When I Looked Away

by Joy Fielding

  “You don’t want any more hassles,” he said simply.

  Gail brushed an invisible hair away from her forehead. “I guess that’s what I’m saying, yes.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m tired, Dr. Manoff. And I don’t want anything that’s going to make me feel better. Life is too many hassles. I want to die.”

  “Why haven’t you?” he asked.

  Gail was momentarily stunned by his question. She felt her heart beginning to race. “I don’t know,” she answered finally. “I guess wishing doesn’t always make it so.” She shook her head. “No guts, I guess,” she said, recalling a similar remark she had made to her mother so many months ago. “No gun,” she added softly, remembering what else she had said.

  “There are other ways,” Dr. Manoff continued, and Gail recognized that, quite the opposite of trying to educate her in alternate methods of suicide, he was trying to force her to admit that despite these alternatives, she had selected life.

  “Like I said,” Gail repeated, “no guts.” She paused. “Besides, Jack has already told you, I was trying to get someone else to do the dirty deed.”

  “Yet when you were mugged in the park, you fought back; when you were cornered in the rooming house, you screamed for the police.”

  “I was afraid. I didn’t have time to think. I just reacted.”

  “You instinctively fought back.”

  “Yes. Instinct, a wonderful thing,” she said sarcastically.

  “The instinct to survive is strong in all of us.”

  Gail said nothing.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Gail cut him off. “You’re trying to tell me that there’s a small part of me that doesn’t really want to die, because if I did, I would have taken a bottle of pills or slashed my wrists or swallowed the Drano, or whatever it is that people who really want to die do. And maybe you’re right. I don’t know.” She looked back down into her lap. “And I really don’t care.”

  She stood up. The interview was over as far as she was concerned.

  “And if they catch the man who killed your child?”

  “They won’t.”

  “If they do?”

  “If they do, they’ll slap him on the wrist and ask him not to do it again. Then they’ll let him go.”

  “You have very little faith in our justice system,” he noted, not disagreeing with her assessment.

  “The man has rights, after all,” Gail reminded the doctor.

  “And the rest of us? What about our rights?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Gail asked. “You don’t have any rights until you kill somebody.”

  After that, there didn’t seem to be anything left to say, and Gail left his office in silence.

  Chapter 29

  Gail hoped that Christmas would pass with a minimum of fanfare—Christmas is for children, she had protested weakly—but Jack insisted that they have a tree and Gail didn’t have the heart or the strength to argue.

  “Why don’t you open this now?” Jack asked, bringing an enormous box into their bedroom where Gail was already in her night-gown, brushing her hair as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Christmas isn’t until tomorrow,” she reminded him.

  “Lots of families open their presents on Christmas Eve,” he told her, putting the box on her lap and waiting.

  “Okay,” she said, pulling at the bright red ribbon. It came apart easily and seconds later, the box fell open. “Oh, Jack, it’s beautiful,” Gail said, pulling the luxuriant black mink coat out of its wrapping and holding it up.

  “I thought you could use a new coat,” he smiled shyly.

  “I didn’t get you anything like—”

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  “I can’t accept this. It’s too much. I don’t deserve—”

  “I love you, Gail,” he told her, sitting beside her on the bed. “Try it on.”

  “Now? I have my nightgown on.”

  “I’ve always liked mink and flannel,” he laughed, and Gail found herself laughing with him. She jumped up and wrapped the rich, dark fur around her shoulders.

  “How does it look?” she asked, twirling around, still laughing.

  “Beautiful,” Jennifer said from the doorway. “Can I come in, or is this a private party?”

  Gail held out her arms for her daughter.

  “I have something for you too,” Jennifer said, holding out a small, carefully wrapped package.

  “You want me to open it now?” Jennifer nodded. “Okay.” Gail sat back down on the bed, the black mink coat spilling across the soft white of the bedspread, and tore open the silver paper, gingerly extricating a delicate gold chain, in the center of which sat a single pearl, framed on either side by tiny diamonds. Gail turned to her daughter, unable to speak. “I can’t take this, Jennifer,” she said at last.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Like it? How could I not like it? It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. But I can’t let you spend all your money on me. It’s much too expensive—”

  “It’s all right,” Jennifer said quickly. “Dad helped me.”

  “He did?” Gail asked in surprise, remembering that the only time Mark had been generous with gifts was when he was feeling his most guilty. “I wanted you to have something special, and Dad agreed. He thought you should have it.” Jennifer looked toward Jack. “Do you like it?”

  “I think it’s lovely. And I think it’ll look even lovelier around your mother’s neck. Here, let me help you.”

  He slipped the necklace around Gail’s throat and fastened the clasp.

  Gail walked toward her reflection in the mirror and stared at the woman wearing white flannel, black mink and a jeweled necklace, feeling as unreal as she looked. “All dressed up and no place to go,” she smiled as Jack and Jennifer surrounded her with their arms.

  “Merry Christmas,” someone said.

  “Are you guys doing anything for New Year’s?” Jennifer asked after a pause, unwittingly breaking the spell.

