling their frequent bickering of late.

Gail also realized how important these next few days were for her and Jack. He was right—they did need some time together alone. They were drawing further apart from each other with each new days, retreating rather than risking open argument, burying their anger and their guilt rather than confronting it, or each other.

It wasn’t Jack’s fault, Gail recognized. He had made repeated attempts to draw her out. At first, she had also tried, but as much as she admired and relied on his strength, she also found herself resenting it. Though she had been the one to press for a speedy return to their normal lives, she begrudged him his ability adapt so readily, to simply pick himself up and carry on.

Stop it, she told herself, knowing she was being unfair. There was no reason for her to be angry at Jack (or at Jennifer, for that matter) because he had somehow been able to adjust to the tragedy. If anyone had reason to be angry, if anyone had a right to assign blame, it was Jack, not herself. How could he
not
blame her? She wondered. He
had
to blame her; he
had
to be thinking each time he looked at her that if only she’d been at home on that last April afternoon, Cindy would still be alive. Every time his eyes confronted hers, she felt his unfocused distaste, just as each time she tried to reach out to him, she resented … what?

Gail glanced at her husband as he walked along beside her, his hand in hers, his attention seemingly devoted to the local scenery. Was his mind really on these old clapboard houses? Or was he seeing, as she was, Cindy’s face behind each curtain, Cindy’s smile in each window? Could he hear their daughter’s careless giggle in each lingering laugh of a passerby?

“They painted that house,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“That house over there. Second one from the corner. They painted it white. Remember? It used to be blue.”

“That’s too bad. I liked it blue.”

“So did I.”

“I guess they felt it was time for a change.”

“And those people cut down some trees,” Jack added, pointing across the road.

“‘It looks nicer this way,” she said, not remembering how it had looked before.

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “I liked it with the trees.”

“Gives them more sun like this.”

“I suppose,” he shrugged, taking a deep breath. “I love the smell of this town.”

Gail took a deep breath the way Jack had done, but with the intake came a sharp stabbing sensation in her chest.

“You okay?” he asked quickly. “Want to quit? Go inside somewhere for a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’m enjoying the walk,” she told him, trying to sound convincing, knowing he was no longer so easily fooled.

“Do you want to walk along the beach?” he suggested.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“It might be too cold,” he cautioned.

“We can always turn back,” she said, taking comfort in the small choices that were left them, as she had earlier sought refuge in their small talk.

He was right—the waterfront was cold, even unpleasant, though each pretended for a time that it wasn’t. Jack had such a kind face, Gail thought, studying him, his nose strong and prominent in profile, his cheeks red with the wind.

Another couple passed them, nodding a chilled hello as they burrowed their faces against the collars of their jackets.

“Crazy tourists,” Jack laughed. “You don’t see any of the natives out walking the beach in this cold.”

Gail’s eyes followed the other couple as they hurried along the sand, imagining herself in the other woman’s place, wondering what thoughts were filtering through her mind as she strolled with her arm through her husband’s, in much the same way Gail walked beside Jack. Just another ordinary American couple, probably entertaining similar thoughts about herself and Jack, Gail surmised, trying to guess what secrets were hiding behind the woman’s rosy cheeks and smiling eyes, knowing there were always secrets. And scars. Gail knew that things were rarely the way they seemed, that happiness was only a momentary illusion. Walk a mile in my shoes, Gail thought and then, judge not lest you be judged.

She shook away the unwelcome thought with a prolonged shrug of her shoulders. Jack immediately let go of her hand and put his arm around her, pulling her close against him, trying to make. her warm.

“Let’s go back,” he said. “I’ve had enough.” Gail nodded silently. “Not quite the same when it’s cold, is it?”

Gail said nothing. They both knew that the weather had nothing to do with things not being the same.

They returned to the tourist home and spent half an hour talking with Mrs. Mayhew. She had wondered about them, she told them, when they failed to make their usual summer arrangements. The summer season had been slightly slower than usual. Local residents were blaming it on the economy, she embellished. Things were slower all over the country. What could you do?

She asked about Jack’s business—had the economy affected it as well? Jack told her there seemed to be no shortage of sick animals, although people were cutting down on certain luxury expenses, such as pet grooming.
Mrs. Mayhew then inquired after their family. Jack explained softly that there’d been a tragedy, that their child had died. He didn’t say how; Mrs. Mayhew didn’t ask. The conversation drifted to an uneasy stop and Jack led Gail upstairs to their room.

How different this rooming house was from the ones she was more recently used to frequenting, Gail thought as they walked down the warm, softly papered hallway. An expensive narrow rug ran the length of the dark hardwood floor; a small antique table with a suitably decorative lamp sat in the corner, its frosted bulb casting a welcome and unobtrusive light.

Their room was equally pleasant, done in well-modulated shades of peach and brown. The bed was queen-size and felt as comfortable as it looked. Folk art from the Canadian maritime provinces hung on the walls. Gail took an appreciative glance around. She had always loved this room.

“Remember that little dog I was telling you about?” Jack asked, as he removed his jacket. Gail said that she did. “They finally got around to mating her. It’ll be a couple of months, of course, until she has her litter, and then six weeks after that before they’re ready to give any of them away. Have you given it any thought?”

“Not really,” Gail said, feeling guilty. “But I will.”

Jack walked over and stood very close to her. “I don’t want to push you,” he said, his hands reaching around her, and Gail knew that he wasn’t just talking about the dog.

