When the phone rang, Jenny was afraid to pick it up.
She stood in the kitchen doorway and pretended not to hear. Behind her, at the other end of the hall, the suitcases were packed and ready for the car. She racked her brain. Wasn't there something she had forgotten, an item of clothing, perhaps, even her toothbrush, that would take her to another part of the house before it rang a second time?
She turned from the kitchen and started back to the living room, but there it was again.
Ring.
"Can you get that, Jen?"
Too late. Lee had heard it, too, and now he came down the stairs, a video camera in one hand.
"Jen?"
"It's almost nine o'clock. Can't we just go?"
"We could." He considered, pulling at his lip. "What if it's Walter?"
"He called while you were in the shower. There's no news. He'll talk to us when we get back."
"Or my folks? I told them to check in before they leave."
"It's my mother," she said quickly, "I know it. I don't want to talk to her."
"Why not?"
"You don't know my mother."
"Don't I?"
"Not the way I do."
The phone continued to ring.
"You should have turned on the answering machine."
"I'm sorry." She had purposely left it off, hoping to get out of the house before her mother called. Jenny did not want to hear any more of her neurotic accusations, even on tape.
He started past her. "I'd better get it."
"No. Please."
He was right, of course. It could be his parents.. Perhaps there was a change of plans. She had no right to prevent her husband from talking with them. Besides, she liked Jerry and Adrienne.
"I'll do it."
She returned to the kitchen and plucked the receiver from the wall on the seventh ring.
"Hello?"
"Jennifer?"
"Hi." She sighed helplessly, her stomach tensing. "Mother, we're halfway out the door. Lee says we have to leave right now or—"
"Where are you going?"
She sounded so polite, so sweet and unassuming that Jenny was almost ashamed of herself.
"I'm sorry. It's just that Lee likes to keep a schedule. We're off to Mammoth for the weekend, remember?"
"The mountains? This weekend?"
"Yes. I told you about it." She decided not to remind her that Lee's parents would be meeting them there, at the resort That would be unkind.
"Oh, I'm sure you did. I forget so many things lately….What about NBC? Did they decide yet?"
Not NBC, she thought It's one of the cable networks. There was no use explaining. Her mother did not even have cable TV, she was sure. "Not yet. We're going to give them till Monday. Lee says it's better that way."
"Well, I hope so. Your own series on television…Think of it!"
"I have." Actually we're getting very tired of thinking about it, thought Jenny. That's why we're going away. "It's only a miniseries."
"That's the same thing, isn't it? It's so exciting! Aren't you nervous?"
I wasn't, she thought, until you called. "There's no point, Mother. The decision's in Dave Edmond's hands now."
"David who?"
"The Head of Programming. And Walter Heim, our agent He's taking care of everything." Then, to change the subject, she asked, "How have you been, Mother?"
"Oh, I'm fine. Except for my hip. It's the weather. But we're going to have dear skies, starting tomorrow…"
Lee appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking both sympathetic and impatient. He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other in his new Adidas, eager to be gone.
"Well, Mother, don't forget that we—we want you to come visit us as soon as you can." Jenny smiled desperately over the mouthpiece at her husband. "We'd really like that. There's so much sun in California I just know you'll love it."
"Say hi for me," said Lee.
"Lee says hi."
"Well, if you don't think I'd be in the way…"
Her mother's tone was still polite and unassuming, but Jenny felt her jaw muscles tightening. She's playing passive-aggressive this time, she thought, and decided to end the conversation. If it went on any longer the tightness would spread, and she didn't want to start the weekend with one of her headaches. It wouldn't be fair to Lee.
"Mother, I've got to go. Lee's giving me the evil eye." She forced a laugh, trying to make a joke of it. "But we'll call as soon as we get back."
"Have a nice time, dear…"
She knew Lee was waiting to hear her finish with something nice, something like I love you. No, she couldn't make herself say that.
"We will, Mother. 'Bye."
As she hung up the phone, she felt a throbbing in her sinuses. She squeezed her eyes shut, and missed the cradle by a couple of inches. She finally found the wall, but noticed that she had yet to hear a click from the other end. Was her mother listening, waiting to catch an unguarded comment before the connection was broken?
Lee took the receiver and replaced it for her. Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.
"What's the matter?" he said gently.
"Nothing. I'll be ready in a minute."
"Are you sure?" He was holding her at arm's length. "You don't look so good."
She opened her eyes and saw him standing before her, and the bright morning outside the kitchen window. In the distance, the windows of another townhouse flashed a blinding reflection of the sun. She moved her face so that she was in Lee's shadow and looked up at him, but his features were obscured by the backlight.
