rush of undeniable elation that he would be seeing Pamela again, in only three days' time.
EIGHTEEN
Jeff took the elevator down from his room at the Pierre at 2:20, turned left, and walked past the gray Italian marble with brass inlays that marked the entrance to the Cafe Pierre. He found a quiet table toward the back of the long, narrow bar, ordered a drink, and waited nervously, watching the entrance. So many memories he had of this hotel: He and Sharla had watched most of that pivotal 1963 World Series from a room here, near the beginning of his first replay, and he’d stayed here frequently in the decades past, most often with Pamela.
She walked in at five minutes before three. Her straight blond hair was just as he’d remembered it, her eyes the same. Her generous lips were set in a familiar expression of seriousness, but without the bitter, downturned tightness he had seen her mouth take on during those final years in Maryland. She was wearing delicate emerald earrings to match her eyes, a white fox fur … and a light gray, stylishly tailored maternity dress. Pamela was five months pregnant, maybe six.
She came to the table, took Jeff’s hands in hers, and held them for a long, quiet moment. He glanced down, saw the plain gold wedding ring.
'Welcome back,' he said as she sat down across from him. 'You … look lovely.'
'Thank you,' she said carefully, her eyes on the tabletop. A waiter hovered; she ordered a glass of white wine. The silence lingered until the wine was set before her. She sipped it, then began rubbing the cocktail napkin between her fingers.
Jeff smiled, remembering. 'You going to shred that?' he asked lightly.
Pamela looked up at him, smiled back. 'Maybe,' she said.
'When—' he began, and stopped.
'When what? When did I start replaying again, or when am I due?'
'Both, I guess. However you want to start.'
'I’ve been back for two months, Jeff.'
'I see.' It was he who turned away this time, stared at one of the gold sconces against the satin drapes.
Pamela reached across the table, touched his arm. 'I couldn’t bring myself to call, don’t you understand? Not just because of the differences we’d had last time, but … because of this. It was a tremendous emotional shock for me.'
He softened, looked back into her eyes. 'I’m sorry,' he said. 'I know it must have been.'
'I was in a children’s clothing shop in New Rochelle. Buying baby clothes. My little boy, Christopher—he’s three—was with me. And then I felt my belly and I knew, and … I just broke down. I started sobbing, and of course that frightened Christopher. He started to cry and call out, 'Mommy, Mommy'…'
Pamela’s voice cracked, and she dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. Jeff took her hand, stroked it until she regained her composure.
'This is Kimberly that I’m carrying,' she said at last, quietly. 'My daughter. She’ll be born in March. March eighteenth, 1976. It’ll be a beautiful day, more like late April or early May, really. Her name means
'Pamela…'
'I never thought I’d see them again. You can’t imagine—not even you can imagine what this has been like for me, what it still is like, and will be for the next eleven, almost twelve, years. Because I love them more than ever, and this time I know I’m going to lose them.'
She started to weep again, and Jeff knew there was nothing he could say to make it easier. He thought of what it would be like to hold his daughter Gretchen in his arms again, to watch her playing in the garden of the house in Dutchess County, all the while aware of the very day and hour when she would disappear from his life again. Impossible bliss, incalculable heartbreak, and never a hope of separating one from the other. Pamela was right; the unbearable, ever-constant wrenching of those paired emotions was beyond even his acutely developed empathetic powers.
After a time she excused herself from the table, went to stanch the tears in private. When she returned her face was dry, her light makeup newly applied and immaculate. Jeff had ordered a fresh glass of wine for her, another drink for himself.
'What about you?' she asked dispassionately. 'When did you come back this time?'
He hesitated, cleared his throat. 'I was in Miami,' he said. 'In 1968.'
Pamela thought that over for a moment, gave him a perceptive look. 'With Linda,' she said. 'Yes.' 'And now?'
'We’re still together. Not married, not yet, but … we live together.'
She smiled a wistful, knowing smile, ran her finger along the rim of the wineglass. 'And you’re happy.'
'I am,' he admitted. 'We both are.'
'Then I’m glad for you,' Pamela said. 'I mean that.'
'It’s been different this time,' he elaborated. 'I had a vasectomy, so she’ll never have to go through the difficulties she once had with pregnancy. We may adopt a child. I could handle that; I did before, when I was married to Judy, and it wasn’t the same as … You know what I mean.' Jeff paused for an instant, regretting having raised the issue of children again, then went on hurriedly. 'The financial security has helped our relationship considerably,' he said. 'I haven’t bothered to go all-out with the investments, but we’re quite comfortable. Very nice house on the ocean; we travel a lot. And I’m writing now, doing some very rewarding work. It’s been a kind of healing process for me, even more so than the time I spent alone in Montgomery Creek.'
'I know,' she said. 'I read your book; it was quite moving. It helped me put away so much of what went wrong between us the last time, all that bitterness.'
'You—That’s right, I keep forgetting you’ve been replaying for two months already. Thank you; I’m glad you liked it. The one I’m working on right now is about exile; I’ve interviewed Solzhenitsyn, Peron … I’ll send you an advance copy when it’s done.'
She lowered her eyes, put a hand to her chin. 'I’m not sure that would be a good idea.'
It took Jeff a moment to catch her meaning. 'Your husband?'
Pamela nodded. 'It’s not that he’s an overly jealous man, but … Oh, God, how can I say this? It would require too many explanations if you and I remained in touch, started writing and phoning and seeing each other. Don’t you see how awkward that would be?'
'Do you love him?' Jeff asked, swallowing hard.
'Not the way you obviously love Linda,' she said, her voice steady but cool. 'Steve’s a decent man; he cares for me in his own way. But mainly it’s the children I’m thinking of. Christopher’s only three, and Kimberly’s not even born yet. I couldn’t take them away from their father before they even had a chance to know him.' A sudden fire of anger flared in her eyes, but then she dampened it. 'Even if you wanted me to,' she added.
'Pamela…'
'I can’t resent your feelings for Linda,' she said. 'We’ve been apart too long for me to turn possessive, and I know how much it must mean to you to have that work out positively, after the problems you and she had the first time.'
'That doesn’t change anything about the way I feel for you.'
'I know,' she said gently. 'It has nothing to do with us, but it’s real, and right now it takes priority for you. Just as I need this time with my children, my family; I need it desperately.'
'You’re not still angry about—'
'Everything that happened last time, with Russell Hedges? No. Not angry at you; we both set that in
