The Unmasking

by Emilie Richards

  Six weeks passed, and Bethany divided her time between attending classes, hanging her head over the basin in the bathroom and waiting for Justin’s letters. At first they came fairly frequently. They were casual, telling her what he could about the case he had been working on in Tallahassee, giving her unimportant details about weather and life in Chicago. The letters were invariably signed, “Love, Justin,” and for a long time she clung to that as the only words he had written that were important.

  She wrote similar letters to him, telling funny stories about her classes and about people he had known during his stay. Once after a particularly difficult day of trying to handle her nausea and classes, too, she wrote him a sentimental note telling him how much she missed him and how empty her apartment seemed. He never responded directly, but the next week she received her only phone call from him.

  After Bethany hung up she tried to tell herself that Justin had called because he cared about her. The sound of his deep voice on the other end had caused her hands to tremble. Seemingly unaffected himself he had kept the phone call friendly and casual, only deviating once.

  “Bethany,” he had said in a voice with no discernible emotion. “I’ve been concerned you might be pregnant.”

  And so, for the third time, she lied to him.

  “No, you can stop worrying.” And it was at that point that she began to worry herself.

  Two more months passed, and Bethany’s body, always slender and fine boned, began to blossom. Knowing that her secret could not be kept much longer, she considered the possibilities of a life without Justin. His letters still arrived, but with less frequency and even less information. His secretary was typing them now on office stationery, and they were stultifyingly formal.

  She told herself he was working on a case that was probably taking all his time. She told herself he needed more distance and was backing off to take a better look at what they had together. On the day she realized it had been three weeks since she had got his last note, and that it had been signed simply, “Justin,” she told herself she was a fool.

  The months following her revelation were a nightmare. Distraught and unable to think clearly, she had done first what most young women do and sought the comfort of home. For Bethany, home was a father in the navy who was more often at sea than on land. For once, however, he was back at the naval base in Jacksonville, Florida, waiting for his next assignment, and at first he was reasonably glad to see her. When she told him about her predicament, he responded by demanding she get an abortion. With fatherly concern he offered to pay for it.

  Appalled and furious, Bethany refused, and found herself out on the street with the one suitcase she had not yet unpacked. On the verge of collapse, she called a high-school friend who was a student at George Washington University, and with her last bit of savings, Bethany bought a ticket to Washington, D.C.

  With her friend’s help she found a room in an elderly woman’s home, cooking and cleaning in exchange for board. During the day she took a job with a temporary secretarial agency to pay her other expenses. Making just enough money to survive, between assignments she sat in crowded waiting rooms at a maternal-health clinic, watching young mothers on welfare with their children. The realization began to settle over her that she could not keep her child.

  Sometimes at night she would awaken in tears, clutching her pillow as if someone was trying to steal it. Sometimes at night, when she couldn’t sleep, she would walk down the hall to the telephone and lift the receiver, dialing Justin’s number in the air. But as terrible as it was to give up the baby, bringing it into a loveless marriage was even more terrible. She couldn’t do it. Justin would insist on marriage. She couldn’t bear the thought of lying next to a man who resented her presence and the evidence of their mistake in judgment.

  In the last month of her pregnancy, Bethany found that her need for emotional support was overwhelming. On a whim she wrote Madeline Conroy, a high-school art teacher who had gone the extra mile with the adolescent Bethany and given her encouragement and support. Bethany’s scholarship at FSU had been largely due to Madeline’s efforts, and the two women had stayed in touch. Rereading the letter, Bethany revised it twice, both times toning down the nature of her crisis. But the story lay between the lines for the sensitive Madeline to read, and Bethany received a phone call the night the letter arrived in Louisiana.

  Madeline had quit her teaching job and moved to New Orleans a year after Bethany left the high school in Jacksonville where they had met. She had begun making masks to sell in the “City That Care Forgot, “ and soon she had done so well she had been able to rent a shop in the colorful French Quarter. Successful and overextended, she had been thinking of trying to find an assistant. Bethany’s letter solidified that resolve. She wanted Bethany for the job.

  Most important to the tearfully grateful young woman was that Madeline wanted her baby, too. “There’s an apartment for you above the shop, Bethany,” Madeline told her. “And it’s big enough for you and your little one. You can keep the baby with you when you’re working.”

  A month later Bethany held her squalling baby daughter in her arms. The seven-pound-four-ounce bundle looked like a wizened creature from a hostile planet. But even though she was far from being the beautiful baby she would turn into in a few short weeks, Bethany knew her daughter was going to look just like the father she would never know. And because she couldn’t offer her Justin’s last name, she named the baby Abigail Justine, as a small compensation.

  The trip to New Orleans was brief. Madeline greeted them with delight, immediately making herself the baby’s official slave. Bethany threw herself into the shop, and later into designing and making masks herself. The years flew by, and the charm of the enchanting Southern city ingrained itself in Bethany’s heart.