"It's just that…" She sought a way to put it into words, or at least a part of it, the part that would sound sane, for her sake as well as his. "She makes me feel so guilty."
"About what?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe it's because we've been married for a year, and we still haven't let her come visit."
He smiled easily. "She can come any time she wants to, you know that. But it's two thousand miles. And I thought you wanted the room fixed up for her first. I'll send a ticket whenever you say."
"I know. It's not your fault. But I feel responsible."
"For what?"
"For her happiness, I guess. She is alone back there."
"You call her all the time, don't you?"
"She calls me. She doesn't have anyone else."
"Jen." He pulled her into his big arms and held her. "Don't do this to yourself. I'm sure she understands."
She buried her face in his sweater for a moment. But all she could see was darkness. She pushed away. "I'm telling you, you don't know her."
"I met her in Davenport, on our way back from the wedding. Remember?"
"Because she couldn't come."
"That's right, she couldn't, because she fell and broke her hip. Do you think she blames you for that?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do. Now stop bumming yourself out. You're lucky to have a mother like that."
Am I? she thought. You don't understand. You really don't. And I don't know how to explain it to you.
"I guess you're right," she said. "Can we go now?"
When she came back downstairs, the suitcases were still by the door.
"Honey, I found the map…Lee?" Where was he?
"In here," he said from the kitchen.
Her first thought was that her mother had phoned again. Or had he taken it upon himself to call her? That made Jenny angry, and a little apprehensive.
"About two hours," he was saying into the phone. "If you get there before we do, ask for your key at the desk. Mom can lie down, and you can order lunch from room service, okay? Yes, I'm bringing a camera…"
She came up next to him and rested her forehead against his shoulder. Please don't let me have another headache, she thought. Not today.
He covered the mouthpiece and grinned. "My dad's been ready since dawn. He's worried they'll be late."
"Hello, Mr. Mariow!" she said.
"Dad, we'd better get going. We want to grab some breakfast on the way. But you've got as much time as you need. Tell Mom we're having dinner at the Gateway Inn tonight. She'll like it."
She thought of Jerry and Adrienne, and smiled in spite of herself. Lee was the lucky one, to have parents like that. They were so funny, so full of enthusiasm. And Lee's father was a tease. She remembered that wink of his.
"Take it easy, Dad," her husband continued. "You won't need the chains, I promise. And tell Mom no one's going to break in. You'll only be gone for two days! Try to remember, this is a vacation….We'll see you there."
He telescoped the antenna back into the phone and hung it on the wall, shaking his head.
"My dad," he said affectionately. "He wanted to rotate the tires, can you believe that? If I had his energy, our show would be on the air already."
She kissed him lightly on the cheek. She was feeling better. The sky outside the kitchen window was a robin's egg blue, and the mountains beckoned with clear whitecaps of snow. She could hardly wait to be on her way.
"Ready?" she said.
"Sure. I'll carry the stuff, and you lock up."
But as soon as he left the kitchen, she got the bad feeling again. She pictured her mother seated on her overstuffed couch, wondering why she had to stay at home while her daughter and son-in-law were on their way to the mountains for a vacation. Without her.
Through the open front door, she heard Lee moving the luggage down from the porch. Beyond the security wall, Saturday morning traffic zipped past the intersection and away from the city. Somewhere a dog barked, a high, nervous yipping that sounded like a cry for help.
She picked up the phone and, without thinking, dialed her mother's number.
I just wanted to tell you…
What?
I—I . . .
The phone rang and rang, purring softly, but her mother did not answer.
Maybe she fell again, thought Jenny, and can't get up. Maybe…
No. That was crazy.
She tried to put it out of her mind, and went to join Lee.
Leaving L.A., her mood improved with each mile. She watched gleaming cars shuttle back and forth between the lanes of the freeway, jockeying for position, and allowed herself to lean deeper into the headrest, cushioned and protected.
Lee rolled down the window and propped up his elbow. "Did you give Walter our number at the hotel?"
"I'm not sure. Why?"
"You're not sure, or you didn't?"
She had an impulse to tell him yes, but this was no time to start lying. "Let me think. I really don't know. No, I—I guess I didn't."
"Good."
"I'm sorry. If you want to stop, I'll call his service and—"
"That's fine, I said."
What did he mean? "No, it's not. I screwed up." She sighed. "Maybe we shouldn't go out of town, with everything still up in the air."
"That's exactly why we should go. I want the network to sweat a little. It shows them we're not worried.''
"I see." In fact all she saw was Lee craning his neck as he accelerated around a U-Haul trailer and into a faster lane. "You're not worried, are you?"
