“You weren’t happy there?”
“Well, it’s a nice town. I had a lot of friends. Belonged to an art cooperative and had my studio there. Took courses at the university extension-cooking, French, calligraphy, whatever happened to interest me at the time. And there were concerts and plays…”
“Then why did you leave?” Alix asked. “I know you mentioned you were divorced, but Eugene is a sizable town; surely you wouldn’t have run into your ex-husband very often.”
“It wasn’t that. I had to leave, for my own peace of mind. Ron spoiled the town for me-all my memories as well as my enjoyment of the present. Staying there would have been more than I could bear.”
“He must have really hurt you.”
Cassie stopped walking and turned to face the water, standing still with her back to Alix. There was a fishing boat on the horizon, a small speck that barely moved; she seemed to be watching it. But Alix sensed she wasn’t.
After a time Cassie said, “Ron is a professor at the university. Anthropology. There were women from his classes, girls really… a constant stream of them almost from the first year we were married. You’re a faculty wife; you know how some professors are, the temptations, sex in return for a decent grade…”
“Yes, I know,” Alix said a little awkwardly. “I’ve seen it happen at Stanford.”
“But not to your husband.”
“No.”
Thank God he’d never fallen into that trap, she thought. Not that she knew of, at least. The extension of the thought came as a mild surprise; she’d never suspected him of straying since the time she’d gone up to Boston and checked his closet for another woman’s clothing. Surely she’d have known if there had been someone else, wouldn’t she?
But lately, in some ways, it seemed she’d never known him at all.
“… an old story, isn’t it?” Cassie was saying bitterly. “Happens all the time.”
“More often than we care to think about.” But Alix’s mind was still on Jan.
“I wouldn’t have cared about an occasional fling,” Cassie said. “I can understand temptation and weakness as well as the next person. But with Ron it was constant, one romance after another. ”
“He didn’t tell you about them, did he?”
“Oh no. He was very discreet; he had to be, because of his position. But I knew. I always knew.”
“What finally made you leave him?”
Cassie was silent for a moment. “I guess,” she said then, “he went one romance too far.”
She turned, hugging her sweater closely about her, and continued on toward where the beach ended in a fall of rocks. Alix fell in at her side, wondering what she would have done in such a situation. The same as Cassie, probably. Only she wouldn’t have waited nearly so long. Or would she?
They walked in silence until they reached the jumble of rocks. Then, as they turned and started back, Alix said, “Well, all that’s behind you-your life in Eugene, I mean. You’ve made a new start here, and it’s to your credit that you did it on your own.”
“I suppose so,” Cassie said. But her smile was wry. “But is the past ever really dead? Don’t the bad things come back to haunt us sometimes, in one way or another?”
Alix felt a small chill. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“Not for you, maybe. I hope it never does. I hope all that’s happened here doesn’t come back to haunt you.”
“Why do you say that?”
Her voice was sharper than she’d intended it, and Cassie glanced at her, then glanced away. There was a pause, awkward now. Then Cassie said, “Well, one can’t help but hear things in a place this small. I told you before, Lillian Hilliard’s stock in trade is rumor and gossip and innuendo; she was in her glory when I went into the store this morning. I don’t put any stock in that kind of malicious tongue-wagging, but I can’t help wondering how it’s affecting you and your husband.”
And suddenly Alix couldn’t help wondering if that was the real reason Cassie had come out here this afternoon, or at least part of it. She didn’t want to believe that; it would diminish the woman, make her less than the friend she seemed to want to be. But there was the evident fact that Cassie herself was something of a gossip, and that alone was enough to keep Alix from backing down on her resolve not to confide in anyone else in this area. A casual friend was one thing; an ally was another. And her only ally in this situation, the only person she could count on-at least until she could make Jan listen to reason-was herself.
She smiled wanly at Cassie and said, “It’s not affecting us very much at all. It’s pure nonsense, of course.”
“Oh, of course. But… well, there was that incident with Mitch Novotny’s dog…”
“Accident, not incident,” Alix said. “Cassie, if you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel.”
“I’ve just got too many things on my mind, that’s all. And one of them is my current sketch for Jan’s book. It’s been pleasant, but I really should be getting back.”
As they began to scale the cliff, Cassie’s expression was one of hurt, disappointment, and something else that might have been a mild irritation. Momentarily, Alix felt guilty for being so abrupt with her; after all, Cassie had confided in her. But Cassie’s problems were in the past, while hers were much more immediate. And, she reminded herself, she couldn’t be sure of Cassie’s motives in pursuing the friendship. As she’d decided earlier, it was better to keep her personal affairs to herself.
Jan
Writing was impossible; he hadn’t written anything for days now. Every time he sat down with his notes and his research material, his thoughts became disorganized, fragmented. He was capable of thinking of one perfectly good sentence, but seldom of the one that followed it in a natural progression.
Lately he’d spent most of his time either in the lightroom or up in the lantern working on the Fresnel lens. The lantern was where he’d gone after Alix left in the car. He had still been in the bathroom then, cleaning the tub and walls and floor with bottled water and disinfectants, and he’d heard the car and looked out and seen her driving away. She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. But she would be back before long; she would never leave him permanently without saying good-bye.
He worked on the glass prisms and bull’s-eyes with cleaner and soft cloth. Catadioptric prisms refract and reflect; dioptric prisms and bull’s-eye lens refract. And what exactly does this mean, professor? Thus, the lens bends and magnifies rays so as to create a single plane of brilliant light. Very good. Two cohesive sentences in a row. Too bad he wasn’t downstairs at his typewriter. But then if he were, he wouldn’t be able to think of the next sentence. He didn’t even try now.
It was cold up here, but he was sweating; a drop of perspiration rolled down his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. It tasted salty, like a tear.
He moved the lens slightly on its ball-bearing track. He had spent half a day greasing and adjusting the track, so as to once again allow the lens to move smoothly and easily. Some large Fresnels were placed on wheels, others mounted on ball-bearing track, still others floated in beds of mercury. He turned the lens a bit more, to reach the rest of the catadioptric prisms near the bottom. He was almost done with the cleaning. Another few minutes would do it. This type of lens utilizes a set flash-and-eclipse pattern, which is known as the “light characteristic”; the interval of its repetition is known as its “period.” Ah, yes. And what did the Fresnel lens say to the approaching ship? Not tonight, dear, I’m having my period.
The quality of light coming through the lantern windows brightened suddenly. He glanced up and saw a shaft of sunshine, saw pieces of blue scattered among the gray wisps outside. The fog was burning off, the sky becoming clear. He stood up, squinting against the glare. Out to sea, the sun reflected in quicksilver flashes off the ruffled water. Beautiful sight. Better enjoy it now, all simple things like this, while he still could.