  Perhaps the one flaw in her life was that Bethany often, at first, found herself looking over her shoulder for Justin. She knew he didn’t like the city of his birth and claimed he would never live there again. But she also knew that his parents still lived in New Orleans, and she worried about running into him if he came back to visit. When her concerns remained unfounded, she gradually relaxed, accepting the fact that she needn’t worry. Justin Dumontier became a painful memory, a shadow of her past.

  Had it not been for the chance encounter at the flea market, Justin might have remained a memory forever. But Bethany knew that the day’s events were ordained to bring about a catastrophic change in her life. As she walked toward the little shop she was frozen with dread. Her fragile peace of mind now lay in tatters like the pheasant mask. And she had no idea how to go about picking up the pieces.

  Blocks away from Jackson Square she turned in at the door of a shop with a profusion of colorful masks in the window. A teenager with skin the color of rich chocolate looked up to greet her.

  “Did Lamar bring Abby back, Valerie?” Bethany asked.

  The girl smiled an extraordinary smile, transforming an almost-average face. Bethany was reminded, as always, of a peacock spreading its tail feathers.

  “Not yet. He’s probably got her off somewhere telling her all about Jean Lafitte.”

  “She knows those stories by heart, but that won’t stop either of them.” Bethany gestured toward the back of the shop. “Madeline said you want to finish a mask. I’ll take over down here.” She watched the girl’s face light up again. “Do you think you could teach me to smile like that?’’

  “Somebody ought to teach you to smile, girl. You look like you need a smiling lesson or a good cry.”

  “Hard day.” Bethany managed to turn up one corner of her mouth. “Better?”

  “You better practice while I’m gone. Pretend you’re that dude over there.” Valerie pointed to one of a series of papier-mâché” masks hanging on the wall. The mask she singled out was a clown with an ear-to-ear grin.

  Bethany watched her slip through the door in the back that led to a brick courtyard with stairs to Bethany’s apartment and workshop. Valerie had
been hired the year before to work behind the counters on weekends and after school. At the time, no one had realized the bonanza of talent packed into the girl’s slim fingers.

  One day for fun, she had helped Abby model a tiny doll’s mask from papier-mâché and soon there had been no limits to her creativity. Now she was working on a series of African tribal masks, taking Life’s Illusions into a delightfully new and different direction. Upon her graduation from the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, a high-school program for talented teenagers, Bethany and Madeline were hoping to offer Valerie a more important role in the shop while she attended a local university.

  With Valerie gone and no customers in the store, Bethany pulled a high stool to the U-shaped display case and rested her forehead on her arms. She had gone over and over the events of the day, sometimes wishing she had let Madeline man the booth, sometimes wishing she had worn a mask that had covered her face completely, or best yet that she had never met Justin Dumontier. But the damage had been done. Now was the time to decide how to handle it.

  She numbered her concerns. First and foremost was that Justin would discover he had a daughter and demand his legal rights. Second was that he might try to reestablish his relationship with Bethany, not realizing Abby was his child. The third was that he might not even care enough to do either.

  Acknowledging that last one was the hardest. What was she thinking? She was done with Justin Dumontier. The worst thing that could happen would be for Justin to step back into her life. She had given him love once before. In return he had left her alone to carry the result. She needed Justin as much as a magnolia needed a snowstorm. He could be her ultimate downfall.

  Sitting up she told herself she was wasting her time. By dinnertime Justin probably wouldn’t even remember he had seen her today. Her first order of business was to put that chance encounter out of her head. If by accident she saw him again, she would be casual, politely distant. And she would keep Abby out of the Uptown area, where she was sure Justin’s parents lived.

  The thought of hiding her daughter from Justin was almost more than she could handle. As a child she had often had to make up stories to protect her alcoholic mother from the disapproving scrutiny of others. As an adult, she had made a conscious decision not to live that way anymore. But realizing the fact of her pregnancy, she had lied so that Justin wouldn’t feel compelled to marry her. At the time she had felt he would want her, anyway.

  “How wrong could one person be?” She got up and went behind the curtain leading to the back of the shop to get a box of feathers to sort while she watched for customers.

  She was rummaging for a tray to put them on when the sound of footsteps alerted her to someone out front. Lost in her thoughts she hadn’t heard the shop bell tinkle. She set down her supplies and ran her fingers through her hair as she made her way to the counter. Standing directly in front of her, his face impassive, was Justin Dumontier.

  “Bethany.”

  How like him, she thought. Not “Hello, Bethany,” or “How are you, Bethany,” just “Bethany,” as if those three syllables could say it all.

  “Justin.” Two could play this game. She waited.

  His eyes flickered over her face, falling to take in the curves beneath her pastel turtleneck. Her body was more mature than when he had last held her in his arms. Gone were the sharper angles, replaced by a flattering softness. Her hair was different, too, no longer halfway down her back, but short now, just grazing her nape and swinging to hide her face when she moved.

  “When did you cut your hair?’’

  Naive and foolish girl that she had been, she had cut it herself the night she realized Justin would not be coming back to her. The memory brought with it a flash of pain. Short hair hadn’t exorcised the memories of Justin’s hands running through it, or his voice, murmuring how beautiful it was. But she had kept it pixie-short for a long time, and only recently had she even allowed it to grow long enough to touch her collar.

