by Joy Fielding
“Your husband needs the business, does he?”
“My concern at the moment is not with Philip. He’s doing very well, thank you. How about someone in your own office?”
“Don’t you have to get to the airport?” Lynn asked, then checked her watch. Renee Bower did the same, understanding the subject was closed.
“Jesus, yes, I better run.” She didn’t move.
“Is something wrong?” Renee threw her hands up in the air. “What the hell. You don’t have the corner on craziness. My sister tried to kill herself last night.”
“What? Oh my God!”
“Yes, that’s what I said.” For several moments, Renee stood absolutely still. “Kathryn always did know how to get my attention.”
FOUR
Renee studied the disembarking passengers as they pushed through the swinging doors into the arrival area at the Fort Lauderdale airport, wondering if Kathryn would be among them. The woman who called last night—Renee still couldn’t remember her name—had promised to drive Kathryn to the airport and make sure she got on the plane, but what could she have done had Kathryn simply refused to go?
Renee followed the slow gait of a middle-aged man as he greeted his anxious-looking wife with a distracted hug, and found herself smiling as a teenage girl flew into the arms of her eager grandparents. Renee liked watching people, guessing the nature of their relationships. She projected that the distracted middle-aged man was returning from a convention in New York, to which he’d also brought his girlfriend, the woman who had marched through the swinging doors just ahead of him and never once bothered to look back. Now the man was smiling wanly at his wife who was peppering him with questions about his trip, as eager as her husband to maintain the charade of their marriage. Renee wondered how long it would be before they ended up in an office like hers, possibly even across her desk. Would she recognize them if they did?
As for the teenage girl giggling inside the protective grasp of her grandparents, Renee surmised that she was the product of a broken home. Her grandparents, probably on her father’s side, hadn’t seen her in several years. Her mother had finally given her reluctant consent to the reunion, and the girl and her grandparents were almost beside themselves with joy.
Renee realized she was staring and looked away, thinking that Philip was probably right when he said that her profession was starting to color her attitude to life. When he first made this observation, Renee had been defensive, even hurt. “Isn’t yours?” she had asked, peevishly.
But maybe he was right, Renee thought now. It was true that in her world everyone was either on the verge of or recovering from a divorce. Even in her fantasies, she thought, watching the middle-aged couple push past the teenager and her grandparents and disappear down the hall. Why couldn’t life be simple? Why couldn’t we all just live happily ever after, the way the storybooks promised? Who needed reality when reality was usually so damned unpleasant?
Not my reality, she assured herself quickly. I married the handsome prince. I’m living my fantasy. Give or take a few pounds.
Three more people burst through the doors into the arrival area, two women and a young, sulky-looking boy, not more than ten years old. Sisters, Renee quickly deduced. One never married, the other newly separated, bringing her reluctant son to Florida for a brief holiday before the custody battles began. Possibly a bribe. “See, sweetie, isn’t Florida beautiful? Stay with Mommy and we’ll take lots of trips like this.” Renee turned away. Philip was definitely right.
She wondered what Philip was doing. He had told her this morning that he would try to accompany her to the airport, that she should phone when she was ready to leave. But when she called, his secretary informed her, in clipped British vowels, that Dr. Bower was tied up with a patient and could she please call back in five minutes. Renee had waited, called again, been given the same message, and then waited until she would be late for her sister’s plane if she waited any longer, dialing her husband’s number one final time only to find it busy. Then she left. She was almost twenty minutes late getting to the airport, but luckily so was Kathryn’s flight. Renee looked at the row of telephones against the far wall and thought of calling Philip yet again, hoping he wouldn’t be angry that she hadn’t waited. It occurred to her briefly that it was she who had reason to be angry, but she quickly dismissed this thought from her mind.
