“Of course I do,” she answered dully, almost sadly. “You believe in that sort of thing, too.”
“I do?”
“I mean you’re an honorable person. You’re what we call, with great significance, a nice guy.”
“OK. I hope I am. And I put my question wrong. I mean, what about your desire to see the place where you were born? But I’m lying to you now, you know, because what I want to say is, is there any chance you’ll come back there with me? And I guess a nice guy doesn’t tell lies.”
Silence.
“I know that sounds presumptuous,” he said. “I know there’ve been quite a few men in this house, I mean I’m not the light of your life, I … ”
“Stop it. I could fall in love with you and you know it.”
“Well, then listen to what I’m saying, because it is about two living people. And maybe I’ve already … well, I … what I mean is, if you want to go back there, if you need to go back just to see for yourself where you were born and who your parents were … Well, why the hell don’t you come with me?” He sighed and sat back, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “I suppose that would be an awfully big step, wouldn’t it? And all this is selfish of me. I just want you to come. Some nice guy.”
She was staring off again, frozen, then her mouth stiffened. And he realized she was again about to cry. “I’d like to go,” she said. The tears were rising.
“God, Rowan, I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no right to ask.”
The tears won out. She continued to look out towards the water, as if that were the only way to hold the line for the moment. But she was crying, and he could see the subtle movement of her throat as she swallowed, and the tightening in her shoulders. The thought flashed through him that this was the most alone person he’d ever known. California was full of them, but she was really isolated, and in a purely unselfish way, he was afraid for her, afraid to leave her in this house.
“Look, Rowan, I really am sorry. I can’t do this to you,” he said. “It’s between you and Ellie. When you get ready to go, you’ll go. And for now, I have to do it for totally different reasons. I’ve got to get out of here, and I hate like hell to go.”
The tears had begun to spill down her cheeks again.
“Rowan … ”
“Michael,” she whispered. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one who’s fallen in your arms. Now, stop worrying about me.”
“No, don’t say it.” He started to get up, because he wanted to hug her again, but she wouldn’t allow it. She reached for his hand across the table and held it.
Gently he spoke to her: “If you don’t think I loved it, holding you, wiping your tears, well then you’re not using your powers, Rowan. Or you just don’t understand a man like me.”
She shivered, arms tight across her chest, her bangs falling down in her eyes. She looked so forlorn he wanted to gather her to himself and kiss her again.
“What are you afraid of, really?” he asked.
When she answered, she spoke in a whisper, so low that he could scarcely hear. “That I’m bad, Michael, a bad person, a person who could really do harm. A person with a terrible potential for evil. That is what all my powers, such as they are, tell me about me.”
“Rowan, it wasn’t a sin to be a better person than Ellie or Graham. And it isn’t a sin to hate them for your loneliness, for rearing you in a state of isolation from every blood tie you might have.”
“I know all that, Michael.” She smiled, a warm sweet smile full of gratitude and quiet acceptance, but she did not trust the things he’d said. She felt that he had failed to see something crucial about her, and he knew it. She felt that he had failed, just as he failed on the deck of the boat. She looked out at the deep blue water and then back at him.
“Rowan, no matter what happens in New Orleans, you and I are going to see each other again, and soon. I could swear to you now on a stack of Bibles that I’ll be back here, but in truth, I don’t think I ever will. I knew when I left Liberty Street I wasn’t ever going to live there again. But we’re going to meet somewhere, Rowan. If you can’t set foot in New Orleans, then you pick the place, and you say the word, and I’ll come.”
Take that, you bastards out there, he thought looking at the water, and up at the dirty blue California sky, you creatures whoever you are that did this to me, and won’t come back to guide me. I’ll go to New Orleans, I’ll follow where you lead. But there is something here between me and this woman, and that belongs to me.
She wanted to drive him to the airport, but he insisted on taking a cab. It was just too long a drive for her, and she was tired, he knew it. She needed her sleep.
He showered and shaved. He hadn’t had a drink now in almost twelve hours. Truly amazing.
When he came down he found her sitting with her legs folded, on the hearth again, looking very pretty in white wool pants and another one of those great swallowing cable-knit sweaters that made her look all the more long-wristed and long-legged and delicate as a deer. She smelled faintly of some perfume he used to know the name of, and which he still loved.
He kissed her cheek, and then held her for a long moment. Eighteen years, maybe more than that, separated him in age from her and he felt it painfully, felt it when he let his lips again graze her firm, plump cheek.
He gave her a slip of paper on which he’d written down the name of the Pontchartrain Hotel and the number. “How can I reach you at the hospital, or is that not the right thing to do?”
“No, I want you to do that. I pick up my messages all day, at intervals.” She went to the kitchen counter and wrote out the numbers on the telephone pad, tore off the page, and put it in his hand. “Just raise hell if they give you any trouble. Tell them I’m expecting your call. And I’ll tell them.”
“Gotcha.”
She stood back a pace from him, slipping her hands in her pockets, and she lowered her head slightly as she looked at him. “Don’t get drunk again, Michael,” she said.
“Yes, Doctor.” He laughed. “And I could stand right here and tell you I was going to take the pledge, honey, but somehow or other the minute that stewardess … ”
“Michael, don’t drink on the plane and don’t drink when you get there. You’re going to be bombarded with memories. You’re going miles away from anybody you know.”
He shook his head. “You’re right, Doc,” he said. “I’ll be careful. I’ll be all right.”
He went to his suitcase, took out his Sony Walkman from the zipper pocket, and checked that he had remembered to bring a book for the plane.
“Vivaldi,” he said, slipping the Walkman with its tiny earphones into his jacket pocket. “And my Dickens. I go nuts when I fly without them. It’s better than Valium and vodka, I swear.”
She smiled at him, the most exquisite smile, and then she laughed. “Vivaldi and Dickens,” she whispered. “Imagine that.”
He shrugged. “We all have our weaknesses,” he said. “God, why am I leaving like this?” he asked. “Am I crazy?”
“If you don’t call me this evening … ”
“I’ll call you, sooner and more often than you could possibly expect.”
“The taxi’s there,” she said.
He had heard the horn, too.
He took her in his arms, kissing her, crushing her to him. And for one moment, he almost couldn’t pull away. He thought of what she’d said again, about them causing the accident, causing the amnesia, and a dark chill went through him, something like real fear. What if he forgot about them, forever, what if he just stayed here with her? It seemed a possibility, a last chance of sorts, it really did.