“I’m trying to. That’s the real reason I wanted to talk to you. I’ve got to remember. I’ve got to reconstruct the whole day.”
“Well, I can’t help you. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I see no point in people deliberately trying to recall an unpleasant occurrence.”
“Unpleasant occurrence? That’s a pretty mild expression for what happened.”
“If you don’t recall what happened,” he said with a touch of irony, “how do you know it’s a pretty mild expression?”
“I know.”
“You know. Just like that, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I wish all knowledge was as easy to come by.”
Her gaze was cool and steady. “You don’t take me very seriously, do you, Adam? That’s too bad, because I’m actually quite a serious person. Jim and my mother treat me like a child, and I frequently respond like one because it’s easier that way — it doesn’t upset their image of me. My self-image is quite different. I consider myself fairly bright. I graduated from college when I was twenty-one... Well, we won’t go into that. It’s evident I’m not convincing you of anything.” She rose suddenly and started toward the door. “Thanks for listening, anyway.”
“What’s your hurry? Wait a minute.”
“Why?”
“Nothing’s been settled, for one thing. For another, I’ll admit your, ah, situation intrigues me. This business of reconstructing a whole day four years ago...”
“Well?”
“It’s going to be very difficult.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Suppose you’re able to do it, what then, Daisy?”
“I will at least know what happened.”
“What use would such knowledge be to you? It certainly won’t make you any happier, will it? Or any wiser?”
“No.”
“Why not let it drop, then? Forget the whole business. You have nothing to gain and perhaps a great deal to lose — have you considered that angle of it?”
“No. Not until now.”
“Give it some thought, will you?” He got up and opened the door for her. “One more thing, Daisy. The chances are that nothing whatever happened to you on that particular day. Dreams are never that logical.” He knew the word never was too strong in this connection, but he used it deliberately. She needed strong words to lean on or to test her own strength against.
“Well, I must be going,” Daisy said. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. You’ll send a bill, of course?”
“Of course not.”
“I’d feel better about it if you did. I mean it.”
“All right, then, I will.”
“And thanks a lot for the advice, Adam.”
“You know, a lot of my clients thank me for my advice and then go right home and do the exact opposite. Is that going to be the case with you, Daisy?”
“I don’t think so,” she said seriously. “I appreciate your letting me talk to you. I can’t discuss things — problems, I mean — with Jim or Mother. They’re too involved with me. They get upset when I step out of my role as the happy innocent.”
“You should be able to talk freely to Jim. You have a good marriage.”
“Any good marriage involves a certain amount of playacting.”
His grunt indicated neither agreement nor disagreement: I’ll have to think about that before I decide. Playacting? Maybe.
He walked her to the elevator, feeling pleased with himself for handling the situation well and with her for reacting so sensibly. He realized that although he’d known Daisy for a long time, he had never talked seriously to her before; he had been willing to accept her in her role of the happy innocent, the gay little girl, long after he’d discovered that she was not happy or innocent or gay.
The elevator arrived, and even though someone else was already buzzing for it, Adam held the door back with one hand. He had a sudden, uneasy feeling that he shouldn’t let Daisy go, that nothing had been settled after all and the good solid advice he’d given her had blown away like smoke on a windy day.
“Daisy...”
“Someone’s buzzing for the elevator.”
“I just wanted to say that I wish you’d feel free to call me whenever you get upset.”
“I’m not upset anymore.”
“Sure?”
“Adam, someone wants the elevator. We can’t just...”
“I’ll take you down to the ground floor.”
“That isn’t nec—”
“I like the ride.”
He stepped inside, the door closed, and the slow descent began. It wasn’t slow enough, though. By the time Adam thought of anything more to say, they had reached the ground floor and Daisy was thanking him again, too politely and formally, as if she were thanking a host for a very dull party.
4
When I die, part of me will still be alive, in you, in your children, in your children’s children...
It was 2:30 when Daisy arrived home. Stella met her at the front door looking so flushed and lively that Daisy thought for a moment she’d got into Jim’s liquor cabinet.
“Some man’s been trying to get hold of you,” Stella said. “He’s called three times in the last hour, kept telling me how urgent it was and when was I expecting you back and the like.” It wasn’t often that any excitement occurred out here in the sticks, and Stella was determined to stretch it out. “The first two times he wouldn’t give no name, but the last time I just up and asked him, who is this calling please, I said. I could tell he didn’t want to give it, but he did, and I got it written down right here on a magazine with a number for you to call.”
Across the top of a magazine Stella had printed, “Stan Foster 67134 urgent.” Daisy had never heard of any Stan Foster, and she thought either the caller or Stella had made an error: Stella may have misunderstood the name, or Mr. Foster might be wanting to get in touch with a different Mrs. Harker.
“You’re sure of the name?” Daisy said.
“He spelled it out for me twice: S-T-A-N...”
“Yes. Thanks. I’ll call after I change my clothes.”
“How did you get so soaking wet? Is it raining even in the city?”
“Yes,” Daisy said. “It’s raining even in the city.”
She was in the bedroom taking off her clothes when the phone started ringing again. A minute later Stella knocked on the door.
“It’s that Mr. Foster on the line again. I told him you was home, is that all right?”
“Yes. I’ll take the call in here.” Throwing a bathrobe around her shoulders, she sat down on the bed and picked up the phone. “This is Mrs. Harker.”
“Hello, Daisy baby.”
Even if she hadn’t recognized the voice, she would have known who it was. No one ever called her Daisy baby except her father.
“Daisy baby? You there?”
“Yes, Daddy.” In that first moment of hearing his voice again, she felt neither pleasure nor pain, only a kind of surprise and relief that he was still alive. She hadn’t received a letter from him for nearly a year, though she’d written several times, and the last time she’d spoken to him was three years ago, when he called from Chicago to wish her a happy birthday. He’d been very drunk, and it wasn’t her birthday. “How are you feeling, Daddy?”
“Fine. Oh, I’ve got a touch of this and a touch of that, but in the main, fine.”
“Are you in town?”
“Yes. Got here last night.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I called you. Didn’t she tell you?”
“Who?”
“Your mother. I asked for you, but you were out. She recognized my voice and hung up, just like that, wham.”