Renee looked back at the swinging doors and saw a woman several years older and several inches taller than herself step through them and stop. The woman was very pale, the color and consistency of skim milk. Her thin blonde hair hung lifelessly around the sides of her hollow face. This woman has suffered a recent tragedy, Renee thought, walking closer. She’s been married for almost two decades to a man she loved very much, a man who recently abandoned her, not through divorce but through death. She has no children (having suffered at least three miscarriages), no career (her husband having been her career) and now, as she can see it, no reason for living. And so, last night, she telephoned her sister and a few friends to say goodbye—her friends assumed she was going to Florida to visit her sister; her sister assumed she could call her in the morning—and then she settled inside a nice hot bath and calmly slit her wrists. Her friends found her at just before midnight and rushed her to the hospital where she was bandaged, scolded, and released. The wounds weren’t very deep, the doctor told her matter-of-factly. He said she was depressed, and prescribed Valium and sent her home.
Renee studied the bandages on the woman’s slender wrists and fought the sudden urge to throw up.
“Kathryn,” she said softly, and drew her older sister gently into her arms.
Renee felt as if she were hugging an apparition. There was no weight to the person she held in her arms. There was no substance. Kathryn pulled back slowly and looked deeply into her sister’s frightened face. Renee said nothing, watching as tears formed in her sister’s still startling green eyes, realizing that she was crying as well.
“You’re so thin,” Renee said, her voice breaking as her sister tried to smile, a tear curling around her upper lip and disappearing into her mouth. “How was your flight?” she asked, not wanting to probe too deep too fast.
“We ran into some turbulence,” Kathryn whispered, obviously an effort to speak. “I’m still a little shaky.”
“You’ll lie down as soon as we get home.” Renee took Kathryn by the elbow, hoping to maneuver her toward the baggage claim area, but Kathryn’s body refused to move. Her eyes stared blankly at some vague point in the distance.
Renee studied her sister’s delicate face, not sure how to proceed. Kathryn’s green eyes were still her best, most prominent feature, although they were temporarily rimmed with red, and her high cheekbones were still model-perfect, all the more pronounced because of her obvious weight loss. But even without any makeup, even in her distracted state, Kathryn was undeniably beautiful. Arnie’s death had been a terrible shock. Again, Renee’s eyes traveled the length of her sister’s frail arms to her gauze-covered wrists. Why? she wanted to ask, but said only, “Kathryn, we have to get your luggage.” Then transferring her own queasiness to her sister: “Are you all right? Are you going to be sick?”
Kathryn’s eyes focused on Renee with an intensity that caused Renee to pull back, bring her arm to her side. “You didn’t tell Mom and Dad, did you?”
Renee shook her head. “No. I thought you could call them later …”
“No!”
“After you’re settled.”
“No!”
“Just to let them know you’re here.”
“I don’t want them to know I’m here. I don’t want them to know what happened.”
“Kathryn, they’re our parents.”
“Please.” Kathryn’s voice was verging on hysteria. Renee noticed several people in the vicinity turn in their direction.
“Okay. Okay,” Renee agreed. “Whatever you want.”
“I don’t want them to know. You know how upset Mother will be.
You know how it will disappoint Daddy.”
Renee nodded, guiding her sister to the baggage area, thinking that their mother would be upset only so far as Kathryn’s attempted suicide might upset their father, and that their father’s disappointment would be summed up in a silent stare, as if he’d known all along it would come to this, as if her depression was a personal affront, as if … as if … That silent stare had spoken volumes throughout their childhood. It projected disappointment of almost biblical proportions. Renee understood Kathryn’s reluctance to confront it even as she understood that Kathryn would have to confront it sooner or later.
“What color is your suitcase?” Renee asked, watching the luggage as it paraded past her on the turnstile.
Kathryn looked perplexed, then blank. “I can’t remember,” she said finally. “I didn’t pack. Marsha packed everything. She’s the one who phoned you, the one who took me to the airport. I don’t remember what color my suitcase is,” Kathryn said again, bringing her bandaged wrists in front of her eyes to hide the tears.
“It’s all right. We’ll find it.”
