Michael’s Wife Page 8

  “Paul, wait.” And she followed him. It was dark and cool inside after the desert sun. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you asked me here for in the first place?”

  “What I asked you here for …? Oh, yes. I’m afraid my conversation, as my life, is a bit disjointed. I did have two things to tell you.” He put a lab coat over his short-sleeved shirt and perched on a high stool. “The first is a simple request. Take Jimmy and move to Phoenix with Michael.”

  “Move to Phoenix? But Michael wouldn’t take me with him. Besides I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid for yourself, Laurel? That isn’t a cataclysmic problem. As I told you, you are not all that important. If you can remember that, life will be a great deal easier to get through.”

  Evan Boucher appeared from the back of the lab and walked past her with a plant in each hand. She avoided his eyes and waited until he’d carried the plants outside.

  “I’m important to me!” Paul’s insistence on her insignificance as a human being was getting irritating. And the idea of living with this husband she didn’t know … well, that was out of the question.

  “You will never repair your marriage living here, and Michael won’t give you a divorce. He’ll never do that, Laurel, so what other choice is there?”

  Instead of answering him she picked up a book lying on the table by the window. There had to be another way out of this problem. He had to be wrong. The frontispiece read, “The Sonoran Desert; Plant Life, Animal Life, and Nature’s Philosophy of Survival and Scarcity, by Dr. Paul Elliot Devereaux II, Ecologist, Philosopher, and Professor of Sonoran Studies. The University of Arizona Press.”

  “What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”

  “The authorities in Denver have been notified of your casual reappearance and a hearing has been set for June 16.”

  The book hit the edge of the table and landed on the floor. “Will I go to prison, Paul?”

  “I doubt it. You are somebody’s mother. And for some reason that holds great weight in the courts.” He hunched over a microscope and didn’t bother to look up as she left.

  By afternoon the puffy clouds had all but filled the sky over the valley, their bottoms growing darker as the day wore on. It was hard for Laurel to believe that it ever rained on the desert, but the smell of rain was in the air.

  She went to Jimmy’s room and sat in the rocking chair she had carried from the old nursery and watched as he played at her feet. Maria had probably rocked in this very chair, watching Michael. It had taken much persuasion to get Consuela to unlock the old nursery and let her take the chair. But why keep it locked up in that room of shattered, dusty memories when there was a baby in the house?

  Tiring of his trucks, Jimmy crawled up on her lap with a high-pitched giggle and snuggled against her, his thumb in his mouth. She felt the bond growing between them, not so much that of mother and child but of two lonely people looking for comfort.

  His skin had such a pale, milky tone for a child who lived in so much sun. But then he was seldom allowed out of this room. The house was a prison for him, too. And Paul had offered them an escape, the only one possible. “Take Jimmy and move to Phoenix with Michael.”

  The room darkened as the storm gathered outside and she rocked harder, holding his warmth close to her. “What other choice is there?” Paul had said.

  She sang Rock-a-Bye Baby because it was the only lullaby she could remember and because she wanted to shut out the sound of the rising wind. Soon Jimmy slept, his head tilting back and forth with the movement of the chair. And still she sang; repeating the lullaby over and over, the wicker rocker creaking an accompaniment. There had been a storm brewing inside her from the moment she’d entered Laurel’s world, and she feared the turmoil would break out now if she stopped singing.

  It was getting dark and the wind rushed at the house with rolling gusts that left short breathless spells in between, the great bell in the bell wall clanging hollowly with the stronger gusts. She jumped as lightning tore at the sky and lit the room and sang louder, trying to drown out the answering rumble that seemed to thunder above the house.

  And then the door facing her, the door to the balcony, opened and Michael Devereaux was in the room. The lullaby stuck in her throat. It was Friday and she hadn’t expected him until Saturday.

  The welcoming smile for his son faded, leaving his lips parted, frozen. It was like a dark still life, she sitting motionless in his mother’s rocking chair, his son asleep on her lap, and he in uniform with his cap in his hand and his hair mussed by the wind. There was a snap that made her release her breath and again lightning flared, momentarily flooding the room with its cold light and glinting in Michael’s eyes.

  She watched the play of expression on his mobile face, his eyes widen with surprise and then narrow. Did she bring back some memory of Maria sitting in this chair? There was a tightening in her breasts as excitement mingled with fear. Life with this man could be frightening, chaotic, dangerous, but it would never be dull.

  What sounded like enormous drops of rain pelted the tiled roof for a bare minute and the storm was over. It had taken all day to build to nothing.

  The tension in the room seemed to ease with the passing of the clouds. As Jimmy stirred in his sleep, replacing the thumb that had slipped from his mouth, she looked down, breaking the current that had sizzled between them when Michael’s eyes held hers.

  “I thought Jimmy should have the rocking chair. No one was using it.”

  Michael walked to the dresser and put his cap beside the portable TV and with his back to her looked up at the ceiling, his shoulders hunched. “What am I going to do with you?”

  The hopelessness in his voice made her aware that hers was not the only untenable position in this strange relationship. She could almost feel the agony of this intense man with a wife he could not endure and would not divorce.

