visibly pulling herself back. “What would I have done without you? It’s different, that’s all.”
“I mean you have Larry.”
“I never loved Larry,” she said flatly, putting out her cigarette. “I never loved anyone but your father. Not for a day. Didn’t you know that?”
No, I didn’t, Nick wanted to say. “But you married him.”
“Yes. I don’t know why. I suppose to make him stop asking me. Maybe I thought it would be safer-better for you. Who knows why we do things? Maybe I thought it would be a way to forget.” Her hand was still at the ashtray, rubbing the cigarette out. “I was wrong about that. In a way it made it worse, all the pretending. Anyway, I did. Not very fair to him, I suppose, but it’s what he wanted.”
“He’s crazy about you.”
“Larry?” She looked up at him. “Larry was never faithful to me in his life. Not that I cared. Well, at first. Then it was a relief, really. I never had to worry about him. Larry always took care of himself.” She paused. “Now I am embarrassing you.”
“How did you know?” Nick said, disbelieving. Where had he been while their lives were going on?
“Oh, darling, people are always helpful. Telling you things. For your own good. I suppose they thought I’d mind. Divorce him, which is always interesting. But, you see, I didn’t care. I mean, he never flaunted it, there was no reason not to go on as we were. He was always very fond of you.” She shrugged, ironic. “A model husband. It’s just the way he is. So why should I mind?”
“You don’t really mean that.”
“No, not really,” she said quietly. “But that’s the way it worked out. I don’t know what he expected, marrying me. I often wondered. I think he wanted it because he wanted it. The idea of it. But after a while it didn’t matter. You get used to everything, even the looks. ”Poor Livia.“ That’s the only part that used to bother me, the way they’d look at you. As if you didn’t know. Tim was the worst. Those eyes. Like he was praying for you.” She touched Nick’s arm. “You ought to go see him, by the way. He’s had a stroke now. They were giving him speech therapy. Funny, isn’t it, to think of Tim tongue-tied. Funny how life works out. One day you’re-” She broke off. “And the next day you’re a widow. And it’s all gone.” She turned to Nick. “I’m glad you saw him. No matter what. You were everything to him. Was it all right, when you saw him? The way it was? I remember when you were little, that look he’d get on his face-” She reached for the handkerchief. “He couldn’t get enough of you.”
“It was the same,” Nick said, suddenly claustrophobic in the dark room, the air itself swallowed up in her longing.
“He must have known. To want to see you before. It’s terrible, knowing like that.” As if his father had been lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the end, not being hurled over a balcony. The only way she would imagine it now, her dying lover.
Nick stood up and turned on the light. “It’s getting dark.”
She looked up, surprised, then nodded into the handkerchief. “And here I am wallowing. There’s not much point, is there? Going on like this. There,” she said, wiping her eyes again, “all gone. Now. How about taking an old lady out to dinner? We’ll go somewhere nice.” She stood up and glanced at him. “I suppose you’re dressed. It doesn’t seem to matter these days. I’ll just go put on my face.” She stopped. “I’ll be all right. Really. Somewhere nice. Lutece.”
Nick checked his watch. “Can we get in? I mean-”
“Darling. Use Larry’s name.” She started to move away, then turned. “Nick, all this about Larry-I shouldn’t have told you that. You mustn’t mind. He cares about you. All this other-it doesn’t matter, really. It’s just life. My life, not yours.” She tried a smile. “Well, I won’t be a minute. We’ll have dinner. You can tell me everything that happened. How he lived. All that. Was he still funny?”
“Not as funny.”
“Oh,” she said, a catch in her throat, then dismissed it. “Well, everything. Even the bad parts.”
“Are you sure you want to know? Maybe it’s better if-”
“Yes,” she said, looking at him seriously. “It’s important. Everything about him. I have to know. All these years, nobody would talk about him. I was supposed to be-I don’t know, ashamed, I guess. Larry wouldn’t. I think it embarrassed him. Maybe he thought it would hurt me. But it can’t now. I want to talk about him.” She paused, looking down, her voice faltering. “You see, I didn’t know before. There isn’t going to be anyone else. I’m not ashamed. He was the love of my life.” Then she turned and left.
Nick stood for a minute looking at the rich, soft room, the dull sheen of silver boxes and picture frames in the half-light, their old ormolu clock on the mantel, then went over to the window. Across the park, the familiar apartment towers had begun to light up: Majestic. Beresford. El Dorado. Movie castles, not the grim Hradcany, looming over a dark city. None of it had to happen. All their happiness. To protect somebody else.
“I won’t be a minute,” she called from her dressing room, her voice almost an echo.
She took ten. But when she appeared she was ready to go out, hair brushed back, lips red, fixed in a smile, the prettiest girl at Sacred Heart.
“How do I look?” she said.
“You look beautiful.”
Her face softened, a real smile. “You always say that.”
Molly was late.
“Remind me never to complain about Czech trains again,” she said, flinging her bag on the hotel bed, full of energy. “At least they run. I had to wait an hour and then we got stuck. And of course she had to wait with me. Good old Kathleen. Made me realize why I left home in the first place. Still, it was worth it. Wait till you see what I’ve got.” She looked over at him, noticing his distant expression. “How was your mother?”
“Sad,” he said quietly, not wanting to discuss it. “What have you got?”
“What they call evidence.” Molly sat, poking in her bag. “Take a look. Rosemary’s last letter. My mother had it all these years-not a word. She said she never showed it to anyone because it was too shameful. Despairing. Anyway, I wheedled it out of her.”
“A suicide note?” The letter was written on old correspondence paper, one sheet folded over to make four sides, the writing thick and hard, almost pressed through so that the ink had barely faded.
“I don’t think so. Look.” No margins, the girlish handwriting running from side to side in a solid block.
Dear Kathy,
Thanks so much for the $. I know things aren’t easy for you either and I wouldn’t have asked but I’m almost flat. I’ll pay you back when I’m on my feet again. I wish I knew when that will be. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do and when all this business is going to end. I could tell from your letter, Kathy, that you think it’s all my fault but honestly it’s not, please don’t think that. I don’t know how it started, it’s like a bad dream, and I just wish it would end. The newspapers don’t bother me much now but I guess they’ll start up again and then I don’t know what. At least now I’ll have some $ for a new dress.
You ask me if I’m sorry I got involved with the ‘Reds’ in the first place. I suppose you want me to say yes, so yes. But I still think what they say makes a lot of sense. I guess all I can say is that it sounded like a good idea at the time. I am sorry that I got talked into doing what I did. You know I would never do anything against this country. I didn’t think it was ’treason‘ the way they say in the papers. I was just helping out, for a good cause. Well, I know better now but that doesn’t help much. I thought one confession was enough. At least it wouldn’t be on my conscience. But I guess Washington isn’t like the church. They always want more-no absolution. I thought I was finished with it but I guess I wasn’t.
So I don’t know what I’m going to do. Pray for me, if you think God is still listening. Thanks again for the $. Give my love to Molly and don’t be angry with me.
Love, Rosemary
P.S. You’ll be happy to hear I haven’t been seeing my ‘friend’. I wish I was, in spite of everything. Since this business started, it’s been hard. “Good,” I can hear you say, but he’s not what you think. He’s not even married like the other one so don’t worry about that. Just scared, like everybody else here. I’m sort of a famous character here (!). I guess I should leave Washington when all this is over but where would I go? Well, maybe God will forgive this too. Got to run. Thanks again. I’ll pay you back. Promise.
Nick read it twice, trying to connect the simple schoolgirl scrawl to the twisted figure on the car roof. Everybody wanted to be in love then.
“What’s the evidence?” he said finally.