  “I don’t think so,” Gail answered.

  “We’re having dinner with Carol in New York,” Jack said at the same time.

  “We are?”

  “I spoke to her yesterday. She has a new fellow she wants us to meet. I thought we’d have dinner with them, then stay overnight at the Plaza.”

  “What about Jennifer?”

  “I’ll be all right. Eddie and I are going to a party. And I can sleep at Dad’s.”

  “I don’t know,” Gail hesitated. “Maybe Mark and Julie have plans of their own. They might be going out of town—”

  “They’re not,” Jennifer said quickly. “Julie hasn’t been feeling very well lately.”

  “She hasn’t? Well, if she’s sick, then the last thing she’ll want is—”

  “She’s not sick. She’s pregnant,” Jennifer said.

  “She’s what?” Gail asked, though she had heard Jennifer the first time.

  “Julie’s pregnant,” Jennifer repeated.

  “When?” Gail asked, feeling for the necklace at her throat.

  “Not till next August. She just found out.”

  Gail let the mink coat drop from her shoulders. “I hadn’t realized they were planning on children.”

  “I don’t think they were,” Jennifer agreed. “At least not until recently.”

  Gail fumbled with the clasp at the base of her neck. “Well, be sure to give them my congratulations,” she said. “And thank your father for me . . . for helping you with the necklace. It was very generous of him.”

  “He wanted you to have it,” Jennifer said, as she had said earlier.

  “Merry Christmas,” someone said.

  “Well, what do you think of him?” Carol asked.

  “I think he looks like Dad,” Gail told her. They were standing in the kitchen of Carol’s tiny apartment, having just completed the main course of the evening meal, waiting for the coffee to perk.

  “You�
��re kidding?! Dad?! Are you serious?”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “I think he looks kind of like Jack Nicholson.”

  “Jack Nicholson looks kind of like Dad.”

  “I never noticed.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Dad,” Gail reminded her younger sister, chuckling. She had been giggling most of the night, genuinely enjoying herself, periodically amazed that she had been somehow able to push her unhappy memories aside.

  “Except, can’t you see?” Carol was asking, “Now the transformation is complete. I’ve been sounding more like Mom every day. Do you know that I’ve even started moving the furniture around all the time, you know, like she used to do? And now you tell me that the man I’m involved with looks like our father! It’s too much.”

  “What the hell,” Gail joked. “It’s only for two years.”

  There was a moment’s silence while the two sisters exchanged warm glances.

  “You seem much better,” Carol told her.

  “Do I?” Gail asked, disconcerted by the thought, not sure why. At midnight they raised their glasses, toasting in the new year. Gail abruptly put down her glass and stood up before Jack had the chance to kiss her.

  “What’s the matter?” Jack asked.

  “I think we should go.”

  “Go?” Carol exclaimed. “It’s early. Are you all right?”

  “I want to go,” Gail repeated, offering no further explanation.

  “She’s tired,” Jack said for her. “We’ll go back to the hotel, get some sleep.”

  “I don’t want to go back to the hotel,” Gail said adamantly. “I want to go home. To Livingston.”

  “Tonight? Gail, we can leave first thing in the morning.”

  “This is first thing in the morning,” she reminded him.

  “But what happened?” Carol asked, confused. Her new friend, Steve, sat silently on the couch, watching the proceedings with a combination of interest and embarrassment. “A minute ago we were all laughing and having a good time.”

  “That’s precisely the point,” Gail cried, turning in an anguished circle around the room. “I have no right to enjoy myself, to have a good time. Can’t you understand? To forget, to have a good time, to suddenly start enjoying life again, even in a small way, is a betrayal of Cindy! How can I allow myself to find pleasure in anything when my six-year-old daughter has been murdered? How?”

  The question hung unanswered and unanswerable in the room as Jack helped Gail on with her new fur coat. It lingered in the air between them on the long, silent ride back home.

  Less than an hour later, they pulled into their driveway at 1042 Tarlton Drive.

  “Isn’t that Eddie’s car?” Gail asked, referring to the blue Trans Am that was parked out front.

  “Maybe Jennifer had to come back for her things,” Jack offered weakly.

  “Why is the house so dark?” Gail was becoming increasingly agitated.

  “Take it easy, Gail,” Jack cautioned. “It might not be Eddie’s car.”

  “It’s Eddie’s car,” Gail said with certainty. “And I want to know what it’s doing here.”

  Gail was out of the car before Jack had a chance to stop her.

  “Gail, wait a minute, will you? Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Stay calm. Jesus, will you wait for me.”

  But Gail was up the front walk and at the door before Jack had time to get out of the car, and before he could catch up to her, she was already inside.

  *

  They were sitting together on the couch, and at first Gail didn’t see them. Certainly, they neither saw nor heard her, so wound up were they in each other. Gail walked through the front hallway without bothering to flip on the light or close the door. She headed straight for the living room, aware of the low moans that filtered through the room like Muzak. Then she saw them.