  “About the time I left Tallahassee,” she answered.

  “And when was that?” Again his dark eyes were impenetrable.

  “A long time ago,” she said with a sigh. Giving up hope that he would quickly get to the point, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “I came to pay you for the mask. I went back to the flea market, but the woman at your stall said you had come here.”

  I should have told Madeline, she thought. Now he knows where to find me. “That was kind of you, Justin.” She turned, rummaging for the notebook in which each mask was listed. “That mask was priced at seventy-five dollars, but we would be happy to get seventy for it.”

  “That’s fair enough.” He pulled out his wallet, selecting several large bills, and handed them to her. “There’s some extra there for the trouble my client caused.”

  You will never know the real truth of that statement.

  She turned to the cash register, making change. “We don’t need extra. Paying for the mask is all I would expect.”

  He reached for the money, and she waited for him to leave. “Was there something else?” Bethany stole a quick glance at the clock over the shop door. Where were Abby and Lamar? Why didn’t Justin leave the way he had come? The situation was taking on the dimensions of a nightmare.

  “It’s been such a long time since I saw you. Tell me, why did you decide to come to New Orleans?” It was his longest speech yet, necessitating a polite, lengthy reply. The seconds ticked by as once more she glanced over the door.

  “A friend, the woman you met at the flea market, offered me a job in this shop. It was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down.”

  “And you came here from Florida?”

  She shrugged, trying to hide her anxiety. “Just about.” Apparently he was in no hurry. “And you, Justin? How did you find your way back to the Crescent City?”

  “My father died last month. I’m here trying to finish up some work at the law firm.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” The genuine warmth in her voice must have surprised him, because his stance softened, and he leaned forward.

  “Thank you. It was unexpected, but he died quickly with little pain. Just the way he would have wanted.”

  She nodded, preparing to respond, when the shop bell tinkled again. “Mommy, I’m back.” A four-year-old bundle of energy hurtled through the door and behind the counter, throwing herself into Bethany’s arms. “We went to the wax museum, and I ate a whole po’boy and some red beans, too.”

  Dear God, Bethany thought. She turned Abby so the little girl’s back was to Justin, holding her tightly against her own chest. “I’m glad you had a good time, kiddo. Why don’t you run upstairs and see Valerie while I finish up here. Then I’ll come up and you can tell me all about it.” Walking sideways, she deposited Abby facing the door as she opened it. “There you go. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  The doorbell tinkled again as Lamar came in. “Where is she? Me, I told her I’d beat her down the block, but I almost knocked over two lovely ladies trying to run faster than that imp.”

  “She’s upstairs, Lamar. She told me about your adventures. A po’boy and red beans? What else?” Bethany was struggling to keep her voice light, but she hadn’t looked at Justin since the ill-timed arrival of their daughter.

  Lamar waved his hand nonchalantly. “Some popcorn, one praline, a lemon ice.”

  “I won’t have to feed her for a week. Thanks a lot.” She stuck out her cheek as Lamar bent to casually kiss her. “And thanks for taking her today. It helped a lot.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. She’s my special girl.” He bent to kiss Bethany’s other cheek. “You will come see me tonight? It’s the debut of the new set I’ve been telling you about.”

  “I’m not sure.” She sneaked a quick glance at Justin, who seemed to be taking in the interaction. “I’ll have to see.” She waved goodbye as Lamar strolled from the shop.

  “I’m sorry, Justin. Where were we?” She didn’t strangle on the word
s, but her heart was pounding hard enough to qualify as aerobic exercise.

  “The little girl is yours?”

  “Yes.” Surprisingly the expression on Justin’s face changed for a moment, but he covered it so quickly she couldn’t tell what the change had meant. Hoping to head him off, she inquired in a polite voice, “And you, Justin? Do you have children now?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not married. No children.”

  Little do you know. “It’s quite an experience,” she said noncommittally.

  “Is she your only child?”

  The voice in her head would not be silent. Yes, you see her father hasn’t been available to father any more.

  “One is enough for right now,” she answered without looking at him.

  “She’s quite a big girl.”

  Bethany forced herself to keep her hands on the counter. “Her father is a big man.”

  Justin slipped his hands in his pockets. “Your husband is a lucky man,” he said finally.

  She could nod. It would be a simple lie, a lie of omission. She could pull her chin up and down a few inches, and she would never have to worry about Justin interfering in her life or Abby’s. But her head wouldn’t move the infinitesimal distance needed to participate in this fourth lie to Justin Dumontier. She could feel the misty glaze of tears forming behind her eyelids. She shook her head softly. “I’m not married.”

  “Then your daughter’s father is a fool.”

  “My daughter’s father is many things, but he’s never been a fool,” she replied. She hadn’t lied to him, but she hadn’t told him the truth, either. Looking directly at Justin for the first time since Abby had entered the shop, she realized he still had no inkling of her daughter’s parentage. Even Justin wouldn’t be able to hide such a revelation.

  “I guess I’d better go,” he said finally. “I’ve wondered about you during these past years. I’m glad I’ve seen you again.”