MARNIE chewed away at a peanut butter and cheese spread sandwich for supper, a sticky mixture that suited her mood. Because she’d told Cal she was going out, she went for a long walk on the beach, then drove to the nearest takeout for a double ice-cream cone, bubble gum delight on the bottom and moon mist on top. Neither flavor brought her any comfort. Back at the house, her answering machine indicated no one had phoned her. She said a very rude word and went to bed.
The next day, Marnie left for the cliffs at Paces Lake right after work. She and Mario tackled the climb known as the Pyramid, an undertaking that claimed every bit of her attention and energy. She acquitted herself admirably. When she got home, the green light was flashing by her telephone.
She was tired and horribly depressed and badly in need of a hot bath. She pushed the button and heard Cal’s voice surge into the room. “I loathe answering machines,” he snarled, “but you didn’t leave me any choice, did you? Marnie, it must be as clear to you as it is to me that Wednesday night shouldn’t have happened. I thought I could keep you and Kit separate, but I can’t. You and I are adults, but Kit’s not yet thirteen—she’s my responsibility. I have to put her first. Surely you can see that? I knew I was right when I said we should cool it. But I let my body overrule my brain…dammit to hell, you don’t know how much I hate this. We’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon around three. And, for God’s sake, don’t play any more games with me. I’m not up for it.”
The connection was cut with an abruptness that suggested he’d slammed the receiver down.
Marnie did likewise. Anger was safer than tears; and safety was going to be her motto from now on. No more risks. No more opening her arms and her body to a man who could repudiate her forty-eight hours later. On an answering machine, of all things. How dare he tell her that a lovemaking that had shaken her to the soul had been nothing but a mistake?
Of course, if she’d stayed home, she could have talked to him herself.
With a toss of her red curls, Marnie went to have a bath. As she soaked in a froth of raspberry bubbles, she admitted to herself that she was embracing anger with the same fervor with which she’d embraced Cal because she was dreading the weekend. To go back to Conway Mills was bad enough. To face Terry, Marylou and Dave in the company of Kit was even worse. But worst of all would be spending two days with Cal.
The only bright spot was that they wouldn’t even for a minute find themselves alone.
Two whole days. It would be awful. Absolutely awful.
The water gurgled down the drain. Marnie went to bed, where she dreamed that she and Cal were discovered in a flagrantly compromising position by the Faulkner Beach Ladies’ Aid. Whereupon Cal turned into a judge in a red robe and a curled wig, who handed her down a life sentence of solitary confinement. When she woke up with a start, it took her a moment or two to orient herself, to discover that she was safe in her own bed. Not on the way to prison.
The compromising position, she realized with burning cheeks, was one she and Cal hadn’t actually tried.
Not that she cared. She was never going to bed with Cal Huntingdon again.
At eight-thirty on Saturday evening, Cal drove into the small town of Conway Mills. Kit was asleep in the back seat; she had, according to Cal, played three brilliant games at the tournament and was largely responsible for her team’s winning the trophy for their league. She’d told none of this to Marnie; to Marnie’s infinite discouragement, Kit had retreated into adolescent taciturnity again, just as though she’d never visited the little house by the sea and played with Midnight on the beach.
Cal, since his message on Marnie’s machine the night before, had obviously decided on a strategy to deal with her. Throughout the whole drive, he’d been polite, distant and discreet. As if they were two strangers meeting for the first time and in no way drawn to each other, or as if she meant nothing to him at all, Marnie thought. She was almost glad because it nourished her anger and kept at bay a pain that would overwhelm her if she allowed it entry.
He asked now, “How do I get to Dave and Marylou’s?”
“Keep going straight. Not many choices in Conway Mills,” Marnie said, trying very hard to relax her hands in her lap. In the twilight, the houses clustered around the few stores looked secretive and unwelcoming. As they turned the corner by the two churches, she added, “That driveway goes up to my mother’s house…you can see it through the trees.”
As Cal slowed, she caught sight of the tall-paned windows arrayed like empty eyes below the black expanse of the roof. She shivered, wishing she was anywhere else but here.
“Dave’s house is around the next corner. It’s painted pink and green—Marylou’s always liked bright colors.”