  In May the days grew so warm that lunch was moved into the coolness of the dining room. The saguaro sprouted creamy little flowers with thick, waxy petals. It looked a bit silly, this giant, with the small circlet of pale flowers on its top and on the top of its arms while tiny cacti that had sat unnoticed behind rocks bloomed with brilliant blossoms that sometimes dwarfed the plant itself.

  During the week Laurel settled into a routine, dining with the family and, when Jimmy was alone, spending her time with him. On weekends when Michael could get to Tucson, he and Claire took Jimmy on walks or outings in the car and continued the swimming lessons. Jimmy was not learning to swim, but he was learning in a brave, resigned way to undergo the torture without crying. Weekends were the loneliest for Laurel.

  The first time Jimmy called her “Mommy” she realized that she had taught him that. Little slips like, “Mommy will get that for you” or “Come sit on Mommy’s lap.” It hadn’t happened often but he’d picked it up very fast. Their relationship deepened, growing beyond just a friendship into an almost uncomfortable clinging tie that made his wide dark eyes look a little less lost, the only eyes around her that weren’t full of reproach. To him she was not an unwanted encumbrance, an embarrassing reminder of family misfortune. He needed her love, her arms as a harbor from Claire’s scolding, her reassurance against the coldness of his aunt and uncle, her comforting when he scraped a knee or when Michael left for the base. His need for her fed her own need for self-respect.

  In this time Laurel came to know that she could never give up Jimmy. And she knew that only as Laurel did she have any right to him.

  Michael did not come to Tucson for several weekends and she had Jimmy to herself. She slept less as the Denver trip drew nearer. By the time Michael reappeared she was in such a state that she walked the halls and covered walkways until early morning and felt drugged and listless during the day. She would wait in her room until it was late and the house was quiet before starting out on her nightly prowls.

  One unusually warm night she left her coat in the wardrobe and threw a peignoir over her nightgown. She descended the st
airs to the courtyard and was halfway across it before she noticed Michael standing in the shadow of the walkway on the other side. It was too late to turn around. She would have to confront him sometime; it might as well be now. But she wished she’d worn her coat.

  There was a glass in his hand and his coat was unbuttoned. He pretended to study the flagstone of the courtyard. For all she’d learned of his boyhood she couldn’t picture him as anything but a grown and bitter man. What would he have been like if he’d never met Laurel? If he’d married some safe and responsible woman like Claire Bently? He didn’t bother to look up as she came to stand beside him.

  “I see you can’t sleep either.”

  “I’m working on it.” He drained half the glass with one swallow.

  “Michael, we’re going to have to talk sometime.” She felt small standing next to him.

  “All right. Janet tells me you’ve taken to sneaking out at night,” he said with that menacing softness. “Let’s talk about that.”

  “I went out once, only once. I followed Consuela. Did you know she’s been taking Jimmy to the Wishing Shrine? To wish … to wish that his mother would come back to him?”

  “Poor Consuela. She has delusions about motherhood. Why did you come back anyway?” There were dark hollows around those unnerving eyes.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

  He finished his drink with a second swallow and faced her. “So talk.” His voice was almost a whisper.

  She was filled with the same breathless sensation, a mixture of fear and fluster she had whenever he looked at her directly. She wanted to run. “I don’t know why I came back.”

  “You’re just full of answers tonight.” The smell of whiskey was strong on his breath.

  “I can’t remember why. Michael, I don’t remember anything—you—Jimmy—anything. I didn’t know my name till I called you from the motel that night. I had your name on a piece of paper and nothing else but the clothes on my back. I can’t tell you where I’ve been because I don’t know. Please believe me.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard you suffer from amnesia. That explains everything and so conveniently. Christ!” The glass shattered into tinkling fragments on the flagstone and he had her by the arm. “Where’d you get that one, off the TV screen? Well, I’m not the damn fool you married, Laurel.”

  “Michael!” A voice in her head screamed to her to get away, but he grabbed her other arm and held her against him, his breath hot on her forehead, the buttons of his coat cold through her nightgown.

  “Let me tell you why you came back. Things didn’t go well with whoever you were living with, did they? Short on money maybe? So you decided a little luxury would be a nice change of pace. Thought you’d look up old Michael and maybe for laughs see what the baby looked like? Or you’re in some kind of trouble and you had to get away. Now that I could accept, but don’t expect me to swallow amnesia.”

  He let go of her and sat on a stone couch, rubbing his forehead. For just a moment he looked defeated, this man who a second before was in a rage. His bursts of anger seemed to end as abruptly as they began. Everything about him was abrupt, startling.

  “This … this luxury, as you call it, couldn’t have been what I came back for. I don’t even like it here.”

  “Then why the hell don’t you go? Leave us in peace. As soon as this mess in Denver is cleared up, you’re free as the wind. If it’s money you want, I’ll give you money. Just get out of my life and Jimmy’s.”

  When he raised his voice, she felt safer with him. It was when he grew so still and tense that she feared him most. “I can’t.”

  “Why? Because of Jimmy?” He was mocking her now.

  “Yes. He needs a mother, Michael. Can’t you see it?” She sat next to him.

