Wild Things (14 page)

"You don't look sick to me," I said. "Did you have a nice long weekend?"

He made a face as he sat down, and I realized he looked very tired.

"On the other hand, you don't look particularly well," I said. "What's up?"

"I went to the doctor," he said. "He said I've still got a few months to live."

I laughed. "And after that you move to Skokie?"

"Actually, the oncologist said two months. Maybe three." He pressed his lips together.

I realized that he wasn't joking. "James... what.. . ?"

"Don't get mushy on me. You know, my father died when he was forty. Both of my uncles before they were forty-five. I didn't expect much more, not after the life I've led. I just thought I had a few more years." His smile was ironic. "On the bright side, I won't have to come here any more. Fuck em.

I managed through my very tight throat to say, "What exactly is wrong?"

He looked at me with compassion as I tried to maintain some semblance of poise. It felt as if my throat would burst, and my eyes were stinging. Meg could cry elegantly at the drop of a hat, but I had never had her knack.

"Don't cry, you'll get blotchy. I have cancer of the largely ignored organs. Like the spleen and pancreas.

Maybe even my liver. But I decided not to have the tests to find out. I've got to budget my time wisely."

I tried to stop the tears that escaped because I knew they would upset him, but I didn't have any success. "I'm so sorry," I gulped.

"Lighting candles won't help, but I need the prayers. So feel free. And I have a favor to ask."

"Anything," I said.

"Don't come to visit me. I'm going to get a lot sicker very fast. I'd hate it."

"So this is good-bye?" My head felt as if it would explode.

He didn't say anything, but rested his hand on mine for a moment before getting up to kiss me on the top of my head. Then he left, shutting my office door behind him.

I cried and tried to do a few things to stop crying, but would only start crying again. I realized after some time that it had gotten quite late and the faculty shuttle to the El had stopped running. I hardly cared. I'd take a cab home. It was safer anyway.

In a stupor, I gathered my things, called for a cab to meet me at the West Gate, cried some more, then managed to walk through the sharp evening air to meet the cab.

When I got home I turned on my new TV as a diversion, though I had no idea what I was watching. I badly wanted to call Sydney for comfort, and she was the last person I could call. So I sat, frozen by grief and guilt. I woke up in the middle of the night disoriented, then remembered James and crawled into bed with a box of tissues to cry some more.

Tylenol did nothing for the massive headache I
woke up with, and I didn't feel like eating. I skipped going to my office and instead found myself on the El to St. Anthony's.

I was early for confession and didn't have to wait. The old words came easily. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession."

"Confess your sins, repent of them, and you shall be forgiven," came the low reply from behind the grille.

I bowed my head. "I have been having impure thoughts." How archaic that sounded. "I... I want to be with someone forbidden to me. Father, help me." My appeal came from the depths of my soul.

Compassionately, "You must tell me more, my child."

"I am seeing a man who may ask me to marry him. I care for him, but I don't love him. I am very attracted to someone else in his family."

"And this other man is unavailable to you?"

My voice trembling, I gave up my great secret. "It's not a man, father. It's a woman, his sister."

Anxiously, "Child, you know this is a grave sin."

"I know."

"Have you acted on your feelings?"

I had already confessed my affair with Renee. "I had this trouble once before, Father, and was absolved. This time, no, I haven't... acted."

"Do you repent of your impure thoughts?"

"I have wanted to Father, I have tried, but I still think of her. I had very sad news yesterday, and I longed for her to hold me —" My voice broke.

"I cannot absolve what you do not repent. You
cannot yield to this temptation. You are in peril of your soul."

"I know."

Firmly, "You must repent."

I bowed my head. I longed for absolution. But it would be a lie to say I repented my feelings for Sydney. What I felt grew daily and it was a bright thread in my life. "I cannot."

"You are not absolved. There can be no penance."

I sucked in my breath and fought tears. When I found my voice I said, "Father, a friend of mine is dying. He's only thirty-eight. Why is God doing this to him?"

"This is confession, my child. Your must look to your priest for guidance on God's will."

Blood was pounding in my temples. "Then I confess my anger at God for doing this to my friend. And I am angry that he gave me the ability to feel love for another woman only to tell me I must repent these feelings."

Sternly, "These feelings are not from God. They are the devil's temptation."

"Is it the devil's work to make me hate myself so?"

"Child, you must turn from this path. You must repent and be absolved."

"I cannot repent," I said in a fierce whisper.

"Then you cannot seek the grace of Communion until you do."

I didn't say any more, knowing I would not get what I so badly wanted: forgiveness and acceptance. It wasn't here. It never had been.

* * * * *

I had myself under control when I told Eric about James. He was sympathetic and sad for my sake. I realized that he and I had become emotionally very close, and I mentally flagellated myself for what I knew had been a deception all along on my part. But I didn't have the nerve to stop it. I wanted something to happen. I wanted affairs to be out of my hands. I didn't want to be responsible for hurting him, because I did love him, much as I loved my brother.

I made excuses to my mother to avoid going to Mass for two Sundays in a row and assured her — lying through my teeth — that I was going to Mass at the small church only a few blocks from my apartment. The lies counted so much less than the Big Sin I was guilty of. The Sunday before Halloween I avoided Mass again, though I could tell my mother was angry. I couldn't go back to St. Anthony's; when I'd needed solace there had been nothing for me. I heard nothing from James, and the sensation of impending doom — his and mine — was with me daily. Without the meditative grounding that attending Mass always gave me, I felt as if I were walking on tissue over a chasm.