Cal said nothing. If she was tense, she thought with reluctant empathy, so was he. Not about her, of course. Oh, no, he’d turned her off like the kitchen tap. Cal, she was almost sure, was worried sick about the imminent meeting between Kit and Terry, the man whose genes Kit bore. The only other man with whom Marnie had made love.
Cal turned into the driveway, which led through a double row of maples to an old farmhouse surrounded by budding lilacs and the rosy sunsets of quince bushes in full bloom. As though he’d been waiting for them to arrive, a man came around the corner of the house, a tall man with a thatch of light brown hair and deep brown eyes. Marnie’s catch of breath wasn’t lost on Cal. He demanded flatly, “Is that Terry?”
She nodded, quite unable to find her voice. Quickly, she unlatched her seat belt and got out of the Cherokee. If Terry’s grin was a shade less ebullient than usual, she was in no shape to notice. He picked her up and lifted her above his head, then deposited her on the ground, hugged her and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. “Hiya, Mar,” he said.
“Hi, yourself.” She gave him a credible smile. “You look great.”
“You get more gorgeous all the time. Old age agrees with you.” Then he looked past her. “You must be Cal. I’m Terry Dyson.”
The two men shook hands, Cal’s slate blue eyes cool and watchful. Marnie babbled, “Kit slept the whole way, she played in a basketball tournament yesterday and today and she probably…oh, here she is.”
Kit was standing by the Cherokee, the setting sun falling on her crop of bright curls and on the brown eyes that were so like Terry’s. For once, Marnie saw that Terry was at a loss for words. He took a couple of steps toward Kit and said stiffly, “I’m Terry…you must be Kit.” The girl nodded, and for a few seconds that felt like hours to Marnie, the two of them simply stared at each other. Marnie was about to say something—anything—to break the silence when Terry added in a stilted voice, “How are you?”
“Okay.”
The rigidity of her stance made a liar out of her; Terry said with something approaching a smile, “That’s got to be the stupidest question I’ve ever asked. If you’re feeling anything like me, you don’t have a clue how to behave or what to say. This isn’t exactly your average everyday occurrence, is it? Maybe sometime tomorrow you and I could go for a walk and get to know each other a bit…if you feel like it.”
“That’d be neat,” Kit said.
“Great. Let’s go in and you can meet my mum and dad. We might as well get all the introductions over and done with and then perhaps we can start acting like normal human beings.”
The two of them started up the front steps side by side. Marnie stole a look at Cal. He was staring after them, his face inscrutable, his fists clenched at his sides. She forgot that she was angry with him and that she’d vowed to play it safe, and said softly, “Cal, you’ll always be Kit’s dad no matter how much time she spends with Terry.”
He looked at her, his gaze turbulent as a summer storm. “He sure kissed you as if you’re more than good friends.”
“He didn’t and we aren’t.”
“Who’d you go out with on Thursday night, Marnie?”
“I had a heavy date with a bubble gum ice-cream cone,” she seethed, “and we can’t start a fight now, not when you’re about to meet Kit’s grandparents. Anyway, there’s nothing to fight about—you said it all very comprehensively on my answering machine.”
“And whose fault was it I had to use that goddamned machine?”
“Am I supposed to sit home night after night waiting for you to call?” she retorted with complete unfairness.
“You chickened out, didn’t you?” he rasped. “You went out for a stupid ice-cream cone so you wouldn’t have to talk to me on the phone. I never thought you were a coward, Marnie.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
“I know you all too well,” he grated, his eyes raking her from head to foot in her pretty flared dress. Then he took the front steps two at a time and held the screen door open for her.
She found herself staring at his hand on the door, a hand that had explored her body with an intimacy she’d adored. “I should never have canceled Pierrot’s,” she whispered. “Everything’s gone wrong since then. The trouble is, I was silly enough to believe you when you said you liked living dangerously.”
“There’s danger and there’s total irresponsibility,” Cal snarled.
He couldn’t have said anything more calculated to hurt. Deep down, Marnie was beginning to believe she had been irresponsible to make love with Kit’s father; she must have been because look at the results. With the truth of despair, she said, “I’d hoped I could have both of you…was that so wrong of me? But instead, I don’t have either one. At least you have Kit.”
Then she walked past him to join the others in the kitchen.
