by Bina Bernard
“He’s a broken man,” Harry said. “He made a mistake. He made a big mistake.”
“I felt sorry for Nixon when he rambled on about his mother in his farewell speech to his White House staff,” Hannah said. “But I’m not ready to forgive and forget. The Watergate break-in was bad enough, and then the cover-up, and the slush fund and the enemies list? Because of him, and Watergate, people now don’t trust the government.”
“I’m sure he would give anything for a chance to do the last five years over. He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time,” Harry said.
“On big things you don’t get a second chance! You think he deserves one?” Bracing for a fight, Hannah challenged her father with a wide-eyed stare.
“Everybody deserves a second chance,” Harry whispered, more hopeful than sure. “He’s a broken man. He lost everything. You have to feel sorry for that.”
“He did it to himself.”
“I know.”
No sparks flew. Maybe we’re finally old enough to give up our private war, Hannah thought to herself. While father and daughter agreed to disagree without a fight, Molly remained on the sidelines, happy she didn’t have to referee.
When the conversation eventually got around to Harry’s failing health, Dr. Stone tried to minimize the seriousness of his situation.
“The pills just aren’t working. I probably need new medication, that’s all,” he said without conviction. “Hannah, you’ll have to find a doctor for me. The doctors I know have either closed their practice or moved to warmer climates. Maybe one of those young geniuses you’ve been trying to get me to see knows of a new wonder drug that will do the trick,” he said, and started whistling. Harry often whistled when he was nervous.
“Don’t you worry,” Molly chimed in. “Hannah will find the right doctor and you’ll be better than new.” For Molly, denial came naturally. It was a trait that normally infuriated Hannah, but at that moment it seemed comforting.
“I’ll get on it first thing Monday morning,” Hannah promised.
As those words were out of her mouth, the knot in her stomach hardened. What if he is so sick that no doctor could help him?
Finding a good doctor and getting Harry an appointment was only step one. It was her job to keep Harry alive. She had to find the right doctor. During the war Hannah knew that any misstep on her part could result in death. Logically she no longer believed that. Still she could not rid herself of an almost pathological fear of making a mistake. No Mistakes Allowed continued to be her guiding principle. No mistakes allowed! No mistakes allowed! Hannah repeated in her head. She took a deep breath and wished Robert were there.
CHAPTER
2
BY THE TIME HANNAH and Molly finished their coffee and some of Molly’s homemade strudel, Harry was again asleep on the living room sofa, and Hannah was longing to be back in her own apartment. She offered to help Molly clean up, though she knew her mother would insist on doing everything herself. As Hannah reached for her tote and jacket, Molly tried to convince her to spend the night.
“I can’t, Mom. I have work to do at home,” Hannah lied. She needed a break. This was more of her family than Hannah was used to. “I’ll come by tomorrow around noontime. We can relax and read the Sunday papers. Or, if Dad feels well enough, we can go to the movies.”
“Okay. Do what you have to do,” Molly said, hugging her daughter goodnight. “Give our best to Robert,” she added as she closed the door. Molly assumed Robert was away, working out of town. Which was true. Hannah smiled but said nothing. She had decided to put off telling her parents about her situation with Robert for as long as possible. As she pushed the button for the elevator, Hannah let out a laugh at her own expense. She was guilty of the same thing she so often accused her mother of doing. By not acknowledging the rift between herself and Robert to her parents, for the time being at least, it ceased to exist.
Hannah inhaled the warm spring evening air as she walked through the cobblestone courtyard of her parents’ complex. Almost in a daze, she turned right on to West 86th Street. She happily joined the parade of people along Broadway, some strolling, others going in and out of restaurants. She didn’t know how to explain her father’s sudden display of warmth toward her. It was what she’d longed for and never thought would happen. He does love me, after all, she thought.
