Beth sat down in a chair and Laura busied herself with goodbyes until Jack and Betsy had gone out. She understood intuitively that Beth had to talk to her, only her, to set things right with herself.
When they were alone she came and sat on a hassock beside Beth’s chair—the leather chair that Jack liked so well.
“I came to tell you the truth about a few things, Laura,” Beth said softly. “I won’t take much time.”
“Have some breakfast with me,” Laura said, but Beth shook her head. “Some coffee then?” and without waiting for an answer Laura sprang up and went into the kitchen. Beth didn’t want her hospitality. She didn’t want to watch Laura’s warm concern turn slowly to disdain when she found out that Beth had deserted two children and her husband. The children, mercifully, had been kept out of the papers. It was up to Beth to confess their existence to Laura.
Beth came over to the stove where Laura was arranging two cups and saucers.
“Laura, please,” she said, touching her, hand gently. “Don’t do this. You may not want to look at me after I tell you—tell you—”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Beth. I trust you,” Laura said. “I love you. Friends don’t need to apologize to each other.”
“Yes, they do. Sometimes it’s the only way.”
“We’ve said too much to each other already. The less we say to each other, the happier we are together.” And she smiled intimately.
“I can’t help it,” Beth said miserably. “There’s one thing more.”
“Have your coffee first, then,” Laura said with a sigh, pouring it and carrying the cups to the sunny breakfast table. She sat down and looked up at Beth expectantly.
“I’m still married,” Beth blurted fearfully after a tight little pause. She stood rigidly by the stove, forcing out the words with an effort of will. “I have—I have two children.” She stopped to steady her breath, to quell the shakes, shutting her eyes for a second. “I lied to you. I had made love to other women when I saw you before. Not just you. Vega—Vega—” She broke down and had to turn away.
“I know,” Laura said softly. “I know it all. You don’t need to tell me, Beth. Come sit down.”
After a stunned pause, a hiatus of disbelief and relief both, Beth cried, “You know! You know—all that—about the kids, about—”
“Yes. All of it.” Laura held out her hands and Beth came toward her, trembling, and suddenly sank to her knees and put her head in Laura’s lap and wept. “How?” she said. “How did you know?” She looked up with a quick premonition. “Charlie didn’t try to see you, did he?”
Laura shook her head. “My father,” she said, stroking Beth’s hair. “My bastard of a father, who still loves me in spite of everything. I wonder why I still love him?” She looked away, perplexed.
“Your father?” Beth felt a stab of regret go through her. She should never have trusted him.
“He wrote to me,” Laura said. “He told me about you. Just a couple of days ago, after all that stuff in the papers. He said he wouldn’t have written even then, but you were in such desperate trouble and he thought I ought to know. And you know something? I’m glad he did.” She was really surprised at herself. “I never thought I could care about him again, when we quarreled years ago. Not after what he tried to do to me. I would never have broken down and written him myself. But I worried about him. I’ve thought a lot about him these past years, now that my life is so much happier. So in a way it was a load off my mind to hear from him.”
“He promised me he wouldn’t write,” Beth whispered. “He promised me he wouldn’t interfere with your life again. I should never have told him about you behind your back.”
“Maybe not, but it all turned out all right,” Laura said. “Now I’m glad. No, really, honey. If you had asked me first I would have said no. So maybe it’s for the best, because I would have been a stubborn fool if I’d refused. He was so curious about Betsy. I guess the idea of being a grandfather really tickles him. He didn’t know he was until you wrote him about it.”
“And all these days you’ve known about me,” Beth said, raising her head a little to look up at Laura. “You knew what I was, what I’d done, and you didn’t despise me for it.”
“Oh, but I did. At first,” Laura admitted. “I was good and mad at first. But I think I’ve gotten over it. What good is it to stay mad? It doesn’t help things at all. Besides, everything you’ve done these past few weeks you’ve done in a fog. I know that.”
“I did some terrible things to you, Laura,” Beth said. “I’ve lied to you and betrayed you to your father and accused you of bad faith and—”
But Laura put a restraining finger on her mouth, and then, to Beth’s surprise, she kissed her. It was a pardon for all the sorrows, big and little, Beth had caused her. It was an end to pity and a start to love without illusions, the tender love of friends.
“Please,” Laura said. “It’s over now. You told me everything. I wouldn’t have asked that of you. I gave you a chance to get out of it, and you had the guts to go ahead and tell me on your own. That’s enough for anybody, Beth.”
And Beth understood, looking at her, that she really meant it. She was not angry or hurt. She had had her moments of temper when she heard from her father, but they were past and Beth had missed them. And Beth knew, too, that if Laura still loved her the way she had loved her once, long ago, she would be furious
