“Are you all right?” he asked her finally, and she opened her eyes. She'd been holding her face up to the sun, trying not to feel the proximity of him, which was nearly impossible. She was aching to get up and throw herself into his arms, or at his feet. How was it possible to spend more than half a lifetime with someone and simply have them get up one morning and walk away? It was still nearly impossible for her to accept or even fathom.
“I'm fine,” she said quietly, not entirely sure of what he meant. Did he mean now, while waiting for Wim and sitting on a rock in the sun, or in a broader sense? She didn't want to ask.
“I worry about you,” he said, looking at his shoes. It was too painful to look at her. Everything he had done to her was in her eyes. They looked like pools of broken green glass. “This has been hard for us both,” he offered finally, which was hard to believe.
“It's what you want, isn't it?” she whispered, praying he would say no. This was her last chance to say it to him, or so it felt.
“Yes.” He spat the word out like a rock that had been caught in his throat. “It is. But that doesn't mean it's easy for me either. I can only imagine how you must feel.” To his credit, he looked sad and worried about her.
“No, you can't. I couldn't have imagined it either, until it happened to me. It's like a death, only worse. Sometimes I try to pretend that you are dead, which is easier, then I don't have to think about where you are, or why you left.” She was being excruciatingly honest with him. But why not at this point? She had nothing left to lose.
“It'll get better with time,” he said gently, not knowing what else to say, and then mercifully, they both saw Wim running down the road toward them. He arrived like a burst of summer wind, hot and perspiring and out of breath. For an instant, Paris was sorry he had come when he had, and then just as quickly, she was relieved. She had heard all she needed to know. Peter was firm in his decision, and only sorry for her. She didn't want his pity but his heart. The conversation could only have gone downhill from there.
It was easier to focus on Wim, and from then on, they were both busy carrying his belongings upstairs. Once they got into the room, Paris stationed herself in the area of Wim's bed, to unpack what they brought up, and Peter and Wim lugged boxes and bags, a trunk, a small stereo, his computer, and his bicycle up three flights of stairs. They had rented a microwave and a tiny refrigerator from the school. He had everything he'd need, and it was four o'clock before everything was set up. Two of his roommates had arrived by then, and the third appeared just as they left. They all looked like healthy, young, wholesome boys. Two were from California, and the third was from Hong Kong. And they seemed a good mix. Wim had promised to have dinner with Peter that night, and he said he'd be back at six, and then turned to Paris as they walked slowly down the stairs. They both looked tired, it had been a long day, and emotional in every way. She was not only watching her youngest child fly the nest, and helping him do it as she lovingly made his bed and put his clothes away, but she was setting Peter free at the same time, or trying to. It was a reminder of her double loss. Triple, when she thought of Meg. All the people she counted on and loved were now gone from her daily life, and Peter far more than that. He was gone for good.
He turned to her as they reached the main hall, which was graced with a huge bulletin board covered with fliers and messages, and posters of concerts and sports events. It was the essence of college life.
“Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?” Peter asked generously, as she shook her head. She was almost too drained to talk, as she brushed back a lock of blond hair, and he had to fight the temptation to do it for her. She looked like a young girl herself in jeans and T-shirt and sandals. She hardly looked older to him than the girls moving in to the neighboring dorm, and seeing her that way brought back a wave of memories for him.
“Thanks. I'm wiped out. I think I'll go back to the hotel and get a massage.” She was even too tired for that, but the last thing she wanted was to sit across a dinner table from him, or worse, next to him, and see what she could no longer have. As tired as she was, she knew all she would do was cry. She wanted to spare them all that. “I'll see Wim tomorrow. Are you coming back?”
He shook his head in answer. “I have to be in Chicago tomorrow night. I'm leaving in the morning, at the crack of dawn. But I think he's pretty well set, by this time tomorrow he won't want anything to do with either of us. He's off and running,” Peter said with a smile. He was proud of their son, and so was Paris.
“Yes, he is,” she said with a sad smile. It hurt so damn much, no matter how right it was. It was painful for her. “Thanks for carrying all the heavy stuff,” she said, as he walked her to the van. “It didn't seem like that much when we packed.” It had grown exponentially somehow on the flight out.
“It never does,” he said with a smile. “Remember when we took Meg to Vassar? I've never seen so much stuff in my life.” She had even brought wallpaper and curtains, and a rug, and insisted her father put up the wallpaper with a staple gun she'd brought. She had her mother's gift for transforming a room, and fortunately her roommate had liked what she'd brought. But Peter had never worked so hard in his life. Putting up the curtains to her satisfaction had been agony, and Paris laughed at the memory with him. “Whatever happened to all that stuff? I don't recall it coming home, or did she take it to New York?” It was the trivia of which lifetimes are made. A lifetime they had shared and never would again.
“She sold it to a junior when she left.” He nodded, and they looked at each other for a long moment. So many memories they had shared were irrelevant now, like old clothing left to disintegrate quietly in an attic. The attic of their hearts, and the marriage he had destroyed. She felt as though her entire life had been deposited in a dumpster like so much trash. All things that had once been cherished and loved and belonged to someone, and now had no home. And she along with it. Tossed out, forgotten, unloved. It was a depressing thought.
“Take care of yourself,” he said somberly, and then finally let himself say what he'd been thinking all day. “I mean really take care. You look awfully thin.” She didn't know what to answer him, she just looked at him, nodded, and looked away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. “Thanks for letting me be here today.”
“I'm glad you were,” she said generously. “It wouldn't have been the same for Wim if you weren't here.” He nodded, and she got into the van without looking at him, and a moment later she drove away, as he watched her for a long time. He believed in the choice he had made, and there were times when he had never known such happiness as what he and Rachel shared. And there were others when he knew he would miss Paris forever. She was a remarkable woman. And he hoped that one day, she would get over what he had done to her. He admired her for her dignity and courage. He knew better than anyone that she was a woman of great grace. More than he felt he deserved.
Chapter 7
When Paris showed up at the dormitory to see Wim the next day, he was on his way out with his friends. He had a thousand things to sign up for, people to meet, worlds to discover, things to do, and she realized within minutes that if she stuck around, she would be in the way. Her job was done. It was time to go.
“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” she asked hopefully, and he looked awkward and shook his head.