Summer’s End

33

“Why won’t you come?” Kim looked disappointed. “It’s Thanksgiving, and I won’t leave you alone.”

“Yes, you will. I’m an uninvited guest, and an exhausted one at that. I can’t, love. Honest. I’m just too goddamn tired. Leave me here, and I may even revive by tomorrow.” But Kim wasn’t sure of that either. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll. Deanna looked exhausted and bleak. Kim had even gone so far as to call Dr. Jones from the kitchen phone, where Deanna wouldn’t hear. She explained to him what had happened. His advice had been to just let Deanna be. Let her go at her own pace and do what she wanted. He felt sure that she’d be all right. On the strength of that Kim decided not to push.

“All right. But you’re sure you won’t be lonely.”

“No, more likely I’ll be asleep.” She smiled tiredly at her friend and suppressed a yawn. “I don’t think I’ll miss Thanksgiving at all this year.” The two women exchanged a smile, and Deanna was asleep before Kim left. Kim tiptoed out the door and quietly locked it.

The key turned in the lock around eleven that night, and for a moment he held his breath. It had been insane not to call, but he hadn’t known what to say. What could he tell her? How could he take back what he’d said? He had wanted to buy her something pretty, something to buy her back, but all the stores had been closed. Thanksgiving. A day of thanks. He had spent half the day working at his desk, and the other half quietly with Chantal. She had known that something was wrong, but she was not quite sure what. He had clung to her in their lovemaking in a very odd way.

He opened the door and looked up. There was no light and no sound. She was obviously asleep. Her car had been in the garage. He didn’t even see Margaret’s light shining under her door down the hall. The entire house was still, and he put on only a small light as he hung up his coat. And then he saw the note paper, stuck into the frame of the mirror near the door. Was she out? Had she gone somewhere with a friend? He reached for the paper and held it, a sudden, odd feeling clutching at his heart. He stood there for a moment, as though waiting to hear her voice or her foot on the stairs. He looked up again and heard only silence, and then slowly he opened the folds of the paper at last. His eyes swam and his head pounded as he read it. “I loved you, darling. Good-bye.”. Why “loved?” Why in the past tense? But he knew. He had told her the one thing that she could never know. That the baby was not his. She knew now that he had lied to her about the baby, and about Chantal… She knew about his other life. She had seen him with Chantal in Paris and again the other night. With feet like lead he tried to race up the stairs. He would find Deanna there. She would be asleep in their bed. All day he had ignored what had happened between them, hoping it would go away. Calling her would make it real. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to do that. Now all he had to do was run to the bed and he’d find her there, asleep.

But when he reached their room, he found it as he dreaded he would-empty. She was gone. Deanna was gone.

Marc-Edouard stood deathly still for a long moment, not knowing what to do. Then fighting back tears, he reached for the phone. He needed her. Desperately. She had to be there for him now. He knew she would be. He dialed, but when Chantal answered, she sounded strange.

“Chantal… I-I have to see you… I’ll be right there.”

“Is something wrong?” She sounded distracted and in a hurry.

“Yes… no… Just be there. I’m on my way over.” She had wanted to tell him to hurry, but she hadn’t known quite what to say, and she was still feeling awkward and looking a little bit confused when he arrived only moments later. But he saw nothing. He only took her quickly in his arms the moment she opened the door.

“Darling, what is it? You look ill.”

“I am… I don’t know… She’s gone.”

Poor man. Pilar again. Was he still so excessively haunted by that? But what had happened to trigger it so suddenly? “I know, my darling, but you have me.” She held him close as they sat together on the couch.

“But the baby…” And then he realized that he shouldn’t have blurted it out.

“What baby?” Had he gone mad? She looked frightened as she pulled away from him.

“Nothing… I’m upset… It’s Deanna. She’s gone.”

“For good? She left you?” He nodded numbly, and Chantal grinned.

“I’d say that’s cause for celebration, not despair.” Without thinking further, she rose from the couch and went out to the kitchen to find one of the bottles of champagne Marc had left with her only a few days before. She returned with the bottle and two glasses, and then stopped as she saw the agony on Marc’s face. “Are you that unhappy then?”

