“Why should he wait, Sawyer? Life is too short. Surely you can see that. Don’t begrudge his happiness or Maggie’s. Don’t hate.”
“It’s what I feed on now,” Sawyer said honestly. “It’s what keeps me going.”
“Then you’re lost. I’m just wasting my time. And I don’t have all that much left, so I have to put it to good use. Go to your shrink and play games. Wait till it’s too late and blame everyone but yourself because you’re going to die. I’m sorry if that hurts you, Sawyer, but that’s the way it is.” Amelia stood up. “I was going to stay overnight, but I don’t think I will. You depress me. I need sunshine in my life and I’m going back to get it. You stay here with that crazy cat and wallow in your misery. I’m glad your grandmother can’t see you. Good-bye, Sawyer.”
Adam found her crying at the dining room table, Marble purring softly in her lap. “What happened?”
“Amelia stopped here on her way to Sunbridge. She let me have it with both barrels. It’s closing in on me, Adam. They’re all saying the same thing: that I’m a quitter, a loser, that I have no guts. Rand said I was a taker, that I don’t know how to give. They’re all disgusted with me. Instead of being supportive like you are, they come here to jab at me and leave. Fight, they tell me. What the hell am I fighting?” she cried suddenly. “Do you think I want to die? I don’t. Honest to God, I don’t. I’m scared out of my wits. I don’t want to die on an operating table. I don’t know what to do.”
“For starters, you’re going to wash your face and comb your hair. Then we’re going to see Nick. You’re going to talk this out if I have to force him to cancel all his other appointments. Go on now; do as I say.”
While Sawyer was in the bathroom, Adam called Nick. “I’ll pay. I want you to stick with her till she can’t talk anymore. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Be glad to do it. Do you think she’s coming around?” Nick asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid to think. I’m hoping.”
“I’m waiting for her now, so get moving.”
Nick settled his soccer-ball body comfortably in an easy chair across from Sawyer. “Take off your sunglasses. I want to be able to look at you when we talk.”
“The mirror of one’s soul, is that it?”
“More or less. So, tell me what’s been going on. You haven’t been here for two weeks.”
Sawyer spoke haltingly at first, and then she sped up, like a child on a downhill slide. Soon there was no stopping her. At one point she jumped up angrily and lashed out, “They have no right, no right at all!”
“Do you feel like smashing something, putting your foot through the wall?” Nick asked complacently.
“Huh?”
“Don’t play games. You heard me. If that’s what you want to do, do it. I told you, when you come to this office you can do whatever you want. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to scream and yell, do it. You want to smash something, be my guest. You will, however, clean up and replace when you’re finished. Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.”
“That’s stupid,” Sawyer said in disgust.
“Don’t you think it’s more stupid to hold the anger in and direct it at people who don’t deserve it?”
“Of course. You’re saying that’s what I’m doing?”
“No. I asked you a question. You assumed that’s what I meant. You already know the answer. I told you, Sawyer, no games are played here. Now, tell me about Rand.”
Nick listened carefully to Sawyer’s wild babblings, all the while sifting, collating, making neat little summaries in his head. In the beginning he’d made notes, but his scribbling seemed to bother Sawyer, so he’d opted for this “sit and chat” area, as he called it. She’d relaxed almost immediately.
“What, in particular, didn’t you like about the meeting?”
“I didn’t like his nerve. I don’t owe him anything, even conversation. He assumed he could ‘get through to me’ where the others failed.”
“Did he?”
“He hit some nerves. Yes. He made me think.”
“Do you still hate him?”
“Hate Rand? Oh, no!” Sawyer cried passionately.
“You said he’s going to marry your mother. Does that bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me! It’s tearing me up inside. She tricked him.”
“Does even one small part of you believe he could really love her? You told me he didn’t love you enough to make that final commitment. Yet now he’s ready to make that commitment to your mother. How do you explain that?”
Sawyer hedged. “He might care for her... a little. I told you, Maggie is a man-eater. She mesmerized him.”
“But you said she sent him away. Sometimes people do that when they love too much because they can’t handle it.”
“Maggie can handle anything,” Sawyer said bitterly.
“Even your illness? Is she handling that?”
“Of course. She came to see me, dumped her trash on me, and left.” She hesitated a moment, then burst out defiantly, “It’s her fault—all of this is her fault!”
Nick lit a cigarette, his third of the day. “You told me you didn’t want to read her diaries, that Adam packed them up. You said her life was trash. Actually, I believe you used the word garbage.”
“So what if I did? It’s how I feel,” Sawyer cried. “Why should I waste my time reading about her life?”
“You tell me. Why would it be a waste? Are you afraid of what you might see in those diaries?”
“Of course not,” Sawyer blustered.
“If I asked you to read them, would you?”
“Probably not.”
Nick stubbed out his cigarette. “I have to assume you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m petrified,” Sawyer whispered.
“Tell me what you’re petrified of.”
Sawyer lit a cigarette with trembling hands. “There might be something in them that would . . . that I might not like. Maggie always comes out on top. She wouldn’t have given me those diaries if they were going to hurt her. She wants to hurt me. That’s why she gave them to me.”