"Why should I be?" he said. "It's a lock." He rolled up the window and straight-armed the wheel. ''We've done our part. Now it's up to them. The ball's in their court."
"I hope you're right. We've worked so long."
Two years, she thought. All the months before we were married, and last year, redoing the outline and then draft after draft of the script—and now it all comes down to this weekend. Walter had delivered the final version to the Head of Programming, and it was time for a decision. It could go either way, she knew, though Lee refused, had refused all along to admit the possibility that they'd have to start over again at another network. I'm sure he's right, she thought. I should have faith in him. In us. In the project.
"Liz," he said, "has waited a hundred years to have her story told. It's a case that cries out for justice. And it won't wait any longer."
Liz. He spoke of her as if she were a living person. Of course Lizzie had been real. But she'd died in 1927. In a sense she was a silent partner in their efforts, however. Her real story had yet to be told.
"I hope the woman's angle doesn't turn them off," she said. "I tried to soft-pedal it, but—"
"That's exactly what they want now. Besides, what other angle is there?" He downshifted long enough to work his way over one more lane, then tromped harder on the gas. "She was a symbol. The suffragettes rallied around her like Joan of Arc at the stake."
"She's not exactly a martyr. They didn't execute her."
"No, they didn't. Public pressure had a lot to do with that."
"She was never completely exonerated, either," said Jenny. "A lot of people believed she was guilty. A lot of people still do. Maybe even at the Home Show Channel."
"Well, we'll set the record straight. That's what were here for. We'll tell the world. It was Emma who—"
"You don't have to convince me. I did the research, remember?"
"I remember." He reached over and patted her knee, then floored the accelerator and slid all the way into the fast lane, inches from the concrete safety wall.
"Lee, take it easy, will you? I thought we weren't in any hurry."
"We're not."
She could hear the pressure in his voice. It wasn't because of their weekend getaway, she realized. It was about Liz. Lee was a strategist, playing out the endgame he had set up so patiently. But now, without knowing it, he was giving himself away, at least to her. He was not completely confident about the negotiations, regardless of what he said.
She watched his hands close on the steering wheel, the knuckles so white that the bones appeared ready to break through the skin, and his shoulders thrown back, his head jutting forward, eyes alert to any adjustments that might have to be made in order to get them where they were going. She felt a contraction behind her eyes as her breathing became shallow.
I'll bet he calls Walter as soon as we get there, she thought. He'll try to hide it from me so I won't know he's worried. But he is, God help us. Just look at him. It's not a sure thing after all, is it?
"Do you have to go so fast?"
"Relax, will you?" he snapped, then tried to cover it with a quick laugh. "I can handle it. Okay?"
Can you? she thought, sitting straight in her seat, staring ahead. Because if you can't, who will?
"Okay," she said.
"Jerry, would you please not?"
Adrienne Marlow put her hands on her hips and started down the porch steps. There were cinnamon rolls in the microwave and cups of coffee on the kitchen table. If he ignored her again, she would have to reheat everything or throw it out.
"What is it, dear?" said her husband from the curb.
"I've called you three times. Don't pretend that your hearing aid's on the fritz again!"
"Are you packed, dear?" After the phone call from Lee he had come back out to the car, and now he was on his hands and knees, peering under the front end. "Once we hit the Interstate, I'm not turning back."
"I've been ready for hours. But you're not going to drive all that way on an empty stomach. Do you hear me, Jerry?"
"I want to check the brake lines." He reached under the car, then withdrew his hand and sniffed his fingers. "There's a wetness that shouldn't—"
"Jerry!"
"All right, dear!"
He locked one knee and stood, brushing off his hands. On the way into the house, he examined his blackened palms as if trying to read a roadmap printed there.
Adrienne held the screen door open and ushered him into the dining room.
"Wait," she said. "Wash first."
"I'm not hungry, Addy." He sniffed his fingers again. "It's brake fluid, I tell you."
"Kitchen sink," she said. "No, the back porch. Boraxo."
"But Addy…"
She turned his shoulders and pointed the way. 'Porch. Then sit."
The cinnamon rolls were warm enough, but not the coffee. She put the cups in the microwave and set the timer for thirty seconds. When he reemerged from the back porch, she handed him a paper towel.
At the table he continued to study his hands, then held them out to her.
"I'm serious, Addy," he said. "Smell."
She placed the rolls and coffee in front of him. "You didn't wash," she said.
"Indeed I did," he told her. "But there's a petroleum base that won't come off. Do you know what brake fluid smells like, Addy?"
"I'm sure I don't. And I don't want to, either."
