Cassi watched the cars in front as the Porsche relentlessly passed them. The monotonous movement of the windshield wipers mesmerized her as she tried to find the courage to broach her own operation. She’d promised herself she’d start speaking as soon as they came abreast of that yellow car. But the yellow car soon dropped behind them. Then it was the bus. But they’d passed that, too, and still Cassi remained silent. She gave up in despair, hoping that Thomas would bring up the subject himself.
The tension exhausted her. The idea of Ballantine’s party seemed less and less attractive. She had trouble understanding why Thomas, of all people, wanted to go. He hated hospital affairs. The idea occurred to Cassi that maybe he was going for her benefit. If that were the case, it was ridiculous. All Cassi could think about was clean sheets and their comfortable bed. She decided she’d say something when they got to the next overpass.
“Do you really want to go to this party tonight?” asked Cassi hesitantly as an overpass flashed above them.
“Why do you ask?” Thomas pulled the car sharply to the right, then gunned the engine to pass a car that had ignored his blinking high beam.
“If you’re going for me,” said Cassi, “I’m exhausted. I’d much rather stay home.”
“Goddammit,” shouted Thomas, banging the steering wheel. “Must you always think only of yourself! I told you weeks ago that the board of directors and the deans of the medical school are going to be there. Something strange is going on in the hospital that they are not telling me. But I don’t suppose you think that’s important?”
As Thomas reddened with anger, Cassi sank in her seat. She had a feeling that no matter what she said, it would only make matters worse.
Thomas lapsed into a sullen silence. He drove even more recklessly, taking the car up to ninety as they crossed the salt marshes. Despite the seat belt, Cassi found herself being thrown from side to side as the car rounded the sharp bends. She was relieved when he began to down shift before turning into their driveway.
By the time they got to the front door, Cassi had become resigned about the party. She apologized for not understanding its implications and added gently, “You look tired yourself.”
“Thanks! I appreciate your vote of confidence,” said Thomas sarcastically. He started for the stairs.
“Thomas,” called Cassi desperately. She could tell he’d interpreted her concern as an insult. “Does it have to be like this?”
“I think this is the way you want it.”
Cassi tried to object.
“Let’s not have a scene, please!” yelled Thomas. Then in a more controlled voice he said, “We’ll leave in an hour. You’re the one who looks terrible. Your hair is a mess. I hope you’re planning on doing something with it.”
“I will,” said Cassi. “Thomas, I don’t want us to fight. It terrifies me.”
“I’m not getting into this kind of discussion,” snapped Thomas. “Not now. Be ready in an hour.”
Hurrying into his study he went directly to the bathroom, mumbling under his breath about Cassi’s selfishness. He’d told her very specifically about the party and why it was important, but she’d conveniently forgotten because she was too tired! “Why do I have to put up with this,” he said, running a hand over his beard.
Getting out his shaving paraphernalia, Thomas washed and lathered his face. Cassi was becoming more than a source of irritation. She was becoming a burden. First her eye problems, then her preoccupation with the fact he took an occasional drug, and now her association with Seibert’s provocative paper.
Thomas began to shave with short, irritated strokes. It was beginning to feel as if everyone were against him, both at home and in the hospital. At work the key offender was George Sherman, who was constantly undermining him with all the supposed teaching bullshit. Just thinking about it filled Thomas with such frustration that he threw his razor into the shower with all the force he could muster. It ricocheted off the tiled walls with a clatter before coming to rest near the drain.
Leaving the razor where it was, Thomas got into the shower. The running water always tended to soothe him, and after he’d stood under the spray for a few minutes, he felt better. While he was drying, he heard the door to his study open. Expecting it was Cassi, he didn’t bother to look, but when he was done in the bathroom, he opened the door to find Patricia sitting in his armchair.
“Didn’t you hear me come in?” she asked.
“No,” said Thomas. It was easier to fib. He went to the cabinet below the bookshelves where he’d been keeping some of his clothes.
“I can remember when you used to take me to these hospital parties,” said Patricia plaintively.
“You’re welcome to come,” said Thomas.
“No. If you’d really wanted me you would have invited me rather than making me ask.”
Thomas thought it better not to respond. Whenever Patricia was in one of these “hurt” moods, it was safer to say nothing.
“Last night I saw the light come on in the study here, and I thought you’d come home. Instead I found Cassandra in here.”
“In my study?” demanded Thomas.
“She was right over there behind your desk.” Patricia pointed.
“What was she doing?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.” Patricia stood up with a self-satisfied expression. “I told you she would be trouble. But, oh no! You knew better.” She sauntered out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.
Thomas threw his clean clothes onto the sofa and went to his desk. Pulling out the drawer with his drugs, he was relieved to see the bottles of pills exactly as he’d left them behind the stationery.
Even so Cassi was driving him crazy. He’d warned her to stay away from his belongings. Thomas could feel himself begin to shake. Instinctively he reached into his cache of pills and extracted two: a Percodan for the headache he could feel behind his eyes and a Dexedrine to wake him up. If it was worth going to this party, he should at least be alert.
• • •
Cassi could sense a tremendous change for the worse in Thomas’s mood as they drove toward Manchester. She’d heard Patricia come into the house and guessed that she’d visited Thomas. It didn’t take too much imagination to figure out what she’d told him. Since Thomas had already been in poor humor, she couldn’t have chosen a worse time.
Cassi had made a real effort to look her best. After taking her evening insulin, which she’d upped because of sugar showing up in her urine, she’d bathed and washed her hair. Then she’d selected one of the dresses that Robert had suggested. It was a deep brown velvet with puffed sleeves and a tight bodice that gave her a charming medieval look.
Thomas said nothing about her appearance. In fact he said nothing at all. He drove the way he had coming from the hospital, recklessly and fast. She wished he had a close friend she could go to-someone who really cared for him, but in truth he didn’t have many friends at all. For a moment she was reminded of her last meeting with Colonel Bentworth. Then she caught her breath. Identifying with Maureen Kavenaugh was one thing, but comparing her husband to a borderline personality was ridiculous. Cassi turned her attention to the window to keep from thinking and tried to see through the moisture. It was a dark, forbidding night.
The Ballantines’ house fronted on the ocean, just like Thomas’s. But that was where the similarities ended. The Ballantines’ home was a large, stone mansion and had been in the family for a hundred years. In order to maintain the house, Dr. Ballantine had sold off some of the land to a developer, but since the original plot was so large, no other house could be seen from the main building. It gave the impression of being in the country.
As they got out of the car, Cassi noticed that Thomas had a slight tremor. His coordination seemed slightly off as they mounted the front steps. Oh God, what had he taken?