MONDAY MORNING ARRIVED WITH relentless punctuality. This time Bess and Julian accompanied Martin. At the last minute Sylvia drove up in her convertible and was welcomed into the Roths’ limousine. When they reached the station she stood back a little so as not to intrude on Martin’s goodbye to his parents. Bess was oblivious to everything but her son’s face. She didn’t see the other soldiers, the other agonized families who, like herself, felt a sense of privacy at they said those painful last goodbyes.
Martin looked at his watch. It was time to board. Suddenly he felt his mother in his arms; she seemed so frail and vulnerable. He’d never remembered her as being this small. He knew how much she was suffering. Then Julian embraced him, wanting to protect him yet knowing that the boy’s assured safety was the one thing he could not buy.
Finally, Sylvia stood before Martin. It was time for their goodbye. “Take care of yourself, Martin,” she said.
He nodded. “I will. Thank you for helping my parents.”
She nodded. He kissed her with affection and boarded the train, where he found a seat by the window. He saw Sylvia and his parents trying to wave bravely. Then the train moved out.
The Roths stood for a long moment amidst the swirling crowds, staring into the distance as they watched the train disappear. They seemed old today as they clung to each other in their grief. Sylvia hoped she could help fill the void Martin’s going had created, but she doubted it. He was, after all, flesh of their flesh; their only son. She wiped her own tears away and gently said, “I think it’s time to go home now.”
During the drive back to Woodside, Sylvia sat lost in thought. The events of the past week had been more than sobering and Sylvia decided she had to be honest, at least with herself. She had daydreamed about Martin for years, but now she had to face the truth: she’d never had the slightest intention of marrying Maury. She understood that now.
“Be sure, Sylvia,” Martin had cautioned. “Go slowly, maybe this is only a rebellion.”
Wise Martin, that’s really what it had been. Not only against her own narrow little world, but against Martin. She thought that she could make him jealous, perhaps force him to rescue her. But that had been foolish. She knew Martin didn’t love her. Of his deep affection she was more than certain, remembering how gently he had taken her last night. Perhaps in a relationship one person always loved more than the other. If there was a commitment to be made, she made it to herself. Martin was going to love her. They were right for each other, meant for each other. When he came home, she’d make him realize that. They were both cut from the same piece of cloth, understood each other’s world, spoke the same language as she and Maury never had. She trembled at the thought that to spite Martin she could have destroyed her life. She’d been tempted to explore her sexuality, but even at the height of her desire for Maury, she had held back. Martin had stood in the way even then.
It had taken something as catastrophic as the war for her to throw herself at Martin’s feet. But pride be damned. At least Martin knew how she felt. Sylvia was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice the car had stopped until Edward, the chauffeur, reached in to help her out.
As soon as they reached the house Julian said, “My dear, if you don’t mind, I’ll skip lunch. I have a headache and I think I’ll lie down.”
“Of course,” Bess said. “I’ll have a tray sent up to you, darling.”
The women watched as he slowly ascended the stairs. When they heard the door shut behind him, Bess sighed and said, “Dear me. You must be famished.”
“Not especially. But I think you should have something, Aunt Bess.”
Bess looked at the girl she had known since birth, wishing that Sylvia were the daughter that she had never had. But then Sylvia had never been all that close to her own mother. Whenever she had a problem, it was Bess to whom she turned. Perhaps the tie between them was stronger even than blood.
Sylvia settled herself into the down pillows of the chair and looked about the familiar room. Thank God nothing seemed to have changed. She remembered the time Martin was twelve and had fallen off the library stairs reaching for a book. She had run to him and tried to help him up, but he couldn’t move.
“Gosh, Sylvia, wait a minute. I think I broke my ankle.”
“Oh, you couldn’t have.”
“Don’t argue with me, Sylvia. I think it’s broken.”
“How can you tell?”
“’Cause it throbs like hell.”
“You better not let your mother hear you say hell.”
“Sylvia, do me a favor. Go home.”
“After I’ve helped you up.”
Between Sylvia and the arm of the chair, Martin got up, hobbled out of the room and up the stairs. He sat gingerly on the bed, swung his leg over and then lay down. The pain was excruciating and his ankle was the size of a grapefruit.
“Holy cow. I really think I’ve broken it. Sylvia.”
“Okay, don’t move. I’ll go down and get Anna.”
She slid down the banister and ran to the kitchen to tell Anna, the Roths’ housekeeper. “Anna, Martin broke his leg,” she said breathlessly.
“Now where does it hurt?” Anna said when she reached his bedroom.
“It’s my ankle. I think it’s broken.”
“I’m sure it’s no such thing,” she said, much like Sylvia.
“Because it hurts like hell.”
Anna’s eyebrows knitted together.
“What did you say, young man?”
“I said it hurts so much.”
“Well, I hope that’s what you said.” But Anna was concerned, particularly since the Roths were away. “Now don’t move, Martin. This may hurt for a moment, but let me put one of these pillows under your leg.”
He let out a yell as she lifted his foot.
“Now, Sylvia. You’ll have to step out for a while,” Anna said.
“Why?” Sylvia asked in mild defiance.
“I’m going to try and get off Martin’s pants and make him comfortable.”
“But why can’t I stay? I’ve seen him lots without his pants.”
“Have you really, young lady? Well, there’s much to tell when Mr. and Mrs. Roth come home. Now leave the room immediately.”
Sylvia glared at Anna and reluctantly obeyed. For the next week she sat in Martin’s room, since he was confined to bed with a compound fracture.
Her memory of those innocent days was interrupted by Bess asking, “Would you like a little, sherry?”
“That would be nice.”
They sipped in silence. After a while Bess said, “Remarkable how resilient we are. I never would have thought I’d be this calm. The one I’m worried about is Julian.
“There’s a strange thing about marriage, Sylvia. Even after all these years there are moments that cannot be shared. I suppose they belong between man and his God.” Bess looked at Sylvia’s concerned face and added, “My dear, you will never know how grateful I am to you for being here at this moment. You are such a comfort.”
“This is where I want to be, where I’m happiest. If you don’t mind, I’ve decided I’m going to be your houseguest for awhile.”
“Mind? Oh, my dearest girl, I’m overjoyed. But as close as your mother and I are, I wouldn’t want your mother to feel that I was alienating you.”
Sylvia smiled. “She already knows that and she won’t feel jealous.”
That night Sylvia sat down at the desk and wrote Martin a letter. Not a love letter, really, but one of nostalgia in the hope that memories of their happy childhood would give him something to hold on to, to support him during the terrible weeks and months ahead.