Loving (18 page)

The plane touched down gently at Kennedy Airport, and Bettina stared out the window woodenly as they rolled toward the gate. She had just spent a week in the hospital, and she had only been discharged that afternoon. The day after her miscarriage she had called the theater company and explained that she was in the hospital and the doctors had ordered her to rest for three months. It wasn't true but it got her off the hook, and a new assistant director was flown out from New York, a young man who was very sorry for her and delivered all of her things from the hotel to the hospital room. Anthony had only come once, looking uncomfortable. He said he was sorry, which they both knew was a lie. She kept the meeting businesslike and explained that she would call an attorney as soon as she reached New York the following week. She would give him the benefit of waiting to file for another three weeks, and he could keep his green card with her blessing. And then, looking at him with a look of bottomless revulsion, she asked him to go. He stopped at the door to say something to her, but he didn't say it. He only shrugged, and then walked out, softly closing the door. After that he didn't call her. Nothing more was said. And two days later, with Bettina still in the hospital, the road show moved on.

The rest of her hospital stay was uneventful. She felt sad and lonely, not for Anthony, but for the child who had died. It had been a baby girl, they told her, and day after day she lay in bed and sobbed. It wouldn't help, the nurses told her, but they understood she had to get it out. But by the end of the week Bettina realized that it wasn't just the baby. It was everything. She was crying for her father and the way he had left her, for Ivo and what she had done to him, and then the firm way in which he in turn had put her out, for Anthony and what he had done for his green card, and now at last for this lost child. Now she had nothing and no one. No baby, no husband, no home, and no man. No one wanted her. She had no one. And at twenty-six she felt like she was at the end of her life.

She still felt that way as she unhooked her seat belt in the plane and slowly wandered down the aisle. For her everything seemed to be moving strangely slowly. She felt as though she were underwater and she didn't really care. She picked up her bag at the baggage claim, got a porter, and went outside to find a cab. Forty-five minutes later she was unlocking the door to Anthony's apartment. She had promised herself that she would pack in a hurry and go to a hotel, but as she looked around the apartment again it was awful, and she started to cry. She fumbled in drawers, emptied cupboards, and packed the mountains of clothes in her closet. The job was done in less than two hours. She hadn't lived there that long with him. Not quite six months. And seven years with Ivo. Two divorces. She was beginning to feel like used merchandise....

She gathered all her bags near the doorway, and then slowly walked downstairs to find a cab. With luck she'd find one who could be bribed to climb up to the apartment and help her bring down all her bags. As it turned out, she was lucky and a young cabbie stopped when she waved. It took them four trips together, but they got everything, and when they reached the hotel she had asked for, she handed him a twenty-dollar tip. Leaving the loft had been oddly unemotional. Suddenly she just didn't care. All she cared about was herself. What a failure she was, what a fool she had been. Thinking of Anthony, she felt like a clown.

She should have been used to hotels by then after the road show, but she found as she sat in this one that all it did was make her cry more. She wanted to call Ivo, but she knew that wasn't right. There was no one for her to talk to, not even Steve, who was out of town. She tried to concentrate on the paper so she could find an apartment, but the paper blurred in front of her as she cried. Finally she couldn't stand it, she picked up the phone and dialed. She held her breath, feeling stupid. What if he hung up on her, what if he reproached her, what if-- But she knew that Ivo wouldn't do that. She waited for Mattie's familiar voice, and then she was startled when she heard a voice she didn't know.

"Mattie?"

"Who is this?" the voice answered.

"I ... it's ... who is this? Where's Mattie?"

And after a pause, "She died two months ago. I'm Elizabeth. Who are you?"

"I ... oh, I'm so sorry...." Bettina could feel a fresh wave of tears coming on. "Is Mister Stewart there?"

"Who is this?" Elizabeth was obviously growing annoyed.

"This is ... Mrs. Pearce, I mean Mrs. Stewart, I mean--oh, never mind. Is he there?"

"No. He's in Bermuda."

"Oh. When will he be back?"