Kathryn wiped at her eyes. “The doctor wasn’t very impressed with my wounds,” she said, almost casually. “He said he didn’t think I really wanted to die.”
“Thank God for that.” Renee took her eyes off her sister only long enough to scan the bags that were tumbling onto the moving ramp. “Is that it?” Renee directed her sister toward an old navy-and-brown canvas suitcase that looked vaguely familiar. “Kathryn, is that your suitcase?” she asked again, before reaching over and pulling it off the ramp. She checked the name. Kathryn Metcalfe Wright, the tag read. “Are there any more? Do you remember how many suitcases your friend packed?”
Kathryn shook her head. “I think just one.”
Renee half carried, half rolled the heavy bag out of the terminal, her other arm tightly wrapped around her sister’s waist. Reaching her white Mercedes—a gift from Philip on their last anniversary—she threw the bag into the trunk and led Kathryn to the passenger door. “Get in,” she said gently.
Renee pulled the car out of the airport terminal and onto the road leading to I-95. She patted the top of her sister’s hand gently, as if she were touching a fragile piece of china, and watched as her sister’s eyes closed. A few minutes later, she heard Kathryn’s soft, steady breathing and was relieved to discover that she had fallen asleep.
“Hello? Is anybody home?” Renee called as she guided her sister into the mirrored foyer of her condominium. She saw Kathryn wince at the sight of her own reflection, and quickly ushered her sister down the hall into the living room. The ocean sprang into immediate view. “I guess Debbie went to the beach,” Renee said, seating her sister on the white sofa facing the floor-to-ceiling window, hoping her voice didn’t betray the relief she felt at finding the apartment empty.
“This was a terrible time to do this to you,” Kathryn said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You already have Debbie staying with you. The last thing you needed was your crazy sister.”
“Didn’t anybody ever tell you that’s what condominiums in Florida are for? Hey, that was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”
Kathryn managed a wan smile. “I could really go for a glass of water.”
“Don’t move. I’ll get it.” Renee went immediately to the kitchen, poured Kathryn a large glass of water, then opened the fridge door and peered inside. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“No, thanks. Water is great.”
Renee fumbled with a bag of miniature 3 Musketeers chocolate bars at the back of the refrigerator, popping one quickly into her mouth before returning to the living room. “You should eat,” she told her sister. “You have to keep your strength up.”
“I’m not hungry. Maybe later.” Kathryn’s eyes drifted around the room. “Do you realize that I’ve never been to your apartment before?”
“That’s because you never leave New York.”
“Arnie doesn’t like to travel.”
“So, what do you think?” Renee asked, ignoring her sister’s reference to her husband as if he were still alive. “Like it?”
For a moment, Kathryn said nothing. Renee wondered whether she had heard the question and was about to repeat it when Kathryn spoke. “It doesn’t look like you,” she remarked, as if she were examining a photograph.
“Well, it isn’t. I mean, it is, but it isn’t,” Renee stammered, feeling foolish. “It was Philip’s apartment, but it’s so perfect, we didn’t see any reason to move. It’s right on the ocean and it’s certainly big enough for our needs. There are three bedrooms. It’s perfect,” she repeated.
“It’s so white.”
Renee tried seeing the apartment through Kathryn’s eyes, trying to remember what her first reaction had been when Philip brought her here some six and a half years ago. “Philip doesn’t like clutter. He says he sees enough of it at the office every day without having to come home to it at night. He likes things neat and clean.”
“And what do you like?”
“What do you mean?”
Kathryn said nothing.
Renee watched her sip gingerly at her water. “I like things exactly the way they are.” She followed Kathryn’s eyes as they swept across the walls of the living room, taking in the museum-like display of modern abstract art. “White surroundings accentuate the art better.”
“You’re happy?” Kathryn asked.
“Very.”
“I’m glad.”
Renee sat down beside her sister, afraid to ask the next question, knowing she had no choice.
“Why did you do it, Kathy? I know how much you loved Arnie but …”
“You don’t know,” Kathryn said, her voice flat.
