“Okay, okay,” he said.
“And finally, at dawn, she got up and came to the bed and told me what she did she was doing ‘all for me.’ And I waited to die. But she shot herself instead.” She could never talk about it without breaking up at that point and they had to hold off the questions for a while to let her recover herself.
They allowed her one phone call when they took her in and she made it to Beebo. She didn’t think about this or weigh the sense of it. She simply called. Beebo would understand and she’d do the right things. Beth didn’t feel that way about anybody else.
“You’ve been in every scrape there is,” she said brokenly into the receiver. “Help me out of this, Beebo.”
“God, Beth. I—I couldn’t believe it when I read—” Beebo began, but Beth interrupted her.
“Call my uncle in Chicago,” she said and gave her the number. “He’ll get me a lawyer. And, Beebo, I didn’t do it.”
“I know, baby, I believe you. Who was she?”
“She was the one I ran off and left.”
“Jesus,” Beebo breathed. “She took it pretty hard, didn’t she?”
“Will you help me?” Beth said.
“I’ll do anything, everything I can,” Beebo said. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, if you’re innocent you’ll get off.”
“I’m not so sure. Nobody saw it. I can’t prove a damn thing.”
“Worrying won’t change things, Beth,” Beebo said, and Beth hung up somewhat reassured.
But after two nights in a jail cell she was almost unstrung with anxiety, nerves, even the fear she thought had been exhausted in her. The truth, unsubstantiated, simply wasn’t enough. They were going to hold her. They thought she did it, and it was her word against the word of a dead woman. She wondered miserably what Cleve and Mrs. Purvis thought of her now, who had liked her so well in the past. Cleve was probably dead drunk and cursing the both of them, and Mrs. Purvis, majestic in her infirmities, was probably dying quietly of the knowledge that her daughter was a Lesbian.
Abruptly, the morning after the second night in jail, they released her. A matron came and opened her door and said, “You’re free, Mrs. Ayers.”
Beth sat up on her cot, struck dumb for a moment with surprise. Her cell mate grunted at her, gave her one envious glance, and went back to sleep.
“On bail?” Beth asked at last through a dry throat, staring incredulously at the woman. “Do I have a lawyer? My uncle—”
“No bail. You’re free. No strings attached. Except we’d like you to stay in town until the last details of the case are straightened out.”
“How did it happen? Why?” she cried, collecting her things with hasty hands, almost afraid to believe in her luck.
“They’ll explain it to you up front,” the woman told her and Beth followed her down the clanging corridor and out the barred doors to the elevator. The matron took her to an office on the first floor and returned her coat and purse. They made her sign some release papers and then they led her into a waiting room.
Charlie stood up to greet her.
Beth stopped in her tracks, speechless at the sight of him. His presence struck her in the heart like a physical blow.
“Hello, Beth,” he said softly, his face heavy and serious.
“Charlie,” she whispered. And then she went to him put her arms around him and cried. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she said, “Least of all here.”
“I wouldn’t desert you, Beth,” he said, holding her. “You’re still my wife. I love you.” It was awkward but determined, stubborn and proud and hopeless.
“Oh, no, please don’t say it,” she pleaded. “Please. I can’t take it.” After all she had been through to escape him she was wary even of the words that might entangle her again. She was glad, grateful, infinitely relieved to see him there. But she was not in love with him and her gratitude did not extend to a reconciliation.
“The children?” she asked before he let her go, and he nodded.
“Fine. Both fine. But they miss you.” She started to ask him more but he interrupted, “I’ve got a room at the Blackwell. Let’s get out of here, we can’t talk here.”
Beth clutched his sleeve. “Am I free?” she begged. “Am I really free? Did she tell me the truth?”
“Yes,” he said.
“But how—”
“Come on, I’ll explain.”
He hailed a cab outside and as soon as they were in it Beth asked, “Are Uncle John and Aunt Elsa here?”
“No,” he said. “They were going to come but I talked them out of it. There wasn’t any need, and it would only have been painful.”
“It must have been a terrible shock for them.”
“Yes. It was pretty rough.”
They sat side by side, Charlie in his lightweight blue summer suit, solemn and handsome and preoccupied, Beth in her rumpled clothes, the same she had worn on her Village spree. They seemed by now to be the only clothes she had ever worn. She sensed that be wanted to take her hand, even to kiss her, but also that he had a stern lecture saved up, a couple of months worth of grievances and loneliness and resentment to get off his chest. But still, he was not harsh with her or short-tempered, and she knew without his having to say it that he wanted her back. That he could, after what had just happened, warmed her heart and touched her, even though she understood that he was using her troubles to suit his own ends. He was taking advantage of her fear and confusion, using them as a lever to prod her out of New York. But she could not go back and start over with him, however she might have botched her efforts to find a new life here. She dreaded hurting him with her decision.
“My things,” she said. “They’re all at
