POSSESSIONS
"Sit still, ril take care of it later." Ross had not moved, though his arms ached to hold her; he sat apart from her, his anger growing as she wept. "He isn't worth your tears. He doesn't know the meaning of love or loyalty or steadfastness— "
"Don't, Ross. You hardly know him anymore, or anything about him. I don't find it admirable when you attack him—"
"Admirable—! Good God, he kept another woman for two years while you were married! Was that admirable? That was why he needed so much money he had to steal it!**
'That's not true! I don't know where you heard it, but it isn't true! Craig would never ... he told me he never wanted . . . / would have known!"
Ross looked at her in silence.
"All right, I didn't know everything about him, but I would have known that! Two years?" she cried wildly. "You expect me to believe . . . two years? He couldn't have; he was always home." She fell silent, then, looking at her hands, asked, "Where did he—where was he supposed to have someone else?"
"In Calgary."
"He spent a lot of time there, on business. And he always left me the number of his motel." A thought struck her. "Did he tell you ... he didn't tell you this!"
**Of course not. Craig never admits anything unless he's forced to. I discovered it by accident."
"Well, whoever told you was lying."
"Katherine, listen to me. I went looking for him; I wanted to find him so you and I could be alone, without his damned shadow following us all the time. What I found—"
And so, starkly, he told her about Elissa, leaving nothing out.
At first Katherine kept shaking her head, murmuring, "No, no, no," beneath his words. Then she was silent, her eyes closed. Another Craig. Even another name. Another space separating them. But something else was bothering her . . . something Ross had said . . . And then she had it. "August. That trip you took—you called me from there, the day I got back from France."
"And I didn't tell you about it," Ross said, before she could.
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"I meant to, but you'd just found Mettler's letter canceling youi order, and you had enough to worry about—"
"But that was August; this is the middle of September. When were you going to tell me?"
"Look, you've had a lot on your mind— '"
"Ross, Craig had secrets; we don't! I want to know the truth about the world I live in!"
"All at once? I was waiting until things calmed down; I thought it would be best if you didn't have to tackle everything at the same time."
Katherine shook her head. "You decided to look for Craig without telling me, and then you decided not to tell me about Elissa—you even decided to tell Craig about us—all on your own. Don't I have anything to say about decisions that involve me?"
He gestured helplessly. "Of course you do. You're wrong about my deciding to tell Craig about us—that was an accident. But the rest, about looking for him, and finding Elissa—you're right; I did those on my own and I suppose I should have told you. But it was done from love—^"
"Ross, I've spent all these months trying to find out who I am, what kind of a woman J can be on my own, without being shielded, as if I were in some kind of cocoon ... I've been through that with Craig!"
"So you never want protection again, is that it? You think it's some kind of a weakness. If you weren't still tied in knots over Craig and his secrets, you'd know better. It isn't all or nothing—^"
"All right; maybe that's true. Maybe I am exaggerating because I'm afraid of going backwards, but—"
"And you're lucky," he went on, "when you find someone who cares enough about you to try to shield you. How many people spend their lives looking for that? How many people— men or women—find someone to protect them from pain?"
"I don't know what that means anymore." Katherine twisted her hands together.
"It means—at least this time—that I kept putting off telling you what I'd done because I didn't think it would change the way you feel about Craig; it would just make you more unhappy to discover another hidden piece of his life, another lie—"
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"But I have to know all the pieces! All the lies! And you know that!" Katherine looked beyond him, at the skyline of the city across the bay, and the towns extending down the peninsula, fading into mist. "How do I know how many other lies there are? Can't you see— I lived with him for ten years and I was blind to all those lies! How can I understand myself until I understand him? And you let him go! I'm sorry, I keep coming back to that, but that's the worst of all ... he was so close! And I don't know when he'll be that close again . . . when I can break free and move ahead ..."
Tears streamed down her face. She made no attempt to wipe them away, but sat still, looking past Ross and past the city, as if she could not bear to look at anything nearby. Watching her, Ross hurt inside with love, and anger at Craig, and frustration. "You understand more about him now than you ever did. Katherine, you've changed so much—what difference does it make what you were with him, now that you've found out what you can be without him?"
"I'm still finding out," she said doggedly. "You always make things sound so simple, when they aren't."
"I know they're not simple. But one of these days you may have to decide it's enough anyway."
Katherine turned to him. "You mean if he doesn't come back. But he's tried twice; I can't believe he won't try again."
"And in the meantime he's always with us." Ross gave a short, bitter laugh. "I had the wrong sword over our heads: it's not the Macklin Building; it's your husband. We can't make any plans; we can't think about the future. We argue when we should be enjoying each other, sharing the kind of love we've never had before . . ."He stood and paced the length of the deck, furiously kicking aside some small stones near the edge. "We can't even go back, can we? It used to be that he was in the background; now he's between us."
"Yes." Katherine's voice was almost inaudible. "He's so far away, but he's .. . here. And then I look at you and I can't even think straight anymore ..."