“What do you mean?” It was the second time she had asked that.
A look of alarm raced through Kathryn’s eyes. “You don’t know how much I loved him,” she said, recovering quickly. “He was my whole life.”
“He was a large part of your life, but he wasn’t everything.”
“He was everything,” Kathryn corrected. “I was barely eighteen years old when I married Arnie. I was a kid. He was almost old enough to be my father. Do you remember how furious Daddy was?”
Renee nodded. Their father’s fury was not easily forgotten.
“Arnie was my whole life. He did everything for me. He took care of everything. I never had to make a decision. I never had to make arrangements. Arnie always made sure that everything was taken care of. And we did everything together. For almost twenty years. Twenty years! And then one night, he got up from the dinner table. I’d made this spicy meat loaf. Arnie didn’t like it because he didn’t like spicy food, but I thought this recipe sounded pretty safe, and so I tried it. And he didn’t like it all that much, but he ate it. And then he stood up, and he suddenly keeled over. That was it. He just dropped to the floor. I screamed. I rushed over to him. At first I thought he was joking, you know, kidding around, because I made the meat loaf too spicy, but then I turned him over and saw his face, and I knew right away that he was dead.”
“Kathy, that was three months ago. We’ve been through all this. I’m not sure it’s good for you to keep dwelling on it.”
“What am I supposed to do, Renee? What else is there for me to do with my life?”
“You have to get on with it. You’re young; you’re beautiful. Life can be so wonderful. You have to give it another chance. It’s what Arnie would have wanted.”
“Arnie would want me with him.”
“No,” Renee said vehemently, grabbing her sister’s hands and watching her wince. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, releasing Kathryn’s hands and feeling them tremble. “But Arnie would not want this. He would want you to be happy and to get as much out of the rest of your life as you can …”
“No.” Kathryn shook her head and closed her eyes.
Renee felt momentarily as she had earlier in the afternoon when talking to Lynn Sch
uster, as if there were parts of the conversation missing, key facts being withheld. “Kathryn,” she said slowly, “is there something you’re not telling me?”
Kathryn opened her eyes, a look of fear passing quickly through them. “No, of course not.”
“Why are you badgering her?” came a voice from behind them. Kathryn’s body snapped to immediate attention, turning toward the sound. Renee remained slumped forward on the sofa. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Kathryn,” she said quietly, “this is Philip’s daughter, Debbie. Debbie, my sister, Kathryn.”
“We won’t shake hands,” Debbie said, walking into the center of the room and motioning toward Kathryn’s bandages.
“I didn’t think anybody was home. I called out when we came in. I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“I heard you. I didn’t realize it was a summons.”
“Of course it wasn’t a summons,” Renee began, then stopped. What was the point?
“So, how does it feel to slit your wrists?” Debbie asked.
“Debbie!”
“No, that’s all right,” Kathryn said quickly. “I don’t mind talking about it.”
“She wants to talk about it,” Debbie said defiantly, dropping down into the middle of the white carpet between the white sofa and the white chair, and folding her legs under her. “How did it feel?”
“It hurt.” Kathryn stared at the bandages as if she could see through them. “It hurt a lot. That’s probably why I didn’t cut very deep.”
“Was there a lot of blood?”
“Oh, for God’s sake …”
“Yes,” Kathryn answered, ignoring her sister’s exclamation. “I looked like I was taking a bath in tomato juice.”
Debbie giggled, and surprisingly Kathryn joined her.
“Which way did you make the cuts?” Debbie asked, leaning forward.
“Like this.” Kathryn ran a trembling finger across the short width of her wrist.
“If you want to kill yourself, you’re supposed to slice lengthwise,” Debbie explained dispassionately. “I saw that in a movie once. They said that if you only want to go to the hospital, you cut widthwise. If you really want to die, you cut the same way your vein runs. That way nobody can sew you up again. Of course, the fastest way is probably with a gun. My dad has a gun. He keeps it in the night table beside his bed.”