As the weeks went by without any contact with Sydney, however, I had gained back some semblance of the self-identity I'd had before I'd met her. I had successfully convinced myself again that I was doing the right thing and thought that perhaps after the weekend at the Van Aliens' I could go back to St. Anthony's and honestly say that I repented. Maybe I didn't feel passion for Eric, but I would. I was just letting a few meetings with Sydney give me foolish notions. And seeing Renee again hadn't helped. I
could cope, I told myself. Halloween weekend would be my three days in the desert, and with them successfully behind me I could look forward to the life I told myself I'd always wanted and that God so clearly wanted me to have.

* * * * *

The Van Allen family wealth had its roots in shipping and railroads and was now supported by a vast real estate empire. The family home, Lakeview, was north of Chicago between Lake Forest and Lake Bluff. It was palatial, standing alone on two thousand acres bounded by a wide, tree-lined avenue on the west, the property of a son of an ex-president on the south, and Lake Michigan on the east. It was private, and the thick elms and oaks were the color of old money. To the north was an extensive garden that was the enterprise of Caroline Van Allen, carried on from Eric's grandmother. The gardens gave way to a wilderness sanctuary that gave way to a naval training station. It was a long, long way from the south side.

When we came into view of the house I said, "Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again."

Eric patted my knee. "It's not that big."

"It's bigger than Hearst Castle," I said. The buildings were Georgian in overall appearance with imposing two-story doors to the main building and both of the wings.

A cheerful manservant greeted Eric as he got out of the car and waited until Eric had helped me out before getting in and driving the car around the back of the house. I looked after my weekend bag, and
Eric patted my arm. "Lance will put it in your room. Don't worry."

I glanced up at him and smiled wryly. "I have to admit, I'm overwhelmed. I didn't expect it, to be so much like a castle." I thought that Eleanor would have appreciated the scale of the mansion and grounds; they were as large as any she had ever known. The gardens would have been farms and crops worked by serfs. The expanse of bright grass could have been a tournament ground.

"Don't be intimidated," Eric said in a whisper. "The king and queen are friendly."

And they were. After I'd been shown by a waiting maid to my room where I quickly unpacked, I met up with Eric again in the immense main foyer. All I could think about was how long it must take to dust the chandelier's hundreds of winking crystal pieces. He escorted me to the family sitting room, a long, brightly lit room with enough sofas and chairs for twenty and a huge fireplace at the far end.

His parents greeted me with charm and easy grace, making me feel comfortable in my simple sweater and slacks. Eric's mother, who told me to call her Carrie, was also in sweater and slacks. But where I was wool and linen, she was cashmere and raw silk.

Eric senior was in deep green wool slacks with a casual yachting cardigan over a starched white shirt. He immediately told me he had read both of my books and that he looked forward to talking to me about how I did research.

Dinner was a casual buffet, casual that is, if a buffet with beef Wellington and poached salmon filets is casual. There were a dozen other guests, some of
them family but most involved in the setup for the party the following night.

I munched happily on a cherry tart and felt a warm glow inside for the first time in weeks. Eric's parents had obviously set out to welcome me, and Eric was more charming and genial than I'd ever seen him. I did love him, I told myself. He was literally everything a woman could want. I smiled as I watched his face light up as someone came into the dining room, then turned to see who had come in.

My pulse raced at the sight of her. She looked so strong and beautiful. Over Eric's shoulder her gaze met mine, and I managed a smile and used my fork to sketch her a salute of greeting. Carrie and Eric senior rushed as eagerly as Eric had to hug her, Carrie telling Sydney she was far too thin and Eric senior gruffly saying she'd been away too long.

"Just you, dear? You can always bring a guest, you know." Caroline was still holding Sydney's hand as she drew her to the buffet table.

"Just me. There's no one special, Mom." Sydney helped herself to salad.

"Well when there is, you know the door is open. No matter who." Carrie seemed too eager to make the point, and I realized that Sydney was looking at me in the reflection of the mirror above the buffet. She sent me a smile that said, "mothers!" and I responded in kind. Carrie's worrying was familiar to me, but I sensed she meant it far more for Sydney's benefit than her own. It was obvious she wanted to be sure Sydney was happy.

No empty seats were near me, and I was just as relieved when Sydney settled at the other end of the table. Eric was talking to his father, and Carrie dis
appeared in the direction of the kitchen. I chatted to one of Eric's cousins about skiing; rather, she chattered about going to Switzerland at Thanksgiving and I listened politely, making inconsequential observations whenever she paused for breath.

I amazed myself that I could maintain a rational conversation when part of me' was gibbering with fear. When I looked at Sydney I felt a fire in my nerves, prickling all over my body. Just the sight of her made all my lies and evasions crumple around me. I couldn't lie to myself for the rest of my life. Eric was too fine a person to have half a wife, even if, feeling as I did about Sydney, I could bring myself to marry him.

I didn't think I could do it. I was almost certain that if Sydney hadn't come along I would have been able to. Unless some other woman had made me feel this way. It was the women. It was not a chance thing. Renee had not been an aberration, I admitted to myself. I was... lesbian. There would be no absolution because I knew there was no cure. And while I might find the backbone to abstain from the temptation, I would never be able to say I repented being tempted.

The other guests drifted off to various pursuits while Eric and Sydney, along with their parents, drew me into a cozy sitting room for a pleasant evening of conversation. Eric senior was sincerely interested in my books and confessed to being a medievalist. He promised to show me his library some time during the weekend and offered any materials he might have for my research. I gathered that, since it
was something he wanted to spend at least an hour doing, the library was not small.