He took a grudging bite of his roll. "I'd better stop off at Ed's on the way."
"It's not any kind of brake fluid," she said. "There are always spots in the driveway. Besides, Ed did a tune-up yesterday, didn't he?"
"Yes, but—"
"And you trust him, don't you?"
"Yes."
"How long has he been our mechanic?"
"Fifteen years."
"That's it, then. Isn't it. You're just fiddling. I've been ready for hours. Now drink your coffee, and let's be done with it!"
Once she got him out of the house and locked the door behind them, he stopped going on about it. There were many miles to cover; that was bad enough, as far as she was concerned, but the Interstate would take them only so far, and then it meant driving the mountain roads, all twists and turns and no guardrail most of the time. She shuddered at the thought. Jerry, however, seemed to relish the idea, warming to the challenge as if it were another of his great adventures. With some difficulty she reached into the backseat for her down pillow and nestled into the crook between the passenger door and the seat, listening to his voice above the hum of the car.
"When will their show be on television, do you know?"
"Hmm?" The drone of his voice was putting her to sleep. She had been up since dawn, packing and making sandwiches, and now her energy was ebbing. She hoped that his was not. "I don't know, dear," she managed to say. "Sometime in the fall, I believe."
"I always knew Lee would make it," he said. "And Jenny is such a bright, articulate young person. I want to be there when they get their Oscar, don't you, Addy?"
"Emmy."
"No, her name is Jennifer."
"I know, dear. Why don't you play some music?"
He turned to the classical station, where just now a piano concerto, it sounded to her like Mozart, was in progress. The notes lilted in counterpoint to the rhythm of the tires on the pavement, pausing for emphasis whenever the car changed course, rushing out in a cascade as they picked up speed again and then settling into a gentle cadence. Her eyes closed for a moment of rest, but just for a moment, and her lips parted and curled in amusement. She was thinking of Jerry and the way he had been all morning, so happy and excited to be spending the weekend with his only son. He seemed years younger, though in truth he was as frail as ever.
At times like this it was the difference between what he was and what he wanted to be—not retired, no, but a man of the world, a man still in his prime and able to weather any obstacles—that touched her so deeply. It was up to her to be his support and his strength when he needed it, ready to dash off on a spur-of-the-moment trip, say, and not drag him down. He must never know how tired I really am, she thought. He cannot go on with a millstone around his neck. And Lee? Sometimes she almost said, Take it easy with your father, his flesh is not as strong as his spirit, though Jerry would never admit it, not even to himself, and it was not for her to say. Lee would realize soon enough how old they were. Until then, it was a blessing that Jerry was included in their plans. It gave him something to keep him active.
"That's not right," she heard her husband say.
What? Did he mean the Mozart? It sounded perfectly fine to her. It sounds perfectly fine to me, dear, she said, or did she only think it? She could not be sure.
"Listen. That's definitely wrong."
Whether he was right or not she couldn't say. She did not know the score that well, though it flowed in a way that sounded as right as rain, the piano notes washing over her, rocking her to sleep…but she mustn't sleep. He might need her to navigate from the map book. Otherwise he would get lost. And he would be too proud to admit it or to ask for help until they were miles out of their way…
"How are you doing, dear?" she said.
"Tm doing just dandy. It's this car that's got a problem. Knew we should have stopped at Ed's…''
Just then the notes ran up and off the end of the piano keyboard, clinking and squealing in a final flourish that was not at all musical, or so it seemed to her. Would you mind turning it down? she wanted to say and then replayed his words. This car. What was wrong with the car? That had to be what he meant, and where the squealing came from.
She opened her eyes as a series of bass notes vibrated around her, pummeling the underside of the car. Had they hit something in the road? She was struck in the face by a shower of flying glass and shut her eyes again immediately, but not before she saw the world tipping and herself sliding off it. Then there was a moment of silence, absolute except for the whistling of the wind through the broken windshield, blowing the sharpest bits of glass deep into the comers of her eyes so that she could not open them again. The pain was sharp and terrible, lacerating her corneas. She was falling. Was she out of the car? No, her seatbelt held her in place, squeezing around her waist and breasts so that when she screamed no sound came from her mouth. Had they come so far? She had fallen asleep because they were high, high in the mountains already, they must be, or else why hadn't they hit yet? She knew that the ground would be very far away and braced herself, reaching out blindly for Jerry, dear Jerry with one hand. Then a new, more terrible sound began. Don't let him scream all the way down, she prayed, and believed that her faith would be answered, but then it was too late, for the ground was already there. We never made it to the mountains, after all, did we, honey? Oh God help us God help HIM