From the opposite end of the deck, Ross said flatly, "I make it harder, don't I? I can't help you; I can't tell you what to do; I can't even try to protect you from pain because we don't agree on what that means. I only confuse the issue." When she was silent, he said slowly, "It might be better if I got out of
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your way. You'd be able to concentrate on thinking about your husband and your marriage. Maybe you'd even decide you do know all you need to know—about him, and yourself, and us."
Katherine gazed at him, her heart pounding.
"And maybe I could use some time, too," he went on carefully. 'To think about how I feel about sharing you. If I'm making too many decisions on my own, I ought to know it and do something about it."
Katherine breathed deeply to slow the pounding of her heart. Not to see Ross. To wake up in the morning and not be able to think, "Today I'll see him; today we'll talk; tonight we'll make love ..." Not to see Ross. She swallowed hard, feeling her heart beat in her throat. But — to be alone for a while, with no wild swings of emotion, with no pressure to decide, to act, to choose, to do . . . "Yes," she said, forcing it out. "I think it would be a good idea."
His breath escaped in a small burst; he had been holding it. "Whatever you think is best." Swiftly, he went to her and took her hands between his. "I love you. I'll do whatever you want—" He turned her hands and kissed one palm, and then the other, her skin cool and soft beneath his lips, rippling with the tremor that ran through her.
I don't want to leave you; I waru to be close to you . . . "No," she murmured.
He stood, bringing her with him, enfolding her in his arms. But she remained motionless, her arms at her side instead of embracing him, as if already she had begun to withdraw. In a moment of panic Ross wondered what the hell he'd done. To be without Katherine; to go through the days without her smile, without seeing her eyes light up in response to something he s
aid, without feehng her beneath him . . . What the hell had he done? And what would he do if she did find Craig and began to rediscover, with the children, the bonds that had held them for ten years?
It won't happen. They've gone too far. We've gone too far.
Katherine moved within die circle of his arms and immediately he dropped them. He would not force her to stay. "Whatever I can do to help you—" he said.
Tremulously, she smiled. Teardrops glistened in her dark eyelashes. "I think I'll just be alone for a while ... and
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think about the three of us . . . and everything that's happened. . . " She reached out, touching his face with her fingertips. "I love you, Ross." Then she turned and walked quickly across the deck and through the glass doors into the living room. In another moment Ross heard her open Che front door, and close it firmly behind her.
Elissa saw the taxi driver peer at the address, then stop at her front gate. Not Craig, she thought; he'd tell the driver which house. She saw a woman step out and pay the driver and she knew, even before she saw her face, that it was Katherine.
Hell, she thought, feeling her stomach grab, there's nothing to be scared of. She held the door open, watching the prairie wind lift eddies of dust and carry them along the street like tops. She saw Katherine turn and give an appraising glance at the house—I know it's not his type, Elissa told her silently; and he didn't want me to paint the door red, but I did it anyway, when I decided he was gone for good—then Katherine was walking toward her. She was more beautiful than Elissa had thought; her pictures didn't do her justice, "I'm Katherine Eraser," she said, holding out her hand.
"I know," said Elissa. "I've seen your picture. I'm Elissa Nielsen." Gravely, they shook hands. "Please come in." She led the way. "I wondered if Ross would tell you about me."
"He only told me yesterday." Katherine gave a swift glance at the living room.
"Why don't you take a good look around?" Elissa asked. "I won't be insulted. You want to know where Craig lived part-time; I would, if I was you. Ross only told you yesterday? He took his tnne."
"He didn't want me to be hurt," said Katherine. Turning, she met Elissa's eyes. They looked away at the same time and then fell silent.
Elissa fidgeted with a candy dish as Katherine picked up the carved wooden turtle and ran her finger over the small boy on its back. "He's not Craig's," Elissa said. "I guess Ros^ must have told you. And that Craig helped me when I was pregnant? Without Craig . . . well, without Craig, I just don't know."
Katherine walked about the crowded room, seeing small touches identical to those she remembered in their Vancouver house. She felt disoriented, as if the two houses had merged
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and she'd gotten lost among objects that were strange but somehow hers. "Would you like something?" Elissa asked. "Tea or coffee? There's sherry and Scotch, but I thought, before lunch, you know."
**Coffee would be fine." She followed Elissa into the kitchen. "Is it true that you haven't seen Craig since June—a year ago June?"
'True. Haven't seen him or heard from him." She ran water into the percolator, gazing out the window until it ran over, splashing her dress. "Damn, damn, damn. I guess I'm a bit nervous." Carefully, she plugged in the pot. "Ross is in love with you."
"Did he teU you that?"
"No, but it's all over him, like measles. Well, prettier than measles." Involuntarily, they smiled at each other. "It's nice, to see a man in love. I just wondered if you're in love with him."
"Why?" Katherine asked.
Elissa hesitated, then shrugged. "No special reason. Do you take cream? Or sugar?"
"Just black, thank you." She watched as Elissa put mugs on a tray, arranged doughnuts on a plate, dropped one, made an exasperated sound and threw it away. "Let me help," Katherine said. Gently she took the package from Ehssa's hand and put out the rest of the doughnuts. "Where shall we sit?"
