Jack’s brows drew together heavily. “You told him you were gay?” he asked.
“Yes. I told him.”
“What did he do?”
She turned her deep eyes, accentuated by the thinness of her face, to Jack. “He hurt me, Jack. And I hurt him. But it’s all over. Oh, my God, I’m so grateful I didn’t kill him. Have you ever thought you killed somebody, and tried to go on living with it? It eats you up, it corrodes your brain and your body, it makes you sick, oh, so horribly sick Oh, Jack…” And he put his arms around her while she wept and Terry watched them in silence.
“That bastard,” Jack murmured, comforting her. “That damn bastard. I think I hate him as much as you do, honey.”
“No, no, I don’t hate him,” she whispered. “I can’t anymore. I never will again. I understand now, so much. Nothing ever made sense before, but now I understand. He was weaker than I was, Jack.” She spoke with wonderment. “He was more afraid of me than I was of him.” It was a strange new feeling this knowledge gave her. “I don’t know quite how I feel about him now. I won’t know for a long time, I guess. But I still love him. I always loved him, even when I hated him the most. I only hope we never meet again. I can stand it if I never have to see him again.”
Terry fixed her a breakfast, and she ate ravenously. She discovered they had stripped her wet clothes off and put a robe on her the night before while she slept. She pulled the robe close around her while Jack tried to make her tell him where she had been, but he got little satisfaction.
“I don’t know,” was all she would say, and when he protested, skeptically, she turned to him, her face earnest, and said, “I don’t know.”
“Ahhh, don’t tell me,” he said.
“I just walked, I guess. It all seems like a nightmare. The first thing I remember after I left Father is eating a bowl of soup. And then I fell asleep.”
“Don’t you remember me?” Terry said. “We had a nice little talk last night.”
“We did?” She was surprised.
“Sure.” He smiled, and made her blush with embarrassment. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He grinned at Jack, who gave him a quizzical smile.
“So you don’t know where you were?” he prodded Laura.
“I swear, Jack.”
“Well, we didn’t know either,” he said. “And we damn near lost our minds. We pictured you—well, never mind what we pictured. You had us frantic, I can tell you.”
Laura smiled at him a little. “Jack,” she said, and put a hand on his arm. “You’ve been so good to me. I wouldn’t have caused you any worry, only—only—oh, my God. Marcie! I forgot about Marcie. And Beebo.” She turned to him, but he calmed her with a glance, holding her down in her chair.
“I called them,” he said. “I called everybody. Even Papa Landon. I told them you were all right, and that’s all. Your father doesn’t know where you are.”
Laura hung her head. “Jack, I didn’t have a chance to tell you about Marcie.”
“I know. You don’t have to tell me. Marcie did.”
“Marcie did?” She looked up amazed.
“Not in so many words, Mother. She just said you quarreled, and I got the idea. She sounds pretty unhappy about things.”
Laura covered her face, her elbows resting on the table. “She knew, Jack. She knew all along that I was gay,” she whispered brokenly. “She and Burr had a bet that she could make me make a pass at her.”
After a long silence Jack squeezed her arm and said gently, “You had to learn. Now you know. We all go through it sooner or later.” He looked up at Terry and found the boy staring at him, his eyes full. He looked away, confused, turning his attention back to Laura. “She wants to see you. She means it.”
“I know. But I couldn’t stand to see her. Even to talk to her. It would be hell.”
“I know what you mean.” Jack got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, saving himself a half inch in the cup for a jigger of whisky.
“It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” Terry reproached him.
“Shut up and drink your milk,” Jack said and smiled at him.
“I’d better call the office,” Laura ventured quietly.
“I did,” Jack told her. “You’re fired. They were damn nice about it, though. Dr. Hollingsworth wants you to come in and talk to him. Sarah gave me the pitch. It seems they admire your brains but they figure your nerves are loused up. I suggest, Mother, that you see my analyst.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I.” Jack laughed. “Let’s put Terry to work,” he said to Laura. “It’s time he earned his own way.”
“Doing what?” Terry said.
“I don’t know. What are you good for? Anything?”
“I can cook.” Terry grinned.
“Good. I know a Greasy Spoon two blocks from here.”
“Oh, hell!”
“Jack,” Laura said suddenly. “Does Beth know I’m all right?”
“Beth?” Jack frowned at her. “You mean Beebo, doll?”
“I mean Beebo,” Laura said quickly, growing hot.
“She knows.”
“Did you tell her when I disappeared?”
“She looked all over the Village for you. She was worried.”
“Do you think she’d talk to me?”
“No.”
“Oh, Jack.” She turned an unhappy face to him, pleading for a chance to hope.
“She might say ‘good-bye’ to you. Or ‘go to hell.’ Don’t expect miracles.”
“I guess I haven’t any right to her friendship anymore.” But it suddenly seemed terribly important; the most important thing in the world.
“Not as long as you get her mixed up with Beth.”
“Oh, that was just a slip of the tongue.”
Jack stood up and paced across the kitchen. He turned, resting his rump on the counter by the sink, and parked his coffee cup next to
