How could he do that without even asking you?” Carol was livid.
They were sitting in Elizabeth’s kitchen and Carol was boiling, ready to get in the car and travel to Michael’s office and punch him. Their tea sat forgotten, cooling on the linen place mats.
The incident with the babies had happened the week before, but it was only now that Elizabeth had been able to talk about it. It had allowed her time to reflect on all the reasons that Michael had given her. For the first time, she had glimpsed his deep, wrenching fears for her.
After listening to Carol rant and say things she had already considered, Elizabeth gently pointed out, “You have to understand, his heart was in the right place.”
“Yeah, right in the seat of his pants,” Carol snorted, ignoring Elizabeth’s shocked giggle.
“Carol!”
“I just can’t understand how you can be so calm about this.”
“I wasn’t, not at first.”
“So what changed?” Carol demanded.
“I told you he was shocked I had gone there without telling him. Believe me, I was upset. I had never been so angry with him, but he walked in, his face so white I thought he was going to pass out. ‘Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Forgive me, I had no idea you were going to go down there. I wanted to discuss it, to tell you why the doctors and the nursery felt it wasn’t best for you to do this now . . . I’m so, so sorry.’ He couldn’t say he was sorry enough. Carol, we have had so few arguments; why, we always, nearly always, agree on everything. I was mad; I said some things that probably would have been better left unsaid. He let me rant and rave, get it out of my system, and then he wrapped his arms around me and kept telling me over and over how sorry he was.”
She paused, finally sipping some tea. “He had his reasons, validated by the doctors—not only Gordon, but the specialist I told you about. Finally, Michael, he . . . he almost broke down when he told me how worried he is. Oh, Carol, he almost started crying. Do you know, in all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen him cry?” Elizabeth said this in such wonderment, Carol almost snorted again.
“What has ever happened to make him cry? Anything?” Carol asked it impatiently, already knowing the answer.
“Well . . . not much really.” Elizabeth thought for a moment. “I mean, when his parents died, first his father and then his mother, they had been so sick, it was more of a relief. A blessing.
“Then when my father died, Dad had been suffering, too, just not as long, so . . . Now that you ask, I suppose nothing really bad has happened to us.”
Carol set the white teacup down on the table with precision, looked up, and said, “Until now.”
Elizabeth didn’t like hearing that and shifted her attention from Carol to the window. She saw white flakes cascading and swirling, a gusting wind making them dance.
“I didn’t know they were calling for flurries,” she said, surprised.
Carol barely looked. “I knew something was up. I saw a sun dog day before yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been looking for them ever since Father Joe told that story.”
Carol was puzzled by how upset Elizabeth was. “I didn’t see you that day.”
“Well, promise me next time you’ll call, okay?”
Puzzled, Carol shrugged. “Okay.”
“Did they look like he said they would?”
“Yep. Liquid color, pastels, really. And yes, next time I’ll call you. If I remember,” Carol qualified. “I really will try.”
Gingerly, Elizabeth changed the subject.
“Carol, we’ve talked enough about me and my minuscule problems. I want to talk about you. What happened in California?” She had kept her voice neutral, but when she looked at Carol she saw that face closing like a door slamming.
“Carol.” Her hand touched her cousin’s arm. “I’m not prying; I’m simply worried. It’s been wonderful to have you here, back at home, but . . . there’s this edge to you I don’t understand. Aren’t you happy about the divorce? Or is that too simplistic?”
Carol’s shoulders suddenly sagged, as if the anger were the only thing propping her up. “No, I’m not happy about much of anything. Don’t get me wrong, the divorce is final. I care for him, but I also never want to see him again.” The emptiness of her voice was reflected on Carol’s face. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Impulsively, Elizabeth got up and wrapped her cousin in a hard hug. “Fine. But I’m here whenever you need me. Can you stay for dinner with us?”
Carol shook her head. “No. Mother has issued a command for my performance—ah—presence tonight. And she is most certainly having guests.” A small sigh slipped out as she pushed back a stray hair. “I’m her local attraction; you know, the daughter who used to hobnob with movie stars. She loves for me to regale her friends with these fascinating and completely worthless tidbits from my life in Tinseltown.”
Elizabeth chuckled and kept an arm around Carol’s shoulders as they walked out of the room. In a voice of false scolding, she said, “It’s your own fault you couldn’t stay put right here in Richmond like the rest of us. You’re the one who dared to go so far away . . . and then make a success of your life. So sad . . .” Their shared amusement was brief. Carol turned at the door, resting a hand on the brass knob.
“As long as we ignore the fact,” Carol drawled, “that when I sold my first screenplay for more money than I’d ever seen in my life, I went out and bought the requisite mansion, sports car, and other frippery things attached to such success. Unfortunately, as you know, I never got great marks in math. All of these things added up to more, much more, than I had. Selling one screenplay gave the money a finite life span. Oh, no, we won’t talk about how Carol had to file for bankruptcy.”
She grinned at her cousin’s shocked face.
“Carol, I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped . . .”
“Are you kidding? I never even told my mother, and you better not either. No, she likes for me to tell only the glamour stories. Then she finishes it off with the punch line.”
Carol was too funny; Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh. “What punch line?”
“Carol came home because of the illicit and tawdry immorality of that sinful city, because of the infidelities and the horrendous liberal idiots—and especially because of that heathen she is no longer married to; thank You, God.” Head thrown back, a hand held dramatically limp at her brow, Carol theatrically mimicked her mother but Elizabeth heard only one thing.
“He was running around on you, then? Having affairs with pretty little bimbos?”
“No. That I could have handled . . .” And then she was running down the steps to her car and was gone.