“No driver’s license?”
“And she’d been drinking too. Not too much but you could smell beer on her breath.”
“If you did something like that I would like go into orbit too.”
“Not the way Jane did,” my daughter said firmly. “I mean she really lost it.”
“I see.”
“We wanted to drive her home, but she goes, no she can drive herself, so Jamie goes we’d better follow her, because she looks like she might kill herself.”
“Jamie is a therapist too?”
“No, he’s going to be a priest*…but I think he’s right. Daddy, she was like totally incoherent…and Aunt Maggie says that she’s been on the edge for a long time. Years.”
“That’s what Aunt Maggie says?”
Laura nodded vigorously. “And she’s always right, you know that.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“She was really terrible, Daddy. I mean Lucianne is a total asshole and they already lost poor Brigid, but like she was more mad at herself than at Lucianne.”
“That’s the way parents tend to be, dear.”
“I wish you’d go over and see her, Daddy.” Laura turned and faced me head on. “I really think you should. She’s like totally terrible.”
“I will, Laura, first thing in the morning.”
“Now, Daddy. I mean tomorrow is her fiftieth birthday too and you know what that did to you.”
“A telling point,” I murmured, remembering all too well my morose response to that event.
“Jamie goes I’m not sure that poor woman will survive till she’s fifty. Someone has to do something. But Aunt Maggie won’t be up till really late. So I go I’ll tell my Daddy and he’ll talk to Jane.”
“Tomorrow morning,” I picked up my reading glasses and Barbara Tuchman.
“Tonight, Daddy, please.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Tomorrow might be too late.”
“Maybe I’ll walk over in a few minutes.”
“Great, promise?”
“All right!”
I was of course acting like a jerk. A coward. I was the same guy who hadn’t called her for two years, repeating the same mistake all over again. Worse still, this time part of me knew it.
Laura bounded out of the house, doubtless to tell Jamie that her all-powerful father would wipe away all of Jane Devlin’s story of suffering.
I would finish the book and then, if it were not too late wander down the road.
Jane
I can’t take any more. I’m losing Lucy like I’ve lost the others. Everyone I have ever loved. Except Charley. I never did love him as much as the others, poor kid. That was bad too.
I’m a failure, a worthless little shit. I don’t want to live any longer.
She looks at herself in the vanity mirror, a hysterical old woman in her underwear with a glass of vodka in one hand and a bottle with little green pills in the other. Who could possibly love her?
What an ugly worn-out, mis-shaped body at that. Who could possibly want it?
No one ever loved her, not really. No one will ever love her. God would not mind her ending her worthless life. He never loved her either. She wasn’t worth loving.
She pours the sleeping tablets out of their bottle. All of them. It would be just like a long sleep. One that would never end. And no dreams. No guilt. No regret.
Jane, she tells the woman in the mirror, you are being hysterical. You frightened those poor kids half to death tonight. Good old Jane, one of the guys, everyone’s big sister, loses it. Goes into orbit as they say.
I’m tired of being good old Jane. I can’t do it any more.
How many pills would it take, I wonder.
It doesn’t matter. If I drink all of them down with my vodka, that should be more than enough.
Leo
Still acting like a terminal asshole, I put aside Ms. Tuchman and wandered out into the fresh night air. Thousands of stars hung just above the treetops. No one could end their life on such a night. Could they?
Teenagers exaggerate. Don’t they?
I walked around to the drive. My car was blocked by several others.
It was only a short walk anyway.
Then I hesitated. It was ten o’clock at night. I had no right to burst into a woman’s house at this late hour. My pursuit of Jane should be gentle and sensitive. If she was distraught over poor Lucianne, I should leave her some room to recover. I shouldn’t come bumbling in on her late at night when she was recovering from a long bout of tears.
Especially not because of the exaggerated fears of well-meaning but hyper-romantic kids.
I wandered around to the front porch, walked inside and picked up my reading glasses.
Damn, that brat Laura was right. I was in terrible shape the day I turned fifty. Got over it the next day all right, but if I had acted out that day, I don’t know what stupid thing I might have done.
I replaced the glasses on the wicker end table and hurried out the front door.
On the road, the same road where Jim and Eileen Murray had died, I found that I was running.
Jane
Just swallow them and be done with it. It will be a nice long sleep. Nothing more. You can forget everything, especially how you ruined your life. God gave you so much and you didn’t use any of it. Your mother was a fine excuse but she’s been dead more than twenty-five years and you still haven’t straightened out your life.
She pours all the pills into her hand.
Maggie says most attempted suicides are only a plea for help. The person doesn’t really want to die, only to scream that someone make all the pain go away. Sometimes, she says, they miscalculate and die before anyone can help them. A person who really wants to die, doesn’t make any mistakes.
I don’t know whether these little pills, about the same color as the pendant I put on this morning, will kill me. Maybe I’m only crying out for help. That would be a stupid thing to do.
You look terrible after they’ve pumped out your stomach. I look terrible enough as it is.
Isn’t that silly! I’m thinking of ending my life and I’m worried about my vanity if I should fail.
