Chapter 31
As soon as Jake left, Peter went straight to the bedroom phone. He stood in front of his mirror for a moment, mouthing Maddy’s name. After a minute he laughed out loud at his reflection. “You’re such a dimwit.” He nodded. “Just do it.” He dialed with a trembling hand and listened to the phone ring.
“Hello,” Maddy answered. “Peter.”
“Yes, hi! Is this a good time?”
“No, actually it isn’t.”
Peter paused. “I’m sorry.” He listened, but he couldn’t read the inflection in her voice. “Do you want me to call later?”
“Honestly, I don’t. I don’t want you to call me now, later, or tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong, Maddy?” Peter sat on the bed and braced his feet.
“Stop calling me that! No one’s called me that in years.”
He moved the phone to the other ear. “I didn’t know it upset you.”
“Upset me? You’re kidding, right?”
“Maddy, did I do something?” Peter was fingering the collar of his shirt, but he stopped when he heard her exhale hard.
“Listen. You obviously have a lot of issues, Peter and you are definitely not the person I remember. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but know that I’m not interested in being a part of this sick charade.”
“Do you mind telling me what you’re talking about?” His voice rose.
“I know about the article.”
Peter’s heart pounded suddenly against his sternum. He felt his weight sinking into the carpet, his head buzzing. He threw himself back on the bed, the phone pressed on his ear and his eyes closed as he listened.
“The Tribune article about your library project. My sister read it to me. Congratulations on that, by the way. I know all about your high-society wedding with Ms. Whoever-she-is. That must be who we spoke to on the phone when Kate called your house.”
“What do you mean—” Peter sat up. “—’When you called my house’?”
“I know your fiancée’s gown cost eight thousand dollars. I know you’re having beef Wellington at your reception dinner, and I even know Senator Ted Kennedy might be at the—what did they call it?—The Boston Event of the Year?”
“Maddy—”
“Maddy what? What could you possibly have to say to me now?”
“There was a mistake—” Peter said urgently.
“The Tribune made a mistake? The caterers made a mistake? The architects made a mistake?” Maddy was crying out into the phone now. “The Kennedys made a mistake?”
“It’s confusing, I know, but—”
“Confusing? I’ll tell you what’s confusing. Twenty years ago I was very sick. I lost my sight, my home, my friends, and most of all the love of my life. Until a few weeks ago, that is, when I encountered a man so kind and sweet I felt as if I could finally learn trust again. Until I found out that was all a lie. You lied to me, and any trust I’d had in you was shattered. But I still put myself out there one more time. I listened to your pleading and explanations, your apologies and excuses. I actually believed in you again. I was even excited about talking to you on the phone. Excited! Now Kate brings me this article raving about your happy nuptials, and all I can think is what a complete and total idiot I have been, what an idiot I have always been.”
“Maddy, please listen. My parents confessed to me about your mother’s letter. They didn’t tell me at the time. I never knew! They were afraid I’d drop out of grad school to come after you, that I’d be drafted into the Vietnam War, and I would have dropped out, too. I didn’t care what happened to me. Maddy, Maddy! I would have done anything for you.”
“My mother’s letter? What are you talking about? I forbade my mother to write to you. I will not listen to any more lies, Peter. You’ve turned me into an emotional wreck just when my life was on an even keel. Well, I don’t want any part of it. Are you paying attention, Mr. Michaels? I won’t have you breaking my heart again.” Maddy paused to catch her breath.
“I won’t,” Peter said softly. “I’ll never break your heart again.”
There was a short silence, and then Maddy cried out one last time. “Oh, Peter!” The phone suddenly went dead.
Peter lay frozen for a long time on his back on the bed, listening to the empty sound of the dial tone.
Ten minutes later, he was on the phone again making a plane reservation. He was going to Colorado first thing in the morning. He and Maddy belonged together, and they both knew it.
Peter felt better as he stepped in the shower. His bags were packed and sitting at the foot of his bed. He was just checking his phone book and making sure he had enough checks in his checkbook when he paused at the sight of the shoebox on the corner of his dresser. He opened it and took out the small silver chain. He smiled and pressed it to his mouth. He closed his eyes against the touch of the little diamond heart against his lips. For an instant, it still smelled of snowflakes.
He slipped it into his wallet. By this time the following evening, it would be back around Maddy’s slender neck, forever.
He was laying his wallet and keys out on the dresser with a clean pair of jeans next to the shoebox when the pounding of the door startled him. He hurried into his pajamas and jogged down the hall to the living room.
“Peter, you there? Open up!”
He jerked open the door to Jake leaning on the door frame out of breath.
“What are you doing here?” Peter backed into the room, buttoning his pajama shirt against the cold November night. “Everything all right?”
“I called, but you didn’t answer. Were you screening?”
“Just in the shower. What’s wrong?”
“Sit down, buddy. Tara was over a little while ago.”
“Was she a mess? I feel sick about this. But I had to do it, right? I’m flying to Denver in the morning—”
“Shut up a second. Peter. She’s pregnant.”
“Tara?”
“Look, man, it sounds like she might decide not to have the baby.”
“What?” Peter’s legs went out from under him, and he crumpled against the kitchen counter.
“She didn’t want you to know. She wanted to tell you when she was ready, ‘if it was necessary.’ Those were her words. What are you going to do?”
“I have to talk to her.” Peter pressed a palm to his forehead. “Oh, God. It’s my baby we’re talking about. Holy—Jake, I’m a father. Jake, I’m not ready. What do I do? I can’t believe this.” Peter yanked open the closet door and fumbled for a coat.
“You’re in your pajamas, man. Don’t you want to change?”
“I have to see Tara.” Peter was shoving his arms into his coat sleeves. “Do you think she’s home by now?”
“She should be. She left a while ago. What are you going to say to her?”
“I don’t know, Jake. Oh, God—”
“Listen, did I do the right thing? Telling you?”
“Of course you did. Thank you.” Peter shrugged his coat up over his shoulders and snapped off the overhead light, reaching for his keys, his face running with cold sweat.
“No offense, Peter, but this is one of the few times in our lives I haven’t wanted to switch places with you.”
“You with me? It’s the other way around.” Peter opened the front door. He stopped and looked at him. “Jake, you know it has always been the other way around.”
Peter could see Tara through the glass window in her front door. She hesitated before she opened it.
He stood on the step outside in his coat and pajama pants, in loafers with no socks. He raised his head and looked into her eyes, red and swollen, then down at her stomach, and he began to cry. Peter knelt and put his arms around her waist, crying into her body. Tara ran her hands along his head, her fingers through his long, soft hair. His sobbing was deep and shook him violently. They remained in the doorway holding one another for a long time.