The Unforgiven (19 page)

“I’ll be in,” Grace said stoically.

“Okay,” said Jess. “You two get some rest. Don’t stay here all night.”

“We will,” Charley assured him, tightening his grip on his wife’s shoulders. “Thanks for coming by, Jess.”

Jess nodded and left the room. As he reached the hall he glanced back in and saw them seated on the sofa. Charley was holding his wife’s hand. Grace appeared to be crying again.

Although darkness had already fallen, the Thornhill house was unlit when Jess arrived. The only sound was the rustle of dried grass and dead leaves as the evening wind whipped. Jess hurried to the door and knocked.

“Maggie?” he called out. There was no reply. He knocked again, but there was still no answer. He tried the knob and the door opened. Tentatively, he stepped in. “Maggie? It’s me.”

A mewling cry caught his attention. He peered into the darkness and saw the shiny, fearful eyes of Willy peeking in from the entrance to the kitchen.

“Hey, Willy,” Jess called out softly. He walked over to the puppy and picked him up. “Where’s Maggie?” he whispered into the dog’s silken ear.

“Over here.”

Jess jumped, startled by the voice in the darkness.
Adjusting his eyes to the gloom, he looked in the direction of the voice and saw her silhouette in one of the living room chairs.

“You scared me,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you mind if I turn on a light?”

“If you want,” she said.

Jess leaned over and switched on a lamp. Then he sat down on the edge of the sofa and placed Willy on the floor by his feet. Finally, he looked up at Maggie.

She sat very still in her chair, gripping the armrests. Her face was devoid of color, careless smudges of mascara on her pale cheeks. The wretchedness of her expression wrenched his heart, but he made no move toward her.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“All right.”

“That’s good.” He reached down and patted the cowering Willy distractedly.

“Where have you been?” she asked, the question snagging in her throat.

“I took Evy home, and then I stopped by the hospital for a minute. Everything’s okay.”

Maggie stared intently at him until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. He met her look briefly and sadly, then looked away.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t know what to do,” she said.

“Do about what?”

For a moment her eyes flashed angrily at the evasion, but when she spoke it was in the same flat tone.
“They all blame me,” she said. “They all think I put glass in that pie and served it to those kids. As if I were some kind of monster.”

“Don’t get carried away, Maggie,” he said.

“You know it’s true.”

“I don’t know any such thing,” he said. “You’re letting your imagination get the best of you.”

“I am not,” Maggie insisted, bolting from her chair so abruptly that it startled him. “Why are you lying to me? You know it’s true.” Her eyes burned with anger.

“Stop it,” he said wearily. “Please, calm down. We can talk about it.”

“I won’t calm down,” she cried and began stalking up and down the narrow room. “Don’t treat me like a child. I didn’t imagine this. It is real. I’m afraid to show my face. I don’t know what to do.”

“Maggie, please,” he said. “Hysterics aren’t going to solve anything.”

Maggie turned to him and stared, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Sarcasm won’t help either,” he sighed.

“Well, what will help?” she asked, her voice shaking with fury. “Will you tell me that?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what didn’t help,” Jess replied testily. “It didn’t help for you to turn around and blame the whole ugly thing on Evy, who was just trying to be nice in inviting you over there.”

Maggie stared at him. “Oh, I see,” she said. “You don’t think that Evy had anything to do with it.”

“No,” he said firmly, meeting her gaze. “I don’t.”

“Well, then, how do you think it happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted tiredly. “It was probably an accident. Something in the pie pan. I don’t know.”

“There was nothing in the pie pan. Nothing in any of the ingredients. I tore my kitchen apart when I got back here. I tell you there was nothing.”

“You must have missed it somehow.”

“I did not miss it,” she cried. “It was not an accident. Someone put that glass in there.”

“Maggie, stop it.” He shook his head.

“I mean it, Jess,” she cried. “Somebody did it. And if you’re so damn sure it wasn’t Evy, I’d like to know who it was then.”

