I glanced at the small lamp by her side of the bed, wondering if it would be helpful or too suggestive to turn it off, and thought again of the upstairs bedroom. Why hadn’t she used it? Why had she instead moved in here, knowing it was the room I would occupy? Was it to get used to the idea? I imagined her lying here, as alone as I was now, considering the prospect of my eventual arrival just as I was anticipating hers. You always think these things will get easier with age.
I didn’t hear her coming in her bare feet. The door just swung open and she was standing before me, in thin cotton pajamas, her toilet bag in her hand. She gave me an awkward smile as she crossed over to the chair she’d commandeered for her things and put the bag down.
“You feeling okay? Dinner go down all right?”
I watched her standing in the middle of the room, her hands by her sides. “Yes. It was great. Where’d you get the bed?”
“Leo put it together. I think he got the frame out of the barn. I don’t know where he got the mattress. Is it comfortable enough?”
I didn’t answer, but kept looking at her. “Gail, I’d be happy to use the sofa-”
She stopped me with her hand, suddenly held up. “No. I did this on purpose. I need to find out if I can spend the night with a man and not feel afraid.” Her voice was tight but strong, her convictions overriding her own nervousness.
She moved to her side of the bed and turned off the light. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the milky moonlight that angled in through the uncurtained window. I saw her-in vague pale shadow only-quickly remove her pajamas. She slid into the bed next to me and tentatively touched my chest with her hand. Instinctively, I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to me, reveling in the familiar way she nestled her head against my chest, the smell of her hair rich in my nose. She draped her leg over mine and I felt the softness of her naked breasts and stomach against me. At that, a sigh-almost a shudder-escaped her.
“How’s it feel?” I finally whispered.
She moved her face so her lips just touched mine. Her voice, wreathed in the sweetness of her toothpaste, was serious and thoughtful. “So far, so good.”
I kissed her gently and gave in to the best sleep I’d had in well over a month.
16
In some respects, I found myself spending the next week groping for an elusive past. I was in search of my former well-being, the easy communication I’d once enjoyed with Gail, and the comfort I’d always assumed would be there for me in my childhood home, but whose stability now seemed threatened.
The physical therapy set the rhythm. Leo eagerly supervised the hospital-dictated routine, but I felt driven to go beyond it, and did so in private, away from those I knew would caution me not to push too hard. There were no demands on me to rehabilitate rapidly. The calls I made to the office reassured me that all was well and progressing at its own legal snail’s pace. But despite the pleasant setting, a string of inordinately balmy days, and the colorful riot of the long-awaited fall foliage, I felt somehow under pressure, as if any regained strength might soon become a crucial advantage.
Apparently, I wasn’t much good at keeping my anxiety under wraps. Pulling up a seat beside my mother one afternoon, no longer using a wheelchair but wobbly-kneed from a private workout, I was about to embark on what had become a daily ritual for the two of us-the viewing of her favorite soap operas. This time, however, she killed the sound with her remote and gave me a mother’s careful scrutiny. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard?” she asked gently.
I wasn’t surprised she’d noticed, but I still hadn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know.”
“Is it Gail?” she persisted.
I looked at her in surprise. “What makes you think that?”
“She’s still in a lot of pain. Maybe you think you need to be, too.”
I was startled by the sophistication of the idea-and wondered if she might be right. Nevertheless, I made light of it, squeezing her hand. “My mother the shrink.”
She wasn’t amused. “Have you asked her what she’s feeling? It might be easier on both of you.”
I thought back over the week, at our initial night together, and at how, although tentatively, things seemed to be improving. “She’s doing well. She doesn’t brood on the attack as much-she seems more focused on getting on with things. She’s a strong person. I think she’s coming along.”
“Is she sleeping at night?” my mother asked pointedly.
“Sure-I guess so. She wasn’t at first.”
“Then why does she nap so much?”
A small, wiggling irritation began welling up inside me, as if I’d missed something obvious because I’d been distracted by my own concerns. “She’s been through a lot. Plus she takes care of me, helps Leo out at the store sometimes, and she’s still trying to run things in Brattleboro. It takes a toll.”
My mother patted my forearm. “She’s still not sleeping at night, Joey. She comes in here after you fall asleep. She plays the TV, sometimes she reads, other times I imagine she just sits on the sofa and wishes she were someone else.”
“How do you know that? Do you hear her?”
She laughed gently. “No. I’m sleeping fine. I notice things in the morning-a magazine’s been put back on another pile, a bookmark’s been moved up a hundred pages, the blanket on the back of the sofa’s folded differently than it was when we went to bed.”
I stared at her in astonishment. “The bookmark? You know what page she’s on?”
She shook her head, obviously delighted with her prowess. Her eyes, however, remained serious. She didn’t want me to miss her point. “This room is almost my entire world. The first things I noticed were obvious-the bookmark came after I started paying close attention.”
She reached out and touched my cheek, her fingertips warm and smooth. “She needs you just like you need her. Helping you to get better has let her focus on someone besides herself-it’s given her breathing room-but it’s also helped her to hide from her own demons.”
My eyes strayed to the screen. A beautiful man in beautiful clothes mouthed something to a beautiful woman and then stalked out the door. The woman stared at the camera with tear-stained eyes, her trembling mouth parted, before everything went blank for a station break.
“One last piece of motherly advice,” the soothing voice said next to me.
I looked into those old, familiar gray eyes. “Don’t stop now.”
“Just be supportive. Don’t confront her on her sleeping habits-or anything else. Time will help you out.”
I didn’t confront Gail on her nocturnal habits that night. I joined her instead, albeit without her knowledge. A half hour after we’d turned off the light-and about five minutes after she’d slipped out of bed for her nightly vigil in the living room-I propped myself up against the pillows in the darkness and began wrestling with my own doubts. Gail’s mental health was certainly part of them-and I now knew for myself that my mother’s concerns had been well founded. But there was something else, something that had first stirred inside me the day I’d talked with Tony Brandt in the hospital gym, and which the conversation I’d had with Gail tonight-before we’d both pretended to go to sleep-had put into sharp focus.
I had taken my mother’s advice. Upon getting into bed earlier, I’d asked Gail if caring for me wasn’t merely a way for her to avoid her own problems.
She frowned at the question but didn’t get angry. “Maybe, but that’s probably not all bad. Before you were hurt, the rape was all I thought about-it took over my life.”
“And now that I’m on the mend?”
She hesitated and then sighed heavily, as if forcing herself to be polite. “I’ve been in touch with Susan. Women for Women have started a vigil to help keep Dunn honest, and they’ve held Katz’s feet to the fire so the paper doesn’t drop the issue now that Vogel is in jail. Next week WBRT is holding a half-day call-in show I’m going to be on with other women, so the whole subject of rape can be discussed in the open-”