"Not until the first of April. He's rented a house. Would you like the number?" But suddenly Bettina knew she didn't want it. It wasn't right. She hung up and sighed softly.

She spent a restless, anguished night in the hotel, and when she awoke the next morning, it had started to snow. It seemed odd to her because in the rest of the country, she had seen the beginnings of spring. Now she was suddenly plunged back into winter, with snowstorms, and nowhere to go. It made her suddenly reconsider. What if she left New York? If she went somewhere else entirely? But where would she go? She had no friends anywhere, no ties to any other city, and then, oddly, she found her mind wandering to California, to her fairy-tale week in San Francisco with Anthony, and suddenly she knew that what she wanted was to go there. Even without him, it was a place where she knew she could be at peace.

Feeling wildly adventurous, she called the airline, and then half an hour later she went to the bank. Carefully she put all the jewelry she kept there in a leather tote bag, and she smiled to herself. Maybe this meant she was never coming back. This time it was she who was leaving, she who had made a decision.

She took all of her bags with her to the airport; she had brought everything that she owned. And before leaving the hotel in New York, she called the hotel where she had stayed with Anthony and asked for a room with a view of the bay. Maybe it was foolish to stay in the same hotel, but she didn't really think so. It had been so lovely, and it didn't matter what memories she had there. They no longer meant anything to her. And neither did he.

The flight to San Francisco was uneventful, and by now she was so used to changing towns every few days that it didn't strike her odd to have left the snow that morning and find herself now in the midst of a blossoming spring on the West Coast. San Francisco was as beautiful as she remembered it, and she settled into her room with a contented smile. It was only that night that the ghosts began to assail her. She took two aspirin and a glass of water. And then in desperation, an hour later, she went for a walk. She came back to the hotel and took two more aspirin. And finally at three in the morning she took a sleeping pill from the bottle they'd given her when she left the hospital. They had predicted that she might have trouble sleeping for a while. But even the sleeping pill didn't help her, and she stared at the bottle for what seemed like hours. And then suddenly she knew the answer, and she wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. It was crazy to have come all the way to San Francisco when what she had wanted she had had with her in New York. But she hadn't thought of it. And suddenly she smiled to herself. Now she understood it all. And it was so simple ... so simple.... She walked into the bathroom, poured a glass of water, and then one by one she took all the sleeping pills in the bottle. There were exactly twenty-four.

There were bright lights overhead, which seemed to zoom down on her and then fade and disappear. There were machines whirring, and she could hear someone retching, and there was a strange sensation of something hard pushed down her throat. She couldn't remember ... couldn't remember ... and then at last she did. She was in the hospital ... she was having a miscarriage ... and then again she drifted off to sleep.

It seemed years later when she woke up and found herself staring into the face of a strange man. He was tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed, attractive, and he was wearing a pale-yellow button-down shirt and a white cotton coat. And then she remembered. She was in the hospital. But she wasn't sure why.

"Mrs. Stewart?" He looked at her questioningly, and she shook her head. She suddenly remembered, though, that she had not gotten around to changing her insurance card since she had married Anthony.

"No, Pearce." She answered hoarsely, surprised at her own voice, and then she shook her head distractedly again. "I mean ... Daniels. Bettina Daniels." But that sounded strange too. She hadn't used that name in so long.

"Quite a collection of names you have, isn't it?" He didn't look disapproving, only surprised. "Mind if I sit down and we talk for a while?" And now she understood why he wanted to talk to her. "Let's talk about last night." Her eyes drifted away from his, and she looked out the window. In the distance all she could see was fog, hanging low over the Golden Gate Bridge.

"Where am I?" But she was stalling and he knew it. He mentioned Credence Hospital and she nodded with a small smile. And then nervously she looked at him. "Do we really have to discuss all this?"

But he nodded soberly. "Yes, we do. I don't know how long you've been out here, and I don't know what the procedures are in New York, but unless you want to be kept here for psychiatric treatment for a while, I think we'd better have a talk." She looked at him somberly and nodded again. "What happened last night?"