Jess covered his face with his hands for a moment, then looked up at her. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The words brought her up short. Maggie stared at the face of her lover. A terrible understanding began to dawn on her.

Finally, she spoke. Her voice was nearly inaudible. “You think I did it,” she said.

Jess shook his head and sighed.

“You think that?” she asked in an anguished voice.

“No, I don’t think that,” he protested. “I’m tired, and I’m confused, and I just think we ought to let this be for a while.”

“You think I’m capable of that?” she cried. “Why would I do that?”

“Maggie,” he said seriously, reaching for her hands, “don’t keep this up. I told you. I think it was an accident.”

“Oh, my God,” she moaned.

Jess stood up and tried to put his arms around her, but she shook off his embrace as if it were a net.

“Maggie,” he pleaded, “let’s not talk about this anymore. Let’s go to bed and get some rest, and in the morning we’ll face this thing together. It won’t be as bad as you think. I promise you it won’t.”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Bed?” she whispered.

“I’m tired. You’re tired,” he went on. “Whatever happened, we’ll be able to sort it out better in the morning.”

Maggie walked to the front door and opened it. “I want you to go home,” she said.

“No,” he protested. “We should be together tonight. Don’t send me away. We have to see this through.”

“You don’t believe me,” she said.

“I’ve explained myself to you,” he said angrily.

“Yes, you have,” she said. “Now leave me alone.” She indicated the door with her hand.

Jess was about to speak again but thought better of it. He walked toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. “I love you.”

He walked out into the night. She closed the door behind him.

13

In five minutes,
Maggie thought,
I am going to get up and go to the kitchen and have some food. Then I’m going to take a hot bath, and drink a shot of whiskey and go to bed.

Maggie looked at the clock for the hundredth time that night. It was ten minutes to twelve.
It’s too late,
she thought. Then she corrected herself. It was not too late. And if she didn’t eat and take her clothes off and have some whiskey, she was going to lie there until morning, shivering, fully dressed, between the quilt and the bedspread. And the headache, which was already tormenting her, would only get worse. She thought of all these things, but she did not move.

After Jess left she had gone into her bedroom and crawled on top of the bed like a wounded animal. For hours she lay there, her body trembling, her brain feverishly reliving the day’s events. The more she mulled it over, the more impossible it became. Jess had asked, if not Evy, who? A shudder of fear ran through her as she realized that she could not be certain that it was the girl. Blaming it on Evy was her anchor. She had been clinging to it, not wanting to be cut adrift in the shifting tides of questions, the darkness which yawned around her.
There was a hideous familiarity to it. Not me, she had cried. Cold, implacable eyes stared back at her. Eyes like mirrors that merely rejected her confusion, her pitiful protests of innocence which spun in the face of logic.

A weak cry suddenly caught her attention. Maggie looked down to see Willy stumbling into the room. The puppy approached the bed and began to claw at the bedspread, attempting to climb up to where Maggie lay. Maggie reached down tenderly with one hand and scooped up the little animal. She rested the puppy on her chest and began to stroke it. The animal’s warmth had a calming effect on her. She held him close.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you, Willy? I should feed you.” But still she did not move. She put the dog on the bed beside her. He teetered across the spread to the pillow and flopped down. Jess would laugh, she thought, to see Willy on his pillow. Jess. Her mind began to race again. He wanted to believe her. But he couldn’t. She was alone again. Accused, with no one to believe her.

The last time, too, she had been completely alone. We haven’t got a case, the lawyer said. If we plead guilty to a lesser charge, at least you won’t face the death penalty. Her mother refused to see her, but Sister had come to the prison to try to convince her to confess. When she closed her eyes she could see all their staring, unsmiling faces. Tell the truth, they said. God knows all your sins. He sees through your flimsy lies. Everyone does. Confess.

But she
had
told the truth.