  His arms were around her and even in the darkness Gail could see her daughter’s white expanse of thigh. Jennifer’s arms were wrapped around the boy’s neck, their lips crushed against each other, their entire posture a parody of teenage passion.

  Gail walked to the corner table and flipped on the light.

  Immediately, they pulled apart. Jennifer’s hands shot to her skirt, which she quickly pulled down around her knees. Eddie’s hands went to his sides. Their faces looked bruised and sore.

  “Mom,” Jennifer cried, jumping up, smoothing her clothes. “What are you doing home?”

  “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Gail’s eyes moved to Eddie, who was trying to hide his erection with his hands. “Happy New Year,” she said, her voice ringing with sarcasm.

  “Mom, please . . . We weren’t doing anything.” Jennifer started to cry.

  “I saw exactly what you were doing!”

  “It was my fault, Mrs. Walton,” Eddie offered. “I convinced Jennifer to leave the party early.”

  “Did you convince her to lie to me?” Gail snapped.

  “I didn’t lie! We did go to a party. I was going to sleep at Mark’s,” Jennifer pleaded.

  “After you finished sleeping here, that is.”

  “Gail, take it easy,” Jack warned from the doorway.

  “We weren’t doing anything!” Jennifer cried, running to her stepfather. “We weren’t going to go too far. I swear!”

  “I think you better leave, Eddie,” Gail told the hapless boy.

  “No!” Jennifer protested.

  “It’s okay,” Eddie said. “Your mother’s right. I’ll speak to you in the morning.” He moved toward the hallway.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Gail said pointedly. “I don’t want you speaking to my daughter tomorrow. Or the next day. Or any day, for that matter.”

  “Gail . . .”

  “Mom! What are you doing?”

  Gail turned on her daughter with a vehemence that shook the room. “How could you? Have you no memory? Is April too far back for you to remember? Do I have to remind you?”

  “Mom, please stop.”

  “You had a little sister. You remember her?”

  “Gail . . . stop!”

  “Mrs. Walton,” Eddie interrupted, “please don’t—”

  “You, shut up!” Gail snapped, turning her attention back to her daughter. “Her name was Cindy and she was six years old. She was raped and strangled by some man who put his hands on her the way you let this man put his hands all over you.”

  “Mrs. Walton . . .”

  “Who knows?” Gail continued, recalling that Eddie had never been able to provide the police with an alibi. “Maybe even the same man.” Instantly, she regretted her words. She saw the anguish in Eddie’s face, the horror in her daughter’s eyes, the defeat in Jack’s stance, and knew she had gone too far. What had she done? Of course she knew that Eddie had nothing to do with her daughter’s death. She’d known that all along. She let her eyes drop from the boy’s ghostly features to his trembling hands.

  “Go home, Eddie,” she heard Jack say softly. Several seconds later she heard the front door close.

  No one else in the room moved, their energy drained. They were like three lifeless statues, Gail thought, lifting her eyes to her daughter.

  “You hate me,” Gail said, sickened by her outburst.

  “No,” Jennifer told her. “I could never hate you.”

  “I didn’t mean to say those things. They just came out. Seeing you with Eddie that way . . . I lost control.”

  “I know. I understand.”

  Gail searched her daughter’s eyes eagerly. “Do you? Do you really?”

  Jennifer nodded silently. “I’d like to go to bed now, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll call Dad from upstairs and tell him I won’t be over.”

  Gail nodded. “I love you,” she whispered, but Jennifer had already left the room.

  Chapter 30

  Jennifer didn’t come downstairs the next morning un
til almost noon. Gail wasn’t surprised; she knew that Jennifer hadn’t slept much, if at all. Neither had she or Jack.

  Several times during the night, Gail had heard Jennifer going to the bathroom, getting a drink of water, pacing back and forth. Gail had debated going to her to try to explain herself again, but she knew there was no point in that. She had overreacted, to be sure. Some simple teenage groping, she tried to tell herself, repeating the words over and over in her mind until at last, she had drifted off to sleep.

  Jack had gotten out of bed early that morning, telling her that he needed to get out into the cold fresh air and clear his head. He had been greatly upset by the scene she had created, although he had said nothing, recognizing, as she did, that everything had already been said. He was still out when Gail had finished her shower and come downstairs.

  She had settled herself at the kitchen table with the latest edition of the Sunday Times and read a story about a woman put in jail for contempt of court after refusing—because she feared for her life— to testify against the two men accused of raping her. The two men were free. Another story concerned a convicted killer, due for parole after serving seven years of a life sentence, who had had his parole rescinded because of the vehement protest of the outraged citizens of the area. However, the state appeals court had ruled that public outcry was no reason for denying someone parole, and there was still a good chance that the killer might be set free. According to one prison official, this killer of one teenage boy, rapist of three young women, and a person who had committed close to a dozen lesser felonies, had a “less than average” potential for violence.

  Gail was still reading the paper when Jennifer came into the kitchen just before noon. She immediately folded up the newspaper and rose to greet her.