“You're not still upset, are you, about all that crap Gail told you?” She hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. He was so deaf, so blind, so dumb, that he had no idea what he had just done to her, or their marriage. She knew there was no point now saying more, or trying to explain it. And she knew, just as certainly, as she looked at him, that for an entire lifetime, she would never forget this moment.
Chapter 3
FOR THE next three weeks, India moved through her life feeling like a robot. She fixed breakfast, drove the kids to school, picked them up, and went to every activity from tennis to baseball. For the first time in years, she forgot to take her camera with her, and suddenly now even that seemed pointless. She felt as though she were fatally wounded. Her spirit was dead, and it was only a matter of time before her body followed. Somehow, with what he'd said, and the illusions he'd killed, India felt as though Doug had sucked all the life out of her. It was like letting the air out of her tires. And now, everything she did seemed like an enormous effort.
She ran into Gail constantly, as she always did, and knew she was still seeing Dan Lewison. They had had lunch several more times, and she had made allusions to meeting him at a hotel somewhere. India could guess the rest, but she didn't really want to know, and she didn't ask Gail any questions.
She didn't tell her about what Doug had said, and when Gail noticed that she was depressed, she assumed it was still about the assignment she hadn't taken in Korea.
And India never did call Raoul Lopez to get off the roster. It was the last thing she wanted to do now. All she wanted to do was get away to Cape Cod, and try to forget what had happened. She thought maybe she'd feel better about him again with a little distance between them. She needed to regroup, rethink what he'd said, and try to feel better about him, if she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. But how did you feel the same again about a man who had essentially said he didn't love you, and to whom you were nothing more than a convenient companion? A man who discarded the career you had given up for him, however worthy it had been, with a single flippant gesture. Every time she looked at Doug now, she felt as though she no longer knew him. And he seemed to have no suspicion whatsoever that what he'd said to her had caused major damage. To Doug, it was business as usual. He went into the city every day on the 7:05, and came home for dinner, told her how easy or hard the day had been, and then read his papers. And when she seemed less inclined to make love to him than she had been previously, he put it down to the fact that she was either tired or busy. It never occurred to him that she no longer wanted to make love to him and had no idea what to do about it.
In the end, it was an enormous relief to her when she and the children finally left for their vacation. She had packed everything they needed in three days. They never wore anything fancy on the Cape, just shorts and jeans and bathing suits, and they left most of it there when they left at the end of the summer. But the children always came up with new things they wanted to bring with them. She managed to avoid Doug almost entirely the last week, as he was meeting with two sets of new clients, and spent two nights in the city.
And on the morning they left, he stood on the lawn waving at them, and he almost forgot to kiss her goodbye. When he did, it was hastily, and without much emotion. And for once, she didn't mind it. The kids and the dog were in the station wagon with her, and their bags were in the back, crammed in so tight it took three of them to close the door, and he shouted to her as they drove off, “Don't forget to call me!” She nodded and smiled, and drove away, feeling as though she had left a stranger behind her. He had already told her he couldn't come up the first weekend, and he had told her the night before that it looked as though he wouldn't make it up over the Fourth of July either. He had too much work to do for his new clients. He thought she was an exceptionally good sport about it, when she didn't complain, and thanked her for it. He never noticed that for the past few weeks, since their dinner at Ma Petite Amie, she had been unusually quiet.
It took them six and a half hours to drive from Westport to Harwich, and they stopped several times on the way, at McDonald's. And the children were all in good spirits. They could hardly wait to get to the beach and see their friends there. As they talked about it on the way up, and what they were going to do as soon as they arrived, only Jessica noticed that her mother was distracted. She was sitting in the front seat, next to her mother.
“Something wrong, Mom?”
India was touched that she had noticed. Doug certainly hadn't. He had been business as usual right to the last minute, and seemed almost relieved to see them go, so he could devote himself full-time to his new clients.
“No, I'm fine. Just tired. It's been pretty busy getting ready to leave.” It was a plausible reason for her distraction. She didn't want to tell Jessica she was upset with her father. It was the first time she had ever felt that she and Doug had a serious problem.
“How come Daddy isn't coming up for the first two weeks?” She had noticed that her mother was quieter than usual for weeks now, and she wondered if they had had a fight or something, though usually her parents seemed to fight less than other people.
“He's busy with new clients. He'll be up for the weekend in a couple of weeks, and he's going to spend three weeks with us in August.” Jessica nodded and put the earphones to her Walkman on, and for the rest of the trip India was lost in her own thoughts as she drove the familiar road to Massachusetts. She did it every summer.
She had talked to Gail the day before, and they were leaving that weekend for Paris, but Gail was as unenthused as ever. If possible, even a little more so. She'd been having a good time with Dan Lewison, and hated to leave him now, particularly knowing that it was the kind of relationship that would survive neither time nor distance. By the time she got back, he would have moved on with his life, and begun to settle into his new routine, and would have connected undoubtedly with the flock of hungry divorcees waiting to devour him. And all Gail had to offer him was the occasional clandestine afternoon in a motel, and there were plenty of others waiting to do that. She had no illusions about their importance to each other. And just listening to her talk about it depressed India still further. She wished her a good trip, and told her to call when she got back. Maybe she and the kids could come up to the Cape for a few days later in the summer while Jeff was working. And Gail said she'd love that.
It was late that afternoon when they got to the house in Harwich, and India got out and stretched her legs, and looked at the clear expanse of blue ocean with a feeling of relief. Being here was just what she needed. It was a lovely place, a comfortable old Victorian house, and she always found it blissfully peaceful. They had friends with summerhouses nearby, some from Boston, others from New York, and India was always happy to see them. Although this year, she wanted to spend a few days by herself, with the children. She needed some time to think, and regroup, and recover from the blow of what she'd felt ever since their fateful dinner. For the first time in fourteen years, once they'd settled into the house, she didn't even want to call Doug. She just couldn't. He called that night to make sure they'd arrived. He spoke to the children, and then India.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, and India assured him that everything was fine. The house had been cleaned by a service that week, and was in good order. No leaks, no broken screens or damage from the winter.
She reported it all to him, and he seemed satisfied with what she told him. And then he surprised her with his next question. “Why didn't you call me when you got there? I was afraid something might have happened.” Why? Since hearts and flowers were of no importance to him, what did it matter if she called him? What would that have meant to him? The loss of someone reliable to take care of his children? He could always hire a housekeeper if something happened to her.