Part 35 (1/2)
”Sleeping bag?” I asked.
She nodded. I went to my grandfather's trunk and got out a sleeping bag. I led her to what had been my father's bedroom. I put the candle down and turned to go.
”Micky, I...”
I turned back to her, but she stood there, no words coming forth.
”Good night, Micky,” Cordelia finally said.
”Good night.” I closed the door as I left. I got another sleeping bag out of my grandfather's trunk, but I didn't go to my room. Instead, I sat in front of the fire, watching the flames flare up, then die down to embers, wondering what had happened. Not just now with Cordelia, but the whole day. It made my falling in love and being rejected seem small in comparison. Poetic justice even. I had done the same thing to Danny that Cordelia had just done to me. There was no way I could look honestly at myself and say I didn't deserve it. ”The wheel is come full circle; I am here,” a line from some play. I couldn't remember which, but it seemed apt. I wondered where I could find the joy in the circle of my life. If I could. Ben today. Frankie a week ago. Barbara still hanging in the twilight. And twenty years ago Alma and little David. He should be a handsome man of twenty-three now and she a proud mother.
And my father. My dad should be sitting here now, giving me advice. I tried to picture it. He would be older, but I could only remember him in his forties and I couldn't change that image. I saw him as he was then, reddish hair fading to gray. He would pull up a chair and sit on it, backwards, his elbows leaning on the back. ”Lee Robedeaux's advice to the lovelorn now open for business,” he would say with that grin of his that told you he took it seriously, but not more than it deserved. And I would tell him, ”I love her, Dad, but she's not interested.” ”Her loss,”
he would snort, ”someday she'll wake up and realize what a mistake she made.” And it wouldn't change anything, but I would feel better.
”Thanks, Dad,” I whispered to the glowing embers. I was tired and should try to sleep, but that seemed impossible. Instead, I sat wondering how far away dawn was.
I heard a floor board creek behind me. I turned around. Cordelia was standing there, outlined faintly by the reddish glow of the embers.
”I couldn't sleep,” she said after a minute.
* 232 *
”Funny, I can't either. Maybe it's the crickets.”
”No, not for me,” she said. ”I couldn't stop thinking.”
”About?” I asked.
She sat down on the couch, looking into the embers, not answering.
”Can I put on another log?” she said.
I nodded. She got up and put a log into the fire, causing a shower of sparks. For a moment, the log hid the embers, darkening the room, then it caught and blazed with an orange light. She sat back down on the couch.
”What about a shot of Scotch?” I asked. ”It might help you sleep.”
She shook her head, then said, ”No, no thanks.” A pause, then she said, ”Forgiveness. That's what I couldn't stop thinking about. You're the only person who can forgive me.”
”You've done nothing...”
”I know. Intellectually, at least. But still...something hangs.”
”I forgive you. Please know that. If anything the reverse is true. I need your pardon. I pulled the trigger.” As I said it, I knew it was true. I had run from so many people, because I had always figured that if they knew who and what I really was, they would despise me. But if this woman, the daughter of the man I had killed, didn't hate me, didn't run from me...perhaps absolution was possible.
”And I forgive you. But the words aren't enough, are they?” She paused, staring into the flickering amber flames. ”They don't...touch deeply enough. I want to sleep with you. There, I've said it. You must wonder at my inconsistency.”
”I've never won any constancy prizes,” I answered, knowing she was right, words weren't enough.
”Will you make love to me? Or is that presumptuous to ask?”
”One question,” I said, knowing that I would say yes, no matter what her answer was, and not liking myself for it.
She looked at me expectantly.
”Are you still going to marry him?” I asked.
”Yes,” she answered softly.
”What am I? One final f.u.c.k before the wedding?” I said harshly, angry at us both.
”Perhaps,” she replied, not flinching, just looking at me.
”Two beds or the floor in front of the fireplace. Take your choice.”
* 233 *
I stood up and took off both my sweats.h.i.+rt and T-s.h.i.+rt in one motion, then dropped them on the floor.
She remained motionless. I started to unzip my pants.
”Don't,” she said. ”Not like this. Don't compound my usury.”
I stopped, standing still, feeling the chill on my bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”Then what?” I demanded, not willing to acknowledge my vulnerability.
”I...” she started, then stopped.
She took a deep breath, then reached over and handed me my s.h.i.+rts from the floor.
”King Lear committed suicide,” she said, breaking the silence of the fire. ”Maybe not directly. But...the T-s.h.i.+rt I gave you that night you stayed with me.”
I nodded and put my sweats.h.i.+rt back on.
”We lived together for over two years. I came home one evening, fairly late. I was in medical school then. I called and there was no answer. I figured Kath was working late as usual. At midnight the phone rang. A resident from the ER; someone I knew; called. The hospital had contacted her family hours ago, but...” Cordelia stopped and let out a long ragged breath.
I reached out and took her hand, holding it with both of mine.
”I'm sorry,” I said.
She nodded and held my hand.
”There wasn't much left of the car. They said she lost control. But I don't think she did. Kath never lost anything. She let go of it. I don't guess she wanted to go anywhere that car was going to take her. She had such black moods at times. But they always seemed to be gone by the next day. I guess I was young enough then to think I could save her. That somehow, if I loved her with everything I had, it would be enough.
”Things weren't going very well. She was a set designer, in theater, and had gotten into an argument with a director and been told to start her design from scratch again. And Kath's parents found out about us and they were threatening to have her committed. I was off, too busy learning how to save people to bother with her.”
”You can't blame...” I interrupted.
”I know, I know. But I can't help it. We had a fight the day before.