  “And just what do you suppose he needed two years ago? You walk out on a newborn baby and now he needs a mother!”

  “It was an awful thing to do. I don’t know how I could have … how anybody could. If you weren’t all so sure I’m Laurel, I’d swear it was someone else who deserted Jimmy. I don’t remember it … I don’t feel capable of such a thing. There must have been a reason. I’m sure I’ll remember everything soon. Maybe there was a good reason.”

  “Like what?” He was growing still again, the handsome profile set in concrete.

  “I … I can’t think of any. It was inexcusable, I guess. Whatever the reason it wouldn’t excuse what … what you say I did.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. So get out now before you do any more damage.”

  Somewhere in the desert night a bird screeched and fell silent. A breeze rippled the surface of the pool and the water lapped gently against its tile prison.

  “I can’t do that. I have to make it up to him.”

  “What is it going to do to him when he starts thinking of you as his mother and you get the wanderlust? You’re good at walking in and out of people’s lives, not caring what you leave behind. If you’ve got any soul left in you, Laurel, you won’t stay and put him through that.”

  She saw a boy standing in the wrecked nursery, rage giving way to tears. Michael knew what it was to lose a mother. “I won’t let it happen again. Somehow I’ll keep it from happening.” Laurel realized she was crying. Would she forget again and just wander off? Should she see a doctor?

  “You won’t go?” He stood up as if to get away from her.

  “I can’t. Unless they send me to prison.” She was looking up at him through tears, as she had that first night in the motel.

  “All right, stay. Rot here. But if you hurt my son in any way I’ll wrap that hair of yours around your neck and choke you with it.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to make up for what I did.” But Michael was gone and she sobbed to an empty courtyard.

  8

  The next time Laurel prowled late at night around the shadowed arcades of the Devereaux mansion was the last time.

  A warm night, in the middle of the week, so she needn’t worry about meeting Michael. She left her coat in her room and walked briskly, purposely trying to tire herself. Tonight the moonlight lent a fairy tale softness to the still courtyard. No shadows moved against the walls. Even the leaves on the odd crooked trees seemed to sleep. Blooming flowers in hanging baskets accented the air, their colors dimmed by the strange light of night.

  Unable to ignore the beauty around her, she slowed and finally stopped to lean against a column and look down upon the courtyard below.

  Moments like this should be enjoyed and remembered. How many such moments had she forgotten? Had there been times in her childhood when something unexpected and beautiful had come to her this way? What were her parents like? Her father must be a cruel tyrant to have turned away a grandson and disowned a daughter. But how could her mother have gone along with it? How could I have abandoned Jimmy? Her arguments with herself always ended with this last question.

  These thoughts were spoiling the loveliness of the night, and she began pacing back and forth along the balcony. Her parents could not be pleasant people and she wouldn’t call them until she’d sorted herself out. Her life needed no more unpleasantness.

  Laurel found herself at the top of the stone stairs and stepped down them to the courtyard. Stopping beside a basket of purple petunias, she sniffed their spiciness. When I do remember, I hope it will be in a peaceful moment like this. A doctor might help her remember sooner. Would the Devereaux let her molder in an institution as Evan had implied? She didn’t think much of Evan’s mentality, but this family clearly did not want her.

  “Dear Michael will leave his little problems on our doorstep.”

  “Take Jimmy and move to Phoenix with Michael.”

  “I could damn you to hell for coming back.”

  She stepped quickly onto the flagstone. The problem with not remembering the past was that one remembered the present all too vividly. Perhaps if she jogged, instead of walked. Laurel smiled at the thought of herself doing a clumsy jogging step in a yel
low nightgown around a moonlit courtyard fit for a Romeo and Juliet scene.

  Directly in front of her, on the wall outside of Paul’s study, a shadow moved. Only this shadow moved. The others were still. Her smile went empty.

  Moonlight penetrated only the lower half of the arcade and she watched the shadow rise, swing upward in a long … slow … threatening arch, like an arm rising to strike … it disappeared into the solid shadow of the balcony above.

  Laurel stood very still and tried to reason with herself. Anyone in her condition could imagine anything. Adrenaline set fire to every nerve ending in her body. It had been too long for an arm. Get away from here! Where the shadow had been before moving upward, there was a dark silhouette of what could be a shoe with a leg cut off by some sort of a long coat … if someone stood behind that column watching her … he might not be aware of his own shadow behind him …

  Laurel couldn’t remember getting to the stone stairs. She was just there, taking two at a time … all the other shadows had been still … too long for an arm … she raced along the balcony.…

  … The moonlight was dimming. Vivid lights shimmered in front of her … she fumbled with the knob of the door to her room … red and purple lights and green … heavenly lightness to her body … quieting her nerves … slowing her breathing … she relaxed against the door.…

  What … what was she doing out here?

  A soft padding sounded behind her and she shook the lights away, almost falling into the room as the door opened. She slammed it closed, shot the bolt and listened.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but her own fear ringing in her ears.

  Her skin felt horribly sticky. She’d imagined the shadow and the padding sound. Laurel was breathing too deeply, making herself dizzy.

  But the shadow had moved … hadn’t it? No, it hadn’t and that’s why they locked people like her away.