Just do it.
Leo
The back door was locked, damn it. Only one light on in the house. Bedroom probably. I have no right to go charging into her bedroom.
I pounded on the door.
No answer.
Where’s the bell? Why don’t they have doorbells on these damn palaces!
I dashed around to the front. The door to the porch was ajar. Should I push my way in?
Damn it, why not? If I make a fool out of myself I can blame the kids.
I shoved the door aside and bolted up the stairs to the second floor. The light at the end of the hallway must be her bedroom.
The door was open. She was sitting at her vanity table, startled and frightened, a pile of green pills in her hand.
Jane
He charges into her room like a Viking berserker and knocks the pills out of her hand. He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her and tells her that she is his woman and he will tolerate no more of this hysterical nonsense. She is too important to too many people and too wonderful a person and woman even to think of it.
Do you understand, he shakes her again, furious in his fright.
She wants to laugh and tell him that she had decided not to kill herself, not out of virtue but out of vanity, and that she was about to put the pills back into the bottle when he charged in like a demented rapist.
Instead she sobs in his arms. He enfolds her and they cling to each other on the side of her bed. He continues to give her firm orders. She belongs to him now. No more of this foolishness. When she wants to cry, she should cry with him instead of alone with vodka and sleeping pills. Do you understand?
Oh yes she understands. She knows what he means. She does belong to him. Always has. She wants to laugh and cry at the same time. The laughter can wait. She
has a right to weep in the arms of someone who loves her. She hasn’t done it for a long time.
Still it is all kind of funny. He’s funny and she’s funny too. The whole world is funny.
She collapses completely in his embrace and permits herself to cry her heart out, something she has not done for a long, long time.
Yes, she tells him, I won’t ever do it again. I won’t ever think about it again. I promise with all my heart. I won’t be a dumb little shit.
Then she cries some more. He is gentle and consoling, almost like a mother. I suppose he’s had practice being a mother with that adorable kid of his.
As her tears diminish, his embrace changes. It becomes hungry, demanding. Not tonight she thinks.
Why not tonight?
He kisses her, first lightly, then voraciously. He’s an even better kisser than he used to be. His hands roam her body, challenging her, devouring her. His teeth sink delicately into her boobs, first one then the other.
Yes, why not tonight? Get it over with. Find out how good you can be with a man who loves you.
Impatiently he brushes aside her bra and panty. She wishes, quite irrelevantly, that she had time to fix her makeup. His insistent lips probe everywhere. Everywhere.
Please God, grant that he enjoys me.
It will be a solemn high fuck, all the trimmings, kissing, playing, biting, licking, setting me on fire with foreplay. Take a long leisurely time to turn on the poor frigid bitch. That’s all right, who’s rushing?
Who’s hiding anything?
Oh my darling, I am yours now and forever, do to me whatever you want.
Please! No! Oh! Don’t stop.
I wish I was a better lover. All I can do is submit. Maybe I’ll learn more. I’m pretty good at submitting anyway. He likes me. He dotes on me. He’ll never grow tired of me.
“I told you I’d do this before the summer was over,” he crows triumphantly, a big red-haired pirate exulting in his captive.
The fire inside her burns out of control. Her body, moist and eager, yearns for unity. Still he prolongs the play, teasing her, tormenting her, eating her up with pleasure.
I can’t take it much longer.
“Please, Leo, I can’t keep this up.”
“You can and will,” he chortles. “I’ve been waiting for this for thirty-five years.”
“Solemn high fuck,” she says and they both laugh. They keep on laughing as the fun continues.
Yes, I can keep it up as long as he wants it. I love it all.
Finally, oh dear God, finally he enters her, the proud conqueror. She wraps her long legs around him. How long I have waited. How long both of us have waited.
Her body, a time bomb ready to explode, arches up to meet his thrusts. She twists and squirms and screams in repeated paroxysms of ecstasy. Super solemn high fuck for the fifty-year-old woman.
Still he continues to thrust. She screams again. His warmth flows inside her. He collapses on top of her, a big solid, demanding man, terribly proud of himself, who now belongs to her as much as she belongs to him.
Happy birthday, Jane, she smiles to herself as she sinks into a peaceful sleep.
Leo
The folk wisdom, I thought to myself, says I should be peacefully asleep. But she’s the one who is sleeping. Poor woman probably needs it.
I glanced around the room. Perfect Georgian country house bedroom—dark red fabric, trimmed in gold, on the walls, thick blue drapes, four poster bed, hunting prints, period furniture. Packy said the Devlins had someone do a historic reconstruction. This must have been her mother’s bedroom. Any bad vibrations here? I don’t feel them; but I wouldn’t. I’ll have to ask Maggie sometime.
Sure enough, there’s the Our Lady of Fatima statue Packy told me about. You’ve been watching us through our little game, haven’t you? To judge by your smile you don’t disapprove.
What a prize this woman is; and, with proper loving, which I propose to provide, she’ll only get better. She was worth waiting for, no doubt about that. Thirty years? Only a few moments. She understands that this is forever from now on. I won’t let her get away ever again.