“That thing you think might be in those books, would it absolve Maggie?”
“Of course. It would make me take the rap. I told you, Maggie always wins. Didn’t she finally get Sunbridge? She got Rand. Amelia and Susan are living there. My grandmother gave her permission, gave her permission,” Sawyer shouted, “to take Rand!”
“If you read those diaries and your worst imaginings are true, then you won’t have anyone to blame. That’s what you’re saying.”
Sawyer pondered Nick’s words. “I suppose... in a manner of speaking, you’re right.”
“So now, at the most crucial time of your life, you need someone to blame. Your illness is the biggest crisis you’ve ever had to deal with. But you aren’t dealing with it, are you?”
“I’m trying.”
“Then why won’t you go for the operation?”
“I told you, I’m petrified.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I really don’t care. You all expect too much of me. I’m only human.”
“Ah, you’re only human. What does that make the rest of us, inhuman?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Then what the hell did you mean?”
“People are choosing up sides. When you do that, there’s a winner and a loser.”
“Which are you?”
Sawyer laughed hysterically. “I’m going to die and you ask me a stupid question like that! Of course I’m the loser.”
“How did that happen, that you’re the loser?”
“Maggie.”
“Maggie has nothing to do with your illness. You lose when you don’t fight. If you decide to go ahead and have the operation and it’s successful, what will happen then?” “I don’t know. Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I know you don’t, but we’re going to talk anyway. Now answer th
e question.”
“Life will go on.”
“Maggie and Rand will live happily ever after. Your grandmother and her husband will live happily ever after. Your aunt Amelia is going back to Texas to reconcile with her husband, and they’ll live happily ever after. Your aunt Susan is going to get married again, and she and her new husband will live happily ever after. Cole and Riley are going off to college, two handsome studs with girls dropping at their feet. Who does that leave who isn’t going to be happy?”
“Me,” Sawyer cried. “Damn you, me! What about me? When do I get to be happy?”
“When you open yourself to it. You can’t buy it; it isn’t a commodity. You want to know something else I found out? You have to earn it. Take my old buddy Adam. He’s unhappy—miserable, as a matter of fact. He’d die for you if it would make you happy. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s talk about something here for a minute.” Nick handed her a piece of paper and a pencil. “I want you to list all the things in order of importance—now that’s crucial—all the things you’ll never see or do again if you don’t go for this operation. I’m going out to the other office to call some of my patients who think I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
“You must be kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He nodded as Sawyer reluctantly picked up the pencil. “When you’re finished with that list, I want you to make another one on the back of it. Things you can do and will do; things you want to do if the operation is a success.”
Nick closed the door behind him and immediately called Adam. “Look, I’m not promising anything. I think I have her on the run, though. Christ, for a minute there I thought she was going to wreck my office. I actually gave her permission, knowing you’d pay the bill.” He grinned at the hysterical squawking on the other end of the line.
“I think the best thing for Sawyer was having Rand and Amelia talk to her. She’s thinking, and that’s the first step. I’m hopeful. Don’t worry about her getting home. I’ll put her in a cab. Just be there for her.”
Nick waddled to the men’s room and back to his secretary’s desk, where he made several more phone calls. When he returned to his office, Sawyer was sitting with her feet propped up on the round table in the chat area. There were tear streaks on her cheeks, which he pretended not to see. He scanned both sides of the paper in front of him. “Good,” he said briskly. He lit another cigarette and held the light for Sawyer.
“Is that it for today?” Sawyer asked through a perfect smoke ring.
“Not quite. Let’s touch on the operation.” He held up his hand to ward off her objection. “My talking about it isn’t going to change anything. I want you to talk about it. I do understand more now, though. I called your doctor because I wanted to make sure I could explain anything in case you had some questions. You gave me permission, so wipe that look off your face. . . . Well?”
“Twenty percent odds aren’t very good,” she said in a tight voice. “Actually, the neurosurgeon said it was more like fifteen.”
“When you buy it in a car accident, there aren’t any odds at all. You live in one of the biggest cities in the world, with one of the highest crime rates. You could get killed in a grocery store. There aren’t any odds there, either. Don’t look at the numbers.”
“You sound like the rest of them. It’s easy for you to say, easy for you to be objective. It isn’t easy for me. It’s my life.”
“I’m trying to give you perspective. I do know one thing, though. Your chances are better right now than they would be six months from now. The bottom line is, it has to be what you want, what you’re willing to do. The reasons have to be the right ones. What your grandmother or I think isn’t important. The right reasons, Sawyer. For you. For these,” he said, waving the papers under her nose. “Do you want me to make a copy of them for you?”
“No,” she replied, so faintly that Nick had to strain to hear her.
“What say I take you over to Jim McMullen’s for a brew?”
“How about a rain check? I just want to go home and put my feet up. I have another one of those nasty headaches. I’d appreciate you flagging a cab for me, though.”
Nick locked up the office, and they rode the elevator in silence. Outside, he hailed a checker and helped Sawyer climb in.