Even now, she remembered every moment of that night. The snow was flurrying as they left the office. By
the time they were finished making love at the motel it was already piling up. He had to get home, he told her, before it got any worse. He would always have to get home. That was the meaning of what he had just told her.

She had dressed in silence, shielding herself against the cold, each layer she donned putting distance between them.

“Are you ready, Maggie?” he asked her gently.

Once he had gotten the car started and backed out of the forming drifts, he seemed to relax a little. He reached for her across the seat and pulled her toward him. “Don’t look so sad. We’ll always manage to be together somehow.”

She felt wounded and angry. She wanted to pull away from him, call him a name and jump out of the car. But at the same time she wanted to cling to him. The heat from his body felt like the only warm thing in her frozen life. She needed him, and she needed to let him go.

On the highway, Roger tensed up again. The snow whirled around the car, and the road beneath them was slick with the crystallizing ice. He reclaimed his arm and grasped the wheel tightly with both hands. Maggie retreated to her side of the seat and watched him as he concentrated on the road. Outside, the twilight sky was lightened by the falling snow. The light from the dashboard mingled with the gray sky made him look ghastly, she thought. Old and unhealthy. She looked down at her own smooth hands, which were clenched tightly in her lap.
If I could just stop loving him,
she thought.

“This storm is terrible,” he muttered, and he bobbed his head around, looking out for other cars on the road ahead. The highway was virtually deserted, other travelers kept in by snow warnings.

As he concentrated on the road, she concentrated on him. Her heart felt twisted by her passion for him, and her anguish at the thought of losing him. And her guilt. She knew what they were doing was wrong. They should break it off. She studied him intently, wondering how she could bear to see him day after day, and not be lovers. Finally, she asked in a small voice, “Roger, do you think I should leave? Find another job?”

Roger continued to peer through the windshield, a pained expression in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said.

“As long as we’re seeing each other day after day,” she said, “I don’t think I can stop…”

Roger did not look at her. “We could try,” he said. “If that’s what you want. I don’t want you to go.”

“I can’t do it,” she said. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Do what?” he asked. “Stay or go?”

“Either one,” she said hopelessly.

“No more tonight,” he told her. “Please. We both need time to think about it.”

Maggie did not reply but stared ahead at the icy windshield. It was her decision. She knew it. But she couldn’t bear to make it. She could not imagine the emptiness of her life without him.

“Oh, my God,” Roger cried out, jamming on the brakes so abruptly that the car skidded sideways before bumping to a stop on the shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s somebody in the road up ahead.”

Maggie peered out. She could see a light waving back and forth, and a bulky figure signaling them to stop.

“Oh, no,” said Roger.

Maggie looked wonderingly at him.

“I’d better go see what the problem is.” He shook his head. “You’d better stay here.”

Before she had a chance to reply, he had hopped out of the car. He slammed the door behind him and trudged off through the snow toward the figure up ahead. She was able to watch him for a few moments, his head down against the howling wind, before the falling snow covered over the windshield with layer after layer of flakes. Maggie sat shivering in the front seat.

With the engine turned off, the car cooled down like a refrigerator. Maggie considered turning it on again, but then decided to wait. He would be coming right back.

The time seemed to drag on endlessly as she waited. She wished that she had a watch so she could tell how long she had been sitting there. Probably not that long, she thought. It just seemed that way. Her teeth began to chatter, and she squeezed herself tightly for warmth. Finally, she could not endure the discomfort any longer. She reached over and switched on the engine. The car started with a comforting roar.
He’ll probably think I’m leaving without him,
she thought.
Not much chance of that, love.

But he didn’t return. Five more minutes, she thought
to herself. She tried to count off the minutes in seconds, but her mind wandered. What was he doing? she wondered. He had been so eager to get home. It was just like him to be a Good Samaritan. But what could possibly be taking so long?

After a few more minutes, Maggie turned off the engine and slid over to the driver’s seat. She opened the door, knocking a layer of snow to the ground, and stepped out. Her boots sank into the snow several inches. She had never seen it come down so hard.