“He was one of these men that couldn’t keep things straight,” Wally told me firmly, “and look what happened to him.”
Suicide, of course, had “happened” to Marty, but it had never occurred to me that I was in the least like him, or that I might ever reach such a state of physical and spiritual exhaustion. It wasn’t death I wanted, it was a different life.
The realization that swept over me at that instant was as close as I had ever come to a full understanding of how far I had been swept out to sea, of how deep my discontent actually was.
“I can’t go back,” I muttered weakly.
“To wherever you were before this woman, you mean?” Wally asked. “Of course you can.”
I shook my head slowly.
Wally leaned toward me, his eyes intent, troubled. “Listen, I’m trying to give you some advice, Steve,” he said sharply. “I gave Marty the same advice, and he didn’t take it either.” He stopped, looked at me very severely for a moment, then added, “I mean, you don’t want to end up like …” He stopped again. “I mean, when your father …”
I stared at Wally, stunned not so much that he would make a connection between me and my father, as that he would actually say it to my face.
“I don’t even remember who told me about it,” Wally said, his voice softer now, conciliatory, “and, believe me, I don’t mean …”
“That I could murder my family?” I asked harshly.
“No, no, no, no. I would never have said that, Steve,” Wally answered. “It’s just that when you see a man hurting, well, you see a man who might lose control.” He shrugged. “I just keep remembering Marty, you know? He wasn’t a bad guy. He was just a guy that got it all screwed up.”
“I’m not Marty Harmon,” I said firmly. “And I’m not my father either.”
Wally looked at me quietly, resigned that there would be no point in continuing the conversation. “Okay, Steve,” he said at last, “we’ll just drop it, okay?”
“Yeah, let’s do.”
With that, Wally edged the car back onto the road and drove on silently. We never spoke seriously again, nor did he ever mention my father, my family, or even the unknown woman he has no doubt come to blame for their destruction.
Now, when I remember that afternoon, I think of it as the last chance I had to save us all. I knew that Rebecca was leaving, that her study was very nearly done, that very, very soon my life would go “back to normal,” with nights at home with Peter and Marie, days at work, summer visits to that very lake along whose bank Rebecca’s cottage still rested in a grove of trees.
So what would have been missing in a life lived like that? Certainly not love, as Marie was soon to tell me. Certainly not comfort. There would have been no ignominy in my return to normal.
What would have been missing? The mythical dream house without walls or firm foundation. The thrill of awakening in an unknown country, the exhilaration of an endless setting forth. Surprise. The allure of the unexplored. And finally, love, at its sharpest instant, the moment when it fuses with desire.
Much would have been missing.
But not everything.
THIRTEEN
REBECCA RETURNED to Old Salsbury the following day just as she’d said she would. It was a Saturday, but I wasn’t at home when she called. Neither was Marie. It was Peter who answered, then later gave me the message.
“A woman called,” he said. “She asked for you. She left her name and number.”
He’d written it down on a small square of white paper, which he handed to me dutifully.
I glanced at the paper, pretending that I didn’t recognize the name he’d written in large block letters beside the number: REBECCA.
“Did she say what she wanted?” I asked casually.
Peter shook his head. “She just wanted you to call her back, I guess.” He shrugged and darted away.
A few seconds later, as I sat at my desk, dialing Rebecca’s number, I saw his lean body as it darted across the backyard and disappeared around a tall, nearly leafless tree.
She answered immediately.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Yes, hi,” Rebecca said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’d gotten back to town.”
“Was it a worthwhile trip?”
“Yes.” Her voice seemed to tighten somewhat. “There were some new developments.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. I thought you already knew everything.”
“Sometimes it’s just a question of one thing leading to another.”
“Well, what did you …”