Saturday night and Sunday were never very clear in Marnie’s memory. Dave and Marylou made everyone feel more than welcome, Dave’s kindness being of the gruff variety, Marylou’s full of chatter and delicious meals. Because both of them seemed to take it for granted that Kit would be as delighted to meet them as they were to meet her, Kit unbent almost instantly, following them around like a puppy anxious for attention. Dave and Cal took the boat early Sunday morning and went fishing on the river. Kit and Terry went for their walk, and on their return played basketball for a couple of hours, passing and feinting around the net that was attached to the side of the barn.
Marnie had hidden herself on the old wooden swing on the oak tree, where as a young girl she’d always taken her troubles and worries. Through the screen of pink-and-white buds decorating Dave’s small orchard, she watched Kit and Terry play together, hearing their shouts of laughter with a bittersweet pleasure. Terry had always had the ability to charm the birds from the trees. Why should she be surprised that Kit wasn’t immune?
Kit was certainly immune to her.
Cal hadn’t invited her to go fishing. He was avoiding her like some particularly noxious weed: something deadly poisonous that made you froth at the mouth and fall down in fits and messily die.
The bolts creaked as Marnie swung back and forth. Despite the way Kit was ignoring her, she shouldn’t be feeling so unhappy. Kit had listened carefully last night to Dave’s laconic opinions and Marylou’s much wordier ones about Charlotte Carstairs, none of which could be construed as positive. And even in this short time, Kit was forming bonds with Terry, Dave and Marylou: with her roots.
But Marnie was unhappy. The reason, of course, was Cal. It was taking every ounce of her pride, courage and just plain cussedness to get through this weekend, through the frustration and pain of being so close to him and yet so infinitely far away.
Restlessly, she got up from the swing and went into the house. Marylou, despite her talkativeness, also knew when to be quiet; after one look at the shadows under Marnie’s eyes, she passed her the rolling pin and put her to work. By the time Marnie had put together two rhubarb pies and made a big batch of tea biscuits, she was feeling slightly less frayed around the edges. Nothing like the aroma of pastry browning in the oven to soothe heartache, she thought, and smiled almost naturally at Terry and Kit as they tumbled through the back door, both of them sweating profusely.
She poured glasses of cold apple juice and doled out hot biscuits smothered in homemade jam, not noticing that Cal and Dave were approaching the house. Waving a biscuit in the air, Kit burbled, “Terry’s a real good player. He showed me a way to dribble that’s pure dynamite! You wait till I try it out on our coach—oh, hi, Dad, did you catch anything?”
Cal glanced from Kit to Terry. “Two small salmon that we put back.”
His big body had a stillness that Marnie recognized: the stillness that hid emotion. Terry wiped jam from his chin and said with unusual seriousness, “You’ve got one neat kid here, Cal. You’re a lucky guy.”
Kit looked from one to the other of them, her own smile fading. “Dad, will you come outside after, so I can show you what Terry taught me?”
Tensely, Marnie waited for Cal’s reply to what was by no means a simple question. But Cal rose to the occasion in a way that made her proud of him, she who had no claim on him whatsoever. He said easily, “Sure, I’d like that, Kit,” and ruffled her hair. “Did you leave me any of those biscuits, you and Terry, or have you scoffed the lot?”
Kit grinned at him, a grin compounded of relief and mischief. “You’ll spoil your appetite for lunch,” she said primly.
“I’ll risk it,” Cal said, and slathered a biscuit with butter and jam. “These are great—you’ve been busy, Marylou.”
“Oh, Marnie made the biscuits and the pies,” Marylou said.
Cal winced, Marnie turned away to wash the dishes, and Dave said, “Bugs are awful bad on the river this year.”
The afternoon dragged by. But finally it was time to leave. After a round of goodbyes, Marnie settled herself in the back seat and, as soon as they’d driven onto the road, closed her eyes. She didn’t wake until Cal was jouncing over the potholes in her driveway. Sitting up, she said stupidly, “We’re back already?”
Cal’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “You slept the whole way. I’ll get your bag.”
Marnie said rapidly, “Bye, Kit. I’m glad you had a good time.”
“See you,” Kit said.
