Summer’s End

19

The funeral was brief and formal and agonizing. Deanna wore a plain black woolen dress and a little black hat with a veil. Marc’s mother was dressed all in black with black stockings. Marc himself wore a dark suit and black tie. It was all done in the most formal of French traditions in a pretty little church in the seizième arrondissement, and the “Ave Maria” was sung by the parish-school choir. It was heartbreaking as the children’s voices soared over the notes, and Deanna desperately tried not to hear. But there was no avoiding any of it. Marc had done it all à la française-the service, the music, the eulogy, the little country cemetery with yet another priest, and then the gathering of friends and relatives at the house. It was an all-day enterprise, with endless rounds of handshaking and regrets, explanations and shared sorrows. To some it was undoubtedly a relief to mourn that way, to Deanna it was not. Once more she felt that Pilar had been stolen from her, only now it really didn’t matter anymore. This was the very last time. She even called Ben collect from the house.

“I’m sorry. I won’t stay on long. I just needed to talk to you. I’m at the house.”

“Are you holding up?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m numb. It’s all like a circus. I even had to fight them about an open coffin. Thank God, at least that battle I won.”

He didn’t like the sound of her voice. She sounded nervous, tired, and strained. But it was hardly surprising under the circumstances. “When are you coming back?”

“Sometime in the next two days, I hope. But I’m not sure. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“Just send me a wire when you know.”

She heaved a small sigh. “I will. I guess I’d better get back to the ghoulish festivities now.”

“I love you, Deanna.”

“So do I.” She was afraid to say the words, lest someone walk into the room, but she knew he’d understand.

She went back to the fifty or sixty guests who were milling around her mother-in-law’s rooms, chatting, gossiping, discussing Pilar, consoling Marc. Deanna had never felt as much a stranger as now. It seemed hours since she had seen Marc. He found her at last in the kitchen, staring out a window, at a wall.

“Deanna? What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing.” Her big sorrowful eyes looked into his. He was actually looking better. And day by day she seemed to look worse. She wasn’t feeling well either, but she hadn’t mentioned that to Marc, or the fact that she had fainted twice in the past four days. “I’m just out here catching my breath.”

“I’m sorry it’s been such a long day. My mother wouldn’t have understood if we’d done it differently.”

“I know. I understand.”

Suddenly, looking at him, she realized that he understood too, and that he could see what a toll it was taking on her. “Marc, when are we going home?”

“To San Francisco?” he asked. She nodded. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it any thought. Are you in a hurry?”

“I just want to get back. It’s… harder for me here.”

“Bon. But I have work I must complete here. I need at least another two weeks.”

Oh, God, no. She couldn’t survive two more weeks there under her mother-in-law’s roof-and without Ben. “There’s no reason why I should stay, is there?”

“What do you mean? You want to go home alone?” He looked distressed. “I don’t want you to do that. I want you to go home with me.” He had already thought about it. It would be too hard for her to face the house alone: Pilar’s room, all her things. He didn’t want that. She’d have to wait for him.

“I can’t wait two weeks.” She looked frantic at the idea, and he noticed again how exhausted and overwrought she was.

“Let’s just see.”

“Marc, I have to go home.” Her voice trembled as it rose.

“All right. But first, would you do something for me?”

“What?” She looked at him strangely. What did he want? All she wanted was to get away.

“Will you go away with me for two days? Anywhere, for a weekend. Some place quiet, where we both can rest. We need to talk. We haven’t been able to here, and I don’t want you to go back until we do talk. Quietly. Alone. Will you do that for me?”

She waited for a long moment and looked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Please. It’s all I ask. Only that. Two days, and then you can go.”

She turned away to stare out at the rooftops again. She was thinking of Ben and Carmel. But she had no right to rush home to him just to make herself feel better. She owed something to their marriage, even if it was only two days. She turned to look at Marc and slowly nodded. “All right. I’ll go.”