“No, the doctor said this is actually the best time, especially if we go by plane.”
“But well, there’s the lawsuit coming up and everything...”
“It won’t be coming up. Esther has agreed to a settlement out of court. I didn’t want to take it — she’s been so nice about things since that day I met her in Eaton’s — but my attorney said I’d be a fool to turn it down. It’s quite a lot of money.”
“And well it should be.” Mrs. Malverson was on the point of asking how much, but she desisted, in the hope that Thelma would volunteer the information.
Thelma didn’t. “Anyway, it’s all settled now. I signed the papers.”
“Nevada. I ask you, why Nevada? I hear it’s a wicked spot. Gambling, even on the Sabbath, that’s what I heard.”
“It’s a good place to get a divorce,” Thelma said grimly. “Six weeks, and it’s all over.”
“A divorce?”
“Yes. My husband...” She stumbled awkwardly over the word, and her face flushed. “Mr. Bream called me long distance last night. He wants a divorce. He’s in love with another woman.
“Well. Well.”
“Don’t be so shocked. I wasn’t. I’ve actually been expecting it for some time now. It’s almost a relief to have it confirmed.”
“You poor child. You poor...”
“No. I don’t really care. I thought I might when I heard his voice again, but last night on the telephone he didn’t even sound like himself, it was like talking to a stranger. Her name’s Anne.”
“Her?”
“The woman.” She slammed down the lid of the trunk, but the gesture, like Pandora’s, was a little too late. Too many things had already escaped. She said roughly, “All this old junk of Harry’s, I might as well throw it away.”
She left the first week of November. Turee offered to drive her out to the Malton Airport but she refused. She said all her good-byes briefly and by telephone, as if she preferred not to risk any display of emotion which might make her change her mind.
She sent air-mail letters to Mrs. Malverson, the Turees and Esther, assuring them of her safe arrival in Las Vegas. The trip had been pleasant and Ronnie a perfect angel all the way, but she didn’t like Las Vegas. The countryside was too desolate and the town itself full of very odd people. When her residence requirements were up she intended to move on, perhaps to Southern California. There was no mention of homesickness, loneliness, regret. Or Harry.
At Christmas time she sent large, elaborate baskets of fruit to all her friends, belts of hammered silver and Indian turquoise to the Turee children, and hand-tooled leather holsters to Esther’s two boys. On the back of a Christmas card to Joe Hepburn which didn’t arrive until New Year’s she wrote that she had her divorce papers and she and Ronnie were staying temporarily in a motel in Pacific Palisades until she decided on a permanent place. She did not give the name of the motel, or the exact location of Pacific Palisades, which Hepburn had never heard of and couldn’t find on the map.
It seemed as though the Breams, who had once lived in such close proximity, were now trying to get as far away from each other as possible. In Harry’s next letter to Turee, in February, he said he had maneuvered a transfer to Florida. The Kansas City climate was proving too rigorous for Anne, who was inclined to be frail. Enclosed in the letter, almost as an afterthought, was the formal announcement of his wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Paul Davis Dugan announced the marriage of their daughter, Anne, to Mr. Harry Ellsworth Bream.
“Well, that’s that,” Turee said and passed the announcement and the letter across the breakfast table to his wife.
“Yes. Yes, I guess it is.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it. I thought you liked people to get married and live happily ever after and so on. What’s eating you?”
“Oh, there’s something so final about it, seeing it in print like this.”
“Let’s hope it’s final.”
“I can’t help — well, Thelma and Harry always seemed so right for each other. I kept hoping things would work out between them.”
“You’re a great hoper.”
Nancy reread the letter, making little snorting noises of disapproval. “Frail. Huh. She was born and raised in Kansas City, now suddenly she’s too frail. Oh, I bet Harry has picked himself a lemon. A real lemon.”
“Nancy, love...”
“What’s more, I hear Florida is hotter than hell in the summer and people are always getting lost in swamps.”
The new Mrs. Bream did not get lost in a swamp. She did, however, become dissatisfied with Florida rather quickly, and once again Harry found himself on the move, this time to a new job, obtained through one of Anne’s relatives, with an oil company in Bolivia. Since he knew nothing about either oil or Bolivia, he expected to be extremely busy and would not have the chance to write as frequently as in the past.
By the time another Christmas rolled around, his letters had ceased entirely.
Twenty-one
Thelma’s Christmas card that year consisted of an enlarged snapshot of her son standing in a shallow wading pool, staring sober and wide-eyed into the camera. He was now some fifteen months old, a handsome child, dark-haired like his father, stockily built like his mother.
The enclosed letter to the Turees was unlike any Thelma had written before. Even her handwriting had altered: it was larger, less controlled, and the lines slanted ebulliently upwards.
Dear Nan and Ralph:
Would you ever have recognized Ronnie? I bet not. He’s getting to be so big I can scarcely carry him anymore (23 lbs!), but fortunately, I don’t have to. He’s very good at getting around by himself, too good, sometimes! It is so long since I’ve written to you that I hardly know just where to start. First things first, though, so here goes. I am going to be married this week, and if I were any happier I’d burst! His name is Charley, he’s a widower with grown children, and he’s quite the nicest person in the world. I met him last summer on the beach at Malibu. He was walking his dog and the dog bit me on the leg. Not very romantic! We’ll be going to live in Charley’s house in Santa Monica. (As a matter of fact, I’m writing this from there — Charley is out in the yard making a swing for Ronnie.) I hope you will find time to convey my good news to Esther and the Winslows and Joe and Mrs. Malverson and to give them my regards. I won’t be writing again for a long time, nor hearing from any of you. I’ll do my best to explain why, and I can only hope your feelings will not be hurt. Charley knows nothing about my past life. He thinks I am a widow — I told him that on the spur of the moment when we first met, and I’ve had to stick to my story. Please try to understand my position, and my reasons for not giving you Charley’s last name or my new address. He’s a wonderful man, and even if he found out the truth about me I think he’d forgive me, but I can’t afford to take that chance. I love him too dearly.
I feel that I’m on the brink of a whole new life for myself and for Ronnie. (He needs a father now, you should see the cute way he trails behind Charley!) I can’t do anything to endanger our happiness, even if it means no more communications from my dearest friends.
Please try to understand, and give me your blessing.
Love,
Nancy was extremely happy over the news. “I think it’s terribly romantic.”
“Indeed,” Turee said. “How do you know he’s not marrying her for her money?”
“What money? All she has is the settlement out of Ron’s estate.”