As she watched the faces passing by, she glimpsed her own reflection in a store window and hardly recognized herself. Hannah looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Hardly a natural look for her. Her spirits were high. Monday morning I’ll start my search for the doctor for Harry. It shouldn’t take long to find the right one. Her new optimism seemed to tamp down her fear of making a mistake. But by the time she reached Lincoln Center, Hannah sensed some anxiety seeping in.
She hailed a cab to avoid the crowds rushing out of the theaters. Within twenty minutes she was opening the door to her two-bedroom apartment, a block from Washington Square Park.
Great to be home! she thought, and kicked off her shoes, even before turning on the light. Hannah missed Robert, but she was glad to be back in her own space even without him. Seeing the Amish quilt draped on one wall of the entryway always brought back fond memories of their first weekend away as a couple. They had stopped at a Pennsylvania county fair to eat. Walking around munching on her grilled knockwurst and sauerkraut hero, Hannah was drawn to an auction in progress. They wandered over without any intention of bidding, but when the auctioneer held up a mustard and navy quilt, they looked at each other and nodded. Hannah raised her hand to make an opening bid. Before she realized what was happening, four, then five bids quickly followed, and the auctioneer was saying, “Going once, going twice . . .” As the quilt was about to become the property of the man standing next to Hannah, Robert jumped in with a final bid, and the quilt was theirs.
“That cost so much,” she said.
Robert patted her hand. “It was worth it.”
This apartment became an amalgam of their life together, and the first place where Hannah lived that didn’t feel temporary. Robert was an architect who did not need to be surrounded by stark white walls, tempered glass, and cold chrome. His huge nautical maps on one wall of the sea-foam green living room complemented Hannah’s collection of primitive boat paintings above the tufted leather tuxedo sofa that faced the fireplace. Random books and copies of old magazines stacked haphazardly around the apartment added to the lived-in decor. Ayn Rand’s Howard Roark would not approve.
“I’m lucky you’re an architect who doesn’t mind clutter,” Hannah often teased Robert. Their second bedroom had a day bed for guests, but Hannah had appropriated most of the space as her home office. The floor-to-ceiling bookcases were packed with books, but also crammed with framed photographs and random treasures. An avid collector, Hannah was clearly on a path to becoming a hoarder. She still had the first check she had ever written, probably squirreled away in one of the boxes destined for the basement storage unit. They had been on the waiting list for a year. For now, Hannah carefully navigated around the warren of boxes to reach her desk.
Hannah could see the red light flickering on her answering machine and pushed the button to retrieve her messages.
“I certainly won’t miss these international junkets. Been at it all day. I’m going to hit the sack as soon as I get out of these clothes. Be back on Monday and going straight to Amagansett. Call you when I get in. Miss you.” Robert sounded tired but cheerful.
“I miss you, too,” Hannah said to her machine, happy to hear his voice. But her smile faded as she thought back to that painful April day, still fresh in her mind, when her marriage appeared to be unraveling.
Hannah had rushed home that day to sign their joint income tax return. As she walked into the darkened apartment, Robert was sitting at the dining room table.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” she asked, as she took off her jacket. He did not answer. Hannah flipped on the light and went over to hug him. Surprise
d when he recoiled from her touch, she sat down opposite him.
“How was your day?” Hannah assumed his somber mood was work-related.
“Busy,” he said, and shuffled the papers in front of him.
Hannah studied his face. “Something wrong?” she finally asked.
“I’ll say there is! When was the last time you did something around the house?” he shouted. Robert’s voice sounded unfamiliar.
Shocked by his tone and by his words, Hannah wasn’t sure how to respond.
“You like to cook and I like to eat. I’d say that’s a perfect arrangement. Don’t you agree?” she asked.
Robert just glared. “It’s not about the cooking!” he shot back.
“What is it? You do some things. I do others. We have a marriage of equals.”
Robert drew a circle in the air with his two index fingers. “We have a marriage of equals, all right. It equals zero! Hannah, face it, we barely see each other. Once your parents get back, all we’ll have time for is saying goodnight.” Although he softened his tone, Robert avoided making eye contact.