"In the living room; there isn't anywhere else. Craig wanted to build a nook off the kitchen—a breakfast room, you know— he'd drawn the plans for it, but then ... he didn't come back."
Katherine heard the tears behind the simple words, and she knew that Elissa still missed Craig, still longed for him and waited for him. And that was why she had asked if Katherine was in love with Ross; she wanted to know if Craig would be free when he came back. "I'll carry the tray," Katherine said, and this time she led the way to the living room. There were things she wanted to know, too.
"Did Craig really steal from his company?" she asked bluntiy as they sat down
Surprised, Elissa said, "You don't know?"
"Only what his partner told me."
Elissa considered it. "I don't think he did."
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"But you don't know."
"He didn't tell me. He told me most everything else. But I don't believe he's a thief. I don't think he took a damn thing."
You don't want to feel responsible for his needing money, Katherine thought, remembering what Ross had said. "Then why did he disappear?" she asked.
Elissa looked at her directly. "I guess you ought to be able to answer that better than me."
"I didn't know who he really was. I didn't know about you. How could I know why he left?"
"You must have known something. If I lived with a man for ten years I'd sure know a hell of a lot about him."
Yes, you would. And I didn't.
The questions that had haunted Katherine before rushed back with Elissa's words. Why hadn't she known more? Why hadn't she asked questions about Craig's past, and their house, their bills, their finances? Why hadn't she forced herself into his silences?
Maybe because I didn't really want to. Or didn't want to enough. Maybe it was more pleasant not knowing. Not worrying. Like a little girl.
The silence was stretching out. 'Tell me about Craig," Katherine said. "You know him better than I do."
'That's true," Elissa responded frankly. "He was pretty relaxed and easy around here. Like somebody who's been locked into a suit and a tie all day, very proper, and then he comes home and puts on an old T-shirt and jeans—and kind of slurps his soup?"
"LxKked in," Katherine echoed.
"Well, it was more like he felt burdened. He said you needed somebody to look up to, who'd protect you from things that were ugly or scary, and he couldn't always do that. Though I must say you look a lot more able to take care of yourself than he made you out. I might have guessed he was exaggerating. Anyway, he said when you two met, you were so innocent all you wanted was love. You didn't ask how much money he made or anything about the future—or the past either, for that matter; you didn't ask a lot of questions about his so-called orphan childhood; you were just happy to love him and have him love you. He was pretty impressed with that except he thought it made you awfiil vulnerable. But it was a powerful
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force on him; it was why you were the only woman he was in love with."
She was so matter-of-fact that Katherine was embarrassed. "He didn't love me enough to be honest with me."
"He loved you too much to be honest with you. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Were you a virgin when you met him?"
"Yes."
"Well that explains part of it. He always talked about you as if you were a virgin in everything—not just sex, but getting along in the world."
"But that's nonsense," Katherine said. "I'd been to college; I had a job; I had friends ..."
"Not to hear him tell it. He kept saying all the things he'd taught you, the kind of life he gave you. I had this crazy idea that he sort of thought of you like his sister—you know, kind of frozen at her age? So, he had to believe he was first in everything, I guess: not just your bed. But then he was always afraid he'd make a mistake and you'd be disappointed in him and stop loving him."
"A mistake in what?"
"How he behaved. Acting like his family, showing his an-ger.
*Bu
t he wasn't an angry person. The times he did get angry, he usually controlled it and it passed."
"It didn't pass. It dug in deeper. He said all the men in his family were like that. He remembered his grandfather, Hugh, roaring at him about something real silly, like picture postcards, I think, and then there was Derek—the all-time champion of anger. And Craig was like them but at the same time he was afraid of angry people. Scared to death of Hugh and Derek, and Derek's father—Curt—and even himself. He was scared of being angry."
Restlessly, Elissa stood and moved about the room. "Do you know, I could tell you the story of every Hay ward all the way back to Hugh's grandfather? I know every piece of jewelry Hugh bought Victoria; I know the color of the dress Jennifer wore when she graduated high school; I know . . .oh, danm, I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to hurt you."
"It's all right. I was just thinking—he told you the things 439
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he missed, the people he loved and couldn't forget. After fifteen years."
"He didn't love all of them, you know; and they didn't all love each other. He told me about Derek's giris and how Jennifer cried—"
"Derek's girls? Jennifer?"
"That was the last time they were in Menton. They had their own apartment, sort of, with bedrooms around a kind of playroom, and there was a garden with a wall, and a door in the wall, and Derek would sneak girls into his bedroom. Didn't Ross tell you? He knew about it. Jennifer didn't, until one night she found out and ran into the garden, sobbing, and no one could get her to stop, not even Craig. And the next day, when they went home, she left behind a necklace Derek had bought her in Monte Carlo. She didn't like it anyway, Craig said; it was black. Death around her neck, Jennifer called it. So she left it there. Derek was furious—he'd paid a lot for it—but he wouldn't take it home, so it stayed there. That was only about a week before she died. Scary, isn't it?"
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