"I took some sleeping pills," she croaked. And then she looked at him. "Why is my voice so funny?"

He smiled at her and for the first time he actually looked young. He was very good-looking, but also terribly serious, and he didn't look like much fun. "We pumped your stomach. The tube we used will make your voice sound raspy for a few days. Now, about the sleeping pills, did you do it on purpose or was it an accident?"

She hesitated for a long moment, not sure what she should say. "I--I'm not sure."

He looked at her sternly. "Miss Stewart ... Daniels, whatever your name is, I'm not going to play games with you. Either we're going to talk about this or we're not. I want to know from you what happened, or I'm simply going to put on your chart that you stay here for observation for a week."

Now she was angry. Her eyes blazed as she croaked at him, and he had to suppress a smile. She was really very pretty. "I'm not sure what happened, Doctor. I flew out here from New York yesterday, and the day before that I was released from a hospital for a miscarriage. They gave me some pills and I either took too many of them or they were too strong for me ... I'm not sure." But she knew that she was lying. And suddenly she didn't care. It was none of his business what had happened. So what if she'd tried to kill herself? She hadn't succeeded, and it was still her own life. She didn't have to tell him everything. And it was none of his business either if she had "quite a collection of names," as he put it. So what?

"What hospital were you in for the miscarriage?" He sat there with her chart, pen poised, sure that she was probably lying, but she was quick to supply the information about the hospital in Atlanta and he looked surprised. "You certainly move around a lot, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." She croaked again. "I was Assistant Director of a Broadway play on tour, and I had the miscarriage on the road. I was in the hospital for a week, and I quit and went back to New York."

"Are you out here on business?" Now he looked curious and she shook her head. For a moment she was going to tell him that she was there on a visit, but she decided not to. She could at least tell him the truth about that.

"No, I moved out here."

"Yesterday?" She nodded.

"Married or single?"

"Neither one." She smiled at him slowly.

"Sorry?" He looked naive, and Bettina found herself wondering if he ever laughed.

"I'm in the process of filing for divorce."

"And he's ... let me guess"--this time he actually smiled at her--"in New York."

Now she smiled too. "No. He's with the road show."

"Now I begin to see. Married long?" For a moment she was tempted to shock him and say Which time? but she shook her head noncommittally and let him think what he would.

He sighed for a moment, and then put down his pen. "Now about the miscarriage." His voice gentled, he knew how hard that could be. "Were there complications? Was it difficult? Did it take very long?"

She looked away and the light went out of her eyes as she stared at the bridge. "No, I don't think there were complications. They kept me in the hospital for a week. I ... it--it happened one night. I woke up in the middle of the night, went to the hospital, and it was pretty bad by then. I don't know how long it took after that. Not very long, I think. And it"--she shrugged and wiped a tear from her face--"it was very painful."

He nodded gently, and suddenly he felt for this tiny redheaded girl. Not redheaded precisely, he thought to himself, her hair was more auburn, and as she looked at him he realized that she had bottomless emerald-green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Miss--"

He faltered and she smiled. "Bettina. So am I. But ... my husband didn't want it anyway...." She shrugged again, and he forgot about her chart.

"Is that why you left him?"

"No." She shook her head slowly. "There were some things I hadn't known about. A basic misunderstanding...." And then suddenly she wanted to tell him; she looked deep into his brown eyes. "He married me to get a green card, his resident's permit. He was English. And apparently that was his only motivation." She tried to smile but the bitterness showed in her eyes. "It was something he didn't mention to me. Oh, I knew he needed the green card. But I didn't know that was why we got married, at least not exclusively. I thought that ... well, anyway, it turns out that you only have to live together for six months, and"--she turned up both hands--"it'll be exactly six months next week. End of marriage. And as it so happened, end of baby. It all kind of happened at the same time."

He wanted to tell her that maybe it was for the best but he wasn't sure that he should. He had a way of being too blunt sometimes, and he didn't want to do that to her. She looked so small and so frail, propped up in the white hospital bed. "Do you have family out here?"