A meaningless phrase if ever there was one, Marnie thought, and scrambled out of her seat, hoping she’d make it into the house before she started to cry. Whenever she’d imagined a reunion with her daughter, she’d pictured the two of them falling into each other’s arms in mutual delight. Reality had sure put paid to that particular scenario.
Cal had taken her bag out of the back. Marnie took it gingerly, knowing if he touched her she’d fall apart in the driveway. “Thanks for doing all the driving,” she said politely. “I hope you’re not too tired.”
“Are you going to Sandy Lake next Friday?” he demanded.
Friday began the long weekend when she and Christine usually went camping at Sandy Lake Park, and Cal and Kit did, too. Not on your life, Marnie thought, and said coolly, “Probably not. Some friends are going to Cape Breton to rock climb. I expect that’s what I’ll do.”
“Marnie, we can’t go on like this. I’ll phone you through the week and—”
“No, don’t,” she gasped. “You mustn’t. You were right, we made a terrible mistake. Goodbye, Cal.”
She hurried down the slope to her front door. By the time she’d inserted the key in the lock, the Cherokee was back on the highway. She stepped inside, locked the door firmly behind her and stared in blind misery at the restless waves of the sea.
On Monday after school, Marnie told Christine she wasn’t going to Sandy Lake. “Why ever not?” Chris asked.
“Mario and the crew are heading for Cape Breton and it’s a great chance to—”
“Have Don and I done anything to offend you?”
“Of course not, that’s—”
“Come clean, Marnie!”
“All right, all right. Cal and Kit go to Sandy Lake every year on the long weekend in May. So therefore I’m not.”
“You and I have gone to Sandy Lake for the past three years. You’re going to let that man break a tradition that’s really important to me?”
“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”
“You bet. Anyway, Don’s brother from Toronto is coming, too. I want you to meet him. Maybe he’ll take your mind off that hunk who’s Kit’s father.”
“I wish,” Marnie said.
“I could kill him,” Chris said theatrically. “We’ll go over the menus tomorrow and leave Friday as soon as we’re packed.”
So that was that. Once again, Marnie thought unhappily, she was living dangerously. Although it was a big park and there was no real likelihood that she’d meet up with Cal and Kit.
When the four of them registered at the park headquarters on Friday evening, Marnie saw with a sinking heart that the campsite next to the one they’d be occupying Saturday and Sunday nights was assigned to a C. Huntingdon, party of two. Both campsites were near a small cliff that she’d climbed in the past and intended to climb again this weekend. It must be pure coincidence that Cal had ended up with the adjacent site because theirs was listed under Don’s name, and Cal would have no reason to connect a Donald Whiteley with Marnie.
Damn Cal anyway, she thought, and signed the registration form with an angry flourish.
The two men had gone to the washroom. “What’s the matter?” Christine asked with rather overdone innocence.
Marnie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who registered us. Chris, how could you have put us next to Cal?”
“It was easy, actually. I just asked.”
“You’re pushing your luck!”
“I can’t stand seeing you so miserable. Maybe you could try drowning in front of him so that he’ll rush to your rescue and realize he’s madly in love with you.”
“Maybe you should try minding your own business.”
Chris wailed, “I only want you to be happy.”
Marnie, of course, wanted the same thing. But she didn’t think camping next door to Cal and Kit was the way to achieve it.
They stayed on the shore that night since it was too dark by then to cross the lake. On Saturday, they paddled to their other site, which was tucked among the trees on a small peninsula, with a good breeze to keep the flies away. Cal’s campsite was quite a distance away; Marnie saw no sign of him or Kit that morning and in the afternoon did her climb.
At sunset, she and Don’s brother, William, who was as chubby as Don was lean, took her canoe out on the lake. William wanted to learn some bow strokes, so Marnie steered him among the rocks, showing how the draws and pries worked. He was slashing away at the water with more enthusiasm than accuracy, Marnie steadying the canoe from the stern, when around a rim of boulders came a sleek cedar-strip canoe, the gunwale keeled over almost to water level, a man kneeling amidships; the last rays of the sun lit his bare chest and thighs with gold. His hair was black, his eyes like shadowed pits.
Marnie almost dropped her paddle. The breeze swung the bow around and William yelled, “There’s a big mother of a rock straight ahead.”
Hastily, Marnie did a J-stroke. Trying to look calm and unflappable, she said, “Good evening, Cal.”