“The truth,” she said hesitantly. “How did today go?”
Nick grinned. Sawyer thought he looked like a cherub. Or a munchkin. “You tell me. You know we shrinks don’t answer questions. See you next week.”
“Good night, Nick.”
Sawyer leaned back for the ride downtown. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse. But she did know one thing: she had a lot of thinking to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Amelia fought her way to the baggage area in the airport terminal. She’d never seen such crowds before. She engaged a redcap, who got her a taxi. Amelia tipped him, gave the driver the address of the Hilton Hotel, and leaned back. God, she was exhausted.
Forty minutes later she checked into the Hilton and accepted a copy of the Crystal City Times. All she wanted was a long, hot bath and some sleep. It would be bliss to hear or see Cary, but not now. One thing at a time.
The following day, as Amelia dried her hair in front of the hotel mirror, she wondered if she was doing the right thing by not going to Sunbridge. She planned to go to her house first and follow through with her renovations, actually sleep there until the project was completed. It was time to see something through to the end. Then, and only then, would she call Cary.
It was noon when Amelia checked out of the Hilton Hotel. A uniformed doorman tipped his hat to her, smiled, and crooked his finger at a bellboy, who was standing at attention. “Put the lady’s bag in the cab.” He smiled again at Amelia, approvingly, and tipped his hat a second time. Amelia smiled in return. Usually, she didn’t notice hotel personnel. She’d been too busy comparing herself to the other guests. And another thing: She usually hired a limousine. Now she felt she didn’t have to impress anyone but herself. Anything with wheels would get her to where she wanted to go.
As the taxi driver pulled into the driveway, Amelia noticed it had been paved in her absence. The wide, circular front porch was finished, gleaming in the noon sunshine. The inside must be done, too, for she heard no hammering.
A little thrill coursed through her when she slipped the key into the new oiled lock and the solid oak door swished open. Slowly she walked from room to room. All the carpentry work was finished. The bathroom was remodeled, the carpeting laid. All she had to do was clean everything up, arrange the various objets d’art, and outfit the bedrooms. The furniture she’d ordered months ago was being held, as were the drapes. She’d made calls this morning to arrange delivery for tomorrow and the following day.
Amelia climbed the stairs a second time to change into her coveralls. Then she set to work with a vengeance, scrubbing and polishing till late in the evening.
A long, soothing bath made her feel drowsy. She spread her sable coat on the clean floor and slept like a newborn infant, her hand tucked under her cheek. When she woke in the morning, she couldn’t remember if she’d dreamed or not.
At nine o’clock the rental car she’d ordered arrived, and Amelia immediately drove to a deli in Crystal City. Hot coffee in three containers and a bacon-and-egg sandwich to go would hold her till later. She also picked up a copy of the morning issue of the Crystal City Times. Back at the house, she ate breakfast and read her paper from cover to cover, rereading the local business page. There was a brief mention of Cary and his associates and the remarkable progress they’d made. But there were no pictures. Amelia looked longingly at the yellow wall phone. Not yet. Not till she was finished.
By three-thirty every window in the house was draped. By six o’clock all the downstairs furniture was in place. She had only to dust, arrange her art objects, hang the pictures that were in the hall closet, vacuum. At eight o’cloc
k everything was done. Amelia called the deli and had them deliver a pastrami on rye and two cups of coffee.
She bathed early, ate dinner, and slept, wrapped in her sable coat in the middle of the furnished living room.
Every night before he returned to his empty apartment, Cary drove through the silent streets trying to relax. And somehow—like tonight—he always found himself driving to Amelia’s house. Why? he wondered. Why did he keep punishing himself? What was it he expected to find?
As usual, he slowed his car once he rounded the curve of the road. There it was, all by itself on thirty acres of ground. He pulled up to the curb and cut the engine. The house was dark and silent, as always. He sat for over twenty minutes staring at it. For some strange reason, he felt closer to Amelia than ever before. If only . . . if only . . .
He didn’t notice the car in the driveway when he slipped the car into gear and drove away.
It rained the next day, great buckets that slapped at the newly draped windows. Amelia turned on the heat to chase away the chilly dampness. The upstairs furniture arrived at eleven-thirty. At twelve-thirty she backed the Mustang out of the driveway and headed for Crystal City’s poshest department store. She bought bedding, towels, soap dishes, mattress covers, sheets, blankets, spreads. The last things she purchased were bathroom mats and drinking glasses for the four bathrooms. The trunk and backseat of the car were so full, she had to use her sideview mirror to drive. She stopped at the deli for more sandwiches, then continued on to the house.
She spent the next three hours dressing the beds and manicuring the bathrooms. She vacuumed a second time for lint, then replaced the sweeper in the upstairs closet.
It was done. All of it. She felt absolutely giddy with relief. She’d started from scratch and seen the whole thing through to the end.
Amelia ate a corned beef sandwich and munched on the deli pickle as if she were eating pheasant under glass. The coffee tasted good, so she opened the second Styrofoam cup and drank that, too. Then she wadded up her trash and carried it to a container in the garage.
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