“I don’t know. I’m stunned. I said some things… I shouldn’t have… I-I overplayed my hand.”

Chantal stared at him with chilly eyes. “I didn’t realize you were that anxious to keep her. Now what? You fight to get her back?” As he watched her, he slowly shook his head. He couldn’t get Deanna back and he knew it. While trying to tie her to him forever, he had told her the one thing that had severed her from him. The baby wasn’t his. “By the way”-Chantal paused only for a moment-“what was that business you just mentioned about a baby?” He said nothing, he only stared at something she could not see. The death of hope. “Was she pregnant, Marc?” Her words were like a vise at his throat, and silently he nodded.

“Did she know it wasn’t yours?”

“Not until last night.”

“I see. And that was why you stayed with her until now-for a child that wasn’t even yours…” Her voice drifted away like a kind of distant death knell, disappointment filling her heart as well. “I didn’t realize it meant that much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” He lied to her and tried to take her in his arms.

“Yes, it does.” The champagne stood unopened. They looked at each other in despair. “Yes, in fact, it does.”

“We can adopt a child,” Marc said. Slowly Chantal nodded. She knew that she would have to if it meant that much to him, but she didn’t want children. She never had.

“Yes, I suppose we can.” And then with sudden recollection, she glanced at her watch. “What are you going to do now?”

“Marry you.” He tried to smile as he said it, but the words felt like lead in his mouth. “If that’s what you still want.”

“It is.” She sounded solemn, but there was a filament of worry lurking in her eyes. “But I didn’t mean that, darling. I meant tonight.”

“I don’t know. Can I stay here?” The idea of going back to his own home was unbearable to him, and it was too soon to take Chantal there, to sleep in the bed Deanna had vacated only the night before. She had slept in the studio after his disclosure.

“Why don’t we go out to dinner?”

“Now?” He looked at her, shocked. “I’m hardly in the mood. A lot has changed for me in the past few hours, and no matter how much I love you, I need to adjust.” For a moment he wondered if he had made a mistake coming to Chantal so quickly, before he had absorbed the shock. She seemed to understand nothing of what he was feeling. “Couldn’t we just eat here?”

“No. I want to go out.” She said it nervously now, as though she were in a hurry, and he noticed suddenly that she was wearing a black silk dress, as though she had been planning to go to dinner anyway.

“Were you going somewhere when I called?” He looked as though he didn’t understand.

“I just thought I’d go out somewhere for dinner.”

“Alone?” He looked shocked.

“Obviously.” She laughed at him, but it had a tinsel ring, and before she had said more, the doorbell rang. She looked rapidly at Marc-Edouard and then hurried toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

From where he sat on the couch, his view of the doorway was obscured, but he heard her open the door and step outside, and then suddenly something inside him raged. He strode across the room, following her path, and reached the almost-closed door where he could hear her speaking softly on the other side. He pulled it sharply open and heard her gasp as she jumped slightly aside. She was speaking to his partner, Jim Sullivan, who looked somewhat shocked to be facing Marc.

“Am I interrupting you, or would you care to step inside?” He was looking at his partner, but his words were addressed to both of them. Silently the trio walked into the apartment. Chantal closed the door.

“Darling, it’s really… Jim just thought I’d enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. I thought you would be… at home…” Her face was taut with embarrassment, and her borrowed gaiety fooled no one.

“I see. How charming. Odd that neither of you mentioned it to me.”

“I’m sorry, Marc.” Jim looked at him soberly as they stood uncomfortably in the middle of the living room. “I don’t think there’s much more I can say.” Marc-Edouard turned his back to him. Jim simply touched his shoulder, and a moment later Marc heard the sound of the front door close. He turned slowly to face Chantal.

“Is that what you’ve been doing?”

Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. “I’ve only had dinner with him a couple of times. I didn’t really think you’d mind.” But they both knew it was a lie.

“What do I say to you now?”

“That you forgive me. And I say to you that it will never happen again.” She slipped herself quietly into his arms and held him close as he slowly bowed his head and felt the silk of her hair on his face. Tears hovered in his eyes as he held her, because he knew that it would happen again and again… and again.