“You’re not,” she told him, knowing that this moment could be put off no longer, that the time had come for them to make love. She lifted her eyes to his and watched as he lowered his mouth onto hers, her arms stretching under his and around his back.

The kiss was gentle, their lips barely parted. She heard him moan, felt his hands as they stroked her back, careful
not to squeeze her too hard. He kissed the side of her face, her eyes, her neck, slowly circling back to her lips, this time his touch a little stronger, his mouth now open, his tongue gently searching for her own.

His hands traveled down across her jeans, cupping her buttocks, then running across her stomach up to her breasts. A few seconds later, she felt his fingers at the buttons of her blouse, stumbling over them as if he were a teenager, shyly tugging the garment off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. He fumbled with the hook on her bra, and for a brief instant, they giggled with the absurdity of what they were doing, until Gail reached behind her and undid the clasp herself.

Jack fell to his knees, his hands lifting up to her breasts, burying his head between them, Gail’s hands clutching at his hair. She felt the snap on her jeans come open, heard the sound of her zipper as it separated, felt the tug on her legs as Jack pulled off the heavy denim.

She couldn’t remember when he had removed his own clothes, had no recollection of how they had gotten over to the bed, and was not able to pinpoint the precise moment that her stomach began to churn inside her. She had not consciously thrust Cindy’s face before her tightly closed eyes; she had tried hard to push away the memory of last April, to not compare what was happening to her now to what had happened to her child six months ago.

And yet it was the same, she realized, opening her eyes wide and looking up at Jack, understanding now the resentment that up until this moment she had been unable to consciously define. It was his very maleness that she resented. This so-called act of love was the same act that had been forced on their daughter just prior to her death.

And suddenly, all she felt was pain, her own pain and that of her daughter, and she cried out in anguish.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, alarmed. “Did I hurt you?” He pulled out of her when he realized she was crying. “What is it, Gail? Please tell me what it is.”

“I can’t,” she cried. “I just can’t do this.” She lowered her face to her knees and sobbed. ‘“I tried, Jack. I wanted to. Please believe me. I really wanted to. I love you. I wanted to be able to make love to you, to have you make love to me, but I just can’t.”

“I pushed,” Jack said, instantly beratinvg himself. “I shouldn’t have tried to force things …”

“You didn’t force anything. It’s me, Jack. Not you. You’ve been everything you could possibly be. You’ve been patient and loving and good … and it’s not you. There’s nothing you could have done any differently.”

“I could have waited.”

“No,” Gail said, shaking her head sadly. “It wouldn’t make any difference. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. A year from now I will still feel the same way. “He tried to protest but her words stopped him. “I can’t make love to you now … I won’t be able to make love to you later, no matter how patient you are, no matter how long you wait … because all I can think of when you touch me is that this is what that monster did to our beautiful little girl. All I can see are that animal’s hands all over her. I can feel his weight on top of her tiny body, and I can feel him pushing his way inside her, and my God, I’d give anything not to feel this way, but I can’t help it. The sight of your naked body …” She began crying uncontrollably now. “I tried. I thought I could do it. For a few minutes, I was able to forget, but then it all started coming back—the loathing, the disgust, the shame. And I know that I will never be able to make love again because the image of that man with our child will never leave me, and no matter how well I am able to suppress it during the day or when I’m alone, being with you this way brings it all back to me.
Oh God, leave me, Jack,” she cried, seeing that he was crying now as well. “Find someone else and start a new life. Find someone who can love you the way you need to be loved, the way you deserve to be loved, you dear, sweet man.” Jack started to speak, but her fingertips against his lips stopped him again. “Please, listen to me, Jack. It’s not fair to you. I know that you love me, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to go on letting you think that there’s a chance I might ever feel differently …”

“You might—”

“No … I won’t. Leave me, Jack. Find somebody else. I’m not the same person I was before. I can never be that person again. Find someone else. I’ll understand.”

“You will?” he asked, twisting around and pulling a sheet over his torso, “then understand this, lady. Understand that I love you and that nothing that you say or do, or don’t do, for that matter, is going to make me leave you. You’re stuck with me whether you want me or not, because I love you and I need you, and not only that, damn it, I really
like
you. And even if that maniac has robbed me of my daughter and maybe even my wife, he is not going to take away the best friend that I have in this world, because I’m not going to let him. He’s taken enough from us, Gail. Please don’t let him take any more.”

Gail reached over and cradled Jack’s head in her lap. They sat that way until it got dark and then they crawled underneath the covers. By the time Gail closed her eyes to sleep, she was more convinced than ever that Jack deserved more, that he would be better off without her.

T
he phone rang as Gail was putting on her coat to leave the house.

“‘Hello,” she said, hurrying her voice, hoping that whoever was on the other end would instinctively grasp that she had no time to talk. She was anxious to get into Newark, to reestablish her routine.

“Well, hallelujah!” Laura’s voice responded immediately. “I don’t believe I finally reached you. Where have you been?”

“Jack and I drove up to the Cape for a few days. We just got back last night.”

“That’s great. How was it?”

“Cold,” Gail replied, ignoring the more obvious implications of the question.

“Where else have you been?” Laura asked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve been calling every day for weeks.

You’re never home.”

“I’ve been looking for a job,” Gail said, more comfortable now with lies than with the truth. “No luck yet, but …”

“Well, I think that’s wonderful. Where have you been looking?”

“Everywhere,” Gail laughed. “But don’t say anything
to anyone yet, Jack or anybody. He doesn’t know. I wanted to surprise him.”

“I won’t say a word. Can I help you in any way?

You need a character reference?”