“Your job is just as demanding as mine,” Hannah argued. She ignored his reference to Harry and Molly.
“Well I’m willing to do something about that. What about you?”
“Do something about what? I’m not out partying. I’m working. It’s a weekly. With the Presidential election, and the Convention here in July, a lot is going on. But things will slow down soon. I promise.”
Her promise did not mollify Robert. Instead his body tensed up. With his arms folded across his chest, he rocked back and forth in the chair. He seemed ready to explode. Robert mentally counted to ten, then asked, “You really like things the way they are?”
“Most of the time. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it,” she said, hoping to make him smile. But Robert’s lips stayed rigid.
“Well, I don’t! I don’t like the way things are between us. Maybe the charm of living in New York has worn off. I’ve put in my time building corporate complexes. I think I’d like to try something smaller. Even do some sculpting again.”
Hannah felt her body stiffen. She thought they had the marriage they both wanted. They each had demanding careers, but Hannah thought they were happy.
“You want to leave New York?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t want to be a suburban housewife. Besides, you tried that life with Margo, and you were miserable.”
“That was different. Hannah, I just want more time for us. You can write anywhere. We can live at the cottage in Amagansett. You can work on a book.”
“I don’t write books. I’m a reporter. I interview people. I write articles,” Hannah said. Suddenly Robert was changing the rules, making her feel she had somehow reneged on their marriage vows.
“You want me to be someone I’m not,” she said. He doesn’t love me any more, she thought.
“No! I want to spend more time with the person you are. Maybe if we had less pressure from work, you’d get pregnant. I’d like us to have a baby before Christy makes me a grandfather.”
“I’m sorry I can’t get pregnant,” Hannah whispered, almost to herself.
“You’re just like your father,” Robert blurted out. “Everything has to be your way. You say you want to have a baby, but you won’t even consider fertility treatments.”
For Hannah, being compared to her father was bad enough, but bringing up her infertility assured Robert a knockout. As soon as he said it, he wished he could take his words back. He knew how vulnerable Hannah felt on both counts. But fueled by his frustration, he made the attack.
Hannah took Robert’s verbal assault in silence. For a time she sat frozen. Finally, almost inaudibly, she said: “I stopped taking the pill once we decided to get pregnant.”
When Robert first brought up starting a family a month after they celebrated their first wedding anniversary, she didn’t feel ready to stop work and concentrate on being a mother. Hannah was not thinking about her biological clock.
“It’s too soon,” she argued. “You’re still trying to improve your relationship with Christy. How is she going to deal with a baby brother or sister?”
“I guess you’re right. It’s too soon,” Robert agreed.
Hannah convinced herself, and him, that they had plenty of time to start a family. Robert and Margo had gotten married because she was three months pregnant. Only twenty-four when Christy was born, he wasn’t ready to be a husband, much less a father. Now he wanted another chance to prove to himself that he could be a good dad. Hannah was sure he would be. Secretly she worried about what kind of mother she’d make.
She’d never played house, except the summer she visited her aunt and uncle in Asheville. They introduced her to their teenage next-door neighbor. Unlike Hannah, Mary Ellen had lots of dolls and the two girls spent many hours playing house. In their pretend family, Hannah chose to be the husband who went to work while Mary Ellen stayed home and mothered their doll-children. Adult Hannah was haunted by that memory, fearing it meant she did not want to be a woman.
In therapy it became clear that what Hannah did not want was a life like her mother’s. Long before therapy, she chose a role model for herself that was not Molly.
When the round Zenith television appeared in the Stones’ Bronx living room in 1950, The Roy Rogers Show quickly became her favorite. She pictured herself as Dale Evans, telling the ranch foreman how she wanted things done, and helping chase away rustlers, if they dared to show up. Once she decided she had no interest in riding a horse, Brenda Starr, Girl Reporter, became a more appropriate role model.