Long, slender body, fiercely disciplined muscles—no wonder her serve is so fast. Lines and flesh pockets that didn’t use to be there but they make her all the more appealing. She’s taken good care of herself. Genetic luck and pride. A great lay!
And a lot of power to put into that tennis serve!
She was wearing, I noted, the pendant that I had given her thirty years ago. She’s as much a romantic as I am. Maybe more so. Well, we’ll match it before morning.
Should I slip out of bed and go back to the Keenans’? None of those matriarchs do bed checks. But Laura will snoop. The word will get around the house and everyone will wonder whether I’m in bed with Jane. Even if I wasn’t, they’d think I was. Maybe I should try to protect our privacy.
To hell with that, I closed the argument. I’ll stay here till the sun comes up. I’m not finished with the woman. We have some catching up to do.
A happy smile lingered on her contented face. I touched the cheek, the smile, the neck, the upturned breast. So very lovely.
I traced gentle Book of Kells lines on her belly and then played lightly with a breast, softly teasing its nipple.
She stirred in her sleep and her smile deepened.
Not much sexual experience in all those years with Phil. She’s a novice, but, as in all things, Jane is the great improvises. She figures that she should respond passionately to my passion and she does, surprising even herself. That was quite a show at the end.
This is going to be a lot of fun.
She slept a lot longer, opened her eyes, seemed surprised, and then sighed blissfully. “Oh, it’s you, Lee, I thought it might be.”
“Who else?”
“Some terrible berserk redhaired Viking pirate.” She closed her eyes. “But it’s only Leo T. Kelly. Irish Catholic provost.”
“I’m not finished with you, woman.”
She opened her eyes. “I should hope not.”
“I mean tonight.”
“That’s what I mean too.” She hugged me, her nipples quickly hard against my chest.
“You know,” she said as I was covering her body with quick kisses, “as far as I can tell, you are a very experienced and skillful lover, in addition to all your other admirable traits.”
I paused. “Not really, Jane, not really.”
“Well you certainly suit my fantasies, which is all that counts right now.”
“Let’s say that as an empiricist, I rise to the occasion?”
“Is that a pun?”
“A Freudian slip.”
Her giggle turned into a moan as I proceeded in my second assault.
“Am I any good, Leo?” she asks, foolishly anxious.
“You are yourself, Janie, totally generous. A man could ask nothing better.”
“Good enough to wait thirty years for?”
“Thirty-five to be exact. And well worth the wait. Now forget your worries and pay attention to what I’m doing.”
She sighed softly and paid attention.
Jane
Oh my what a night!
The man is insatiable. He can’t get enough of me. How wonderful!
Thank You very much for sending grace charging into my bedroom. At just the right time. I owe You.
Dawn light. I’ll make us both some coffee. What will they think at the Keenans’?
I know damn well what they will think and I don’t care.
I hope Lucy is all right this morning. Lucianne. She must be or they would have phoned me this morning.
She slips quietly out of bed, so as not to disturb her exhausted, complacent man.
Such a dear.
She reaches for her robe.
No. There are times for modesty, she smiles to herself, and there are times for other things. She hangs up her robe, retrieves her bra and panty from the floor and stuffs them into a vanity drawer. Must surely b
uy sexier lingerie for him. She folds his clothes neatly, glances around the room and sees the sleeping pills on the floor. Messy. She gathers them up, returns them to their bottle and puts the bottle on the bedstead. There will be other amusements at night now. She picks up the half-empty vodka glass, shakes her head at her sloppiness, and then tiptoes downstairs to make the coffee.
What if anyone should come up to the house and see me now.
She shivers and then decides it wouldn’t matter in the least.
He wakens as she creeps into the room with the coffee and cinnamon rolls.
Do I smell breakfast?
You do, she puts the tray on the bed next to him, so there’s room for her on the other side of him.
A gift you should expect only some mornings.
Two gifts, he rests his hand on her bare belly.
She bites her lip as her physiology begins to spin out of control. His hand slips slowly downward to her loins. She gasps. Her body quickly prepares to receive him again.
The second gift, she says thickly you can have any time.
I will cherish it always.
And, here, she hands him the bottle of pills, is a kind of third gift.
He looks at the bottle, smiles, and gives it back to her. I trust you, Jane.
Another touch of grace. But then grace should be graceful, shouldn’t it?
Now climb in next to me, he adds, so I can feed you some of your own coffee and cinnamon rolls and play with you.
Yes, master, she says and quickly hops in beside him, snuggling close.
They eat and drink and play with each other and giggle happily.
You still have the pendant, he says, touching it when she removes the tray and sets it on the floor next to the bed.
Time enough later to bring it downstairs.
Naturally she says.
It should have something to match it. I think there’s a box in the pocket of my slacks. Would you mind reaching for it?
She wants to tell him that he shouldn’t have, but she’s too eager to find out what it is.
She gives him the box, he opens it and takes out a ring with a huge peridot stone.
Summer at the Lake Page 35