After her miscarriage on January 11, 1975, a distraught Hannah was stunned to hear Dr. de Falco say, “At your age it’s not unusual to have a miscarriage!”
“I’m thirty-six,” she said. Hannah didn’t feel old. Why was her body behaving this way?
“After thirty-five your body makes certain adjustments. Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean you won’t be able to have a baby. We’ll pinpoint the problem, and then we’ll fix it.” To reassure her, Dr. de Falco said, “There are drugs available.”
Hannah began to hyperventilate. “I’m not taking any drugs!” she yelled at her doctor. “I interviewed the DES daughters and their mothers! When those pregnant women took the Thalidomide pills, their doctors never told them their daughters could be born without limbs and later on develop uterine cancer!”
“You need to calm down, Hannah,” Dr. de Falco said. “We have no idea what may need adjusting in your case. We’ll do some tests and look at the options.”
But her mind was closed. The fear of unintended consequences of any medical treatment paralyzed Hannah. Her guiding principle trumped all logic. No Mistakes Allowed!
Hannah didn’t need Robert’s accusation to stoke her guilt. Since her miscarriage she viewed her desire to put off trying to get pregnant a BIG MISTAKE. Now she felt doubly guilty because she hadn’t realized how unhappy Robert was. Hannah did not present a defense. Instead, she left him sitting at the dining table and locked herself in the second bathroom. She stayed there until she was certain he had gone to sleep.
In bed that night, both made sure their bodies never touched. The next morning, Hannah got up as usual and had the coffee on by the time Robert finished dressing. Her bagel had just popped up in the toaster when Robert came into their tiny kitchen.
“Good morning,” Hannah said.
“Morning,” Robert answered, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Neither of them knew how to deal with what had happened the night before.
Without making eye contact, they ate their breakfast at the dining table, but sat a safe distance from each other, rustling the pages of the morning Times.
Robert turned on the radio to fill the silence. The frost between them only melted sufficiently to facilitate an exchange of sections of the morning paper, but they did not touch.
Over the next few days, Hannah and Robert gradually began talking, but not about
their blowup. Friday morning, when he suggested they go out to dinner that evening, Hannah agreed even though Friday was usually a late night at the magazine.
On the way to Pete’s Tavern on Irving Place, Hannah watched a group of mothers pushing strollers in Gramercy Park, and worried about the state of her marriage. She told herself the fact that Robert had picked the restaurant where he had proposed was a positive sign. Or had he picked a public place to announce he was leaving, she wondered, knowing she would not make a scene in a restaurant.
Hannah decided to go with the optimistic version. Pete’s Tavern claimed to be the oldest continually operating restaurant in New York, and it was rumored that O. Henry, who had lived nearby at 55 Irving Place, penned “The Gift of the Magi” in its front booth. Until Robert’s outburst, Hannah had thought they were as perfectly matched as the fictional Jim and Della Dillingham of O. Henry’s story.
When she walked through the door, Hannah saw Robert sitting at their regular table, tapping his fingers. She checked her watch.
“Hi. You did say 6:30? Am I late?” Hannah asked, hoping she wasn’t.
“You’re on time,” he reassured her, and jumped up to hold her chair.
Both of them were nervous. They sat in silence, studying the familiar menu, until the waiter brought the bottle of wine Robert had ordered. With their glasses filled, he raised his to make a toast.
“I’ve taken a three-month leave,” Robert announced. “Let’s drink to that!”
Hannah was shocked by his unilateral decision. Her face sagged. She lifted her glass to her lips, but couldn’t bring herself to take a sip. When she started to speak, Robert said, “Please, let me finish before you say anything.”
Hannah tried to contain her panic as he raced through his speech.
“Evan turned two jobs over to me that were too small for the firm. I met with one couple yesterday. I’m going to build their vacation dream house. Their land is in Amagansett, not far from the cottage. Isn’t that perfect? The other client, a painter, has an old farmhouse in the Springs and he needs a studio. I plan to move out to the cottage, while I work on these two projects, and sort things out.”