Going Home Part 6

But he wasn't back the next night, or the night after that. He came back three days later, and I had been worried. I had called the house on Sacramento Street and had gotten no answer.

"Where the h.e.l.l were you, Chris?"

"I was busy for chrissake. What were you worried about? You knew I'd come back. So what's the big deal?" '

"The big deal is that something could have happened to you, that's all."

"You worry about you, and I'll worry about me." And that's the way it was. End of discussion.

"Fine. I'm going into town tomorrow myself. Joe Tramino called me for a job at Carson."

"Great." Yeah . . . great . . . but you were still gone three days and what the h.e.l.l were you doing? You didn't even call. . . . But I didn't want to ask.

That evening, he acted as though nothing had happened, and I left him in charge of Sam the next morning as I set out to drive across the mountains in his car. I was due in town at nine. And Joe had invited me to lunch if the shooting was over in time. It was. He took me to a late lunch at Enrico's, on lower Broadway, looking down Montgomery Street toward the newly built up financial district. We sat outside, and it was warm and sunny, with a nice cool breeze that rustled through the trees out front.

"You did a nice job today, Gill. How's life been treating you?" He looked concerned. He knew.

"Fine. Everything is really fine."

"You look like you've lost some weight."

"And you sound like my mother." But he was right, I hadn't felt really well since the day the peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich had gone sour on me at lunch. That had been almost a week, but it was probably just worry over Chris's absence.

"Okay. I'll lay off. But I was right. I'm still kicking my a.s.s in for introducing you to that guy . . . and I am crawling my office walls in a jealous frenzy. Haven't you heard?" We both broke into a laugh, and I shook my head.

"You're full of s.h.i.+t, Joe. But you're good for my ego. And just for the record, Chris and I are really happy. You did a nice thing for both of us. All is well." I felt silly having to rea.s.sure him, but his concern seemed genuine and I meant what I said. He had done a nice thing for all of us, including Sam.

The lunch was pleasant, we talked about the shooting and a variety of other things, and when we rose to leave I was sorry. He was good company, and it was pleasant to just sit there, watching people come and go, and talking about nothing in particular.

I stopped at my apartment on the way back, picked up my mail, a few odds and ends, like a new kite for Sam, and then I went back. I was a little earlier than planned, but it would be nice to get back into sloppy clothes and go for a swim. The day had gotten hot.

"Hi troops, I'm home." But it appeared that no one else was. It was after five, but they were probably at the beach; they might even have gone to Stinson. "h.e.l.lo! Anybody here?" But it was obvious that there wasn't or Sam would have come screeching out to meet me.

I kicked off my shoes in the living room, headed toward the kitchen for a gla.s.s of something cold, and then noticed that the bedroom door was closed. Closed doors were unusual in our house in Bolinas, and for some reason it suddenly made me wonder if everything were okay. Some maternal instinct spoke up deep within me . . . Sam? . . .

I walked to the bedroom door with three deliberate steps, stopped, took a deep breath, and turned the handle. But what I found was not Sam. It was Chris. Making love to someone else in the bed we shared.

"Ohhh . . . I . . ." I stood rooted to the spot, my mouth frozen into what felt like an iron "O," and my eyes began instantly to blur with tears. Chris turned his head to look at me as I opened the door, and the only thing that struck me was that his face was as expressionless as his b.u.t.tocks which stared at me from the bed. No dismay, no horror. Nothing. The girl had leapt beneath him as I entered, murmuring a horrified gasp, and looking around the room with terrified eyes, as though she might have wished to escape through the window. I couldn't blame her, I felt precisely the same way. Perhaps that's what we should have done, both left together via the window, leaving Chris alone. But we didn't. She lay there, pinned down by Chris's firm grasp on her arms, and I slammed the door. What could I say? But then it occurred to me that there was something I had to say, and anger welled in me as never before. I spun around on one heel and flung the door open again, addressing Chris.

"I don't give a s.h.i.+t what you're doing or who she is, but where's my daughter?" Another gasp emanated from the bed, and Chris turned to me with a look of fury on his face, but it was no match for my own.

"What the f.u.c.k do you think, Gill? That I tied her up and put her under the bed? The Gillmours picked her up for a picnic hours ago. I said I'd pick her up at six."

"Don't bother." The girl was squirming under Chris's viselike grip, and the ignominy and horror of the entire scene struck me like another blow. "I'll be back to pick up my things in an hour." I slammed the door again, picked up my shoes in the living room, grabbed my handbag, and ran barefoot toward the car. To h.e.l.l with Christopher Matthews. If this was what it was going to be like, he could take his lousy life and do anything he d.a.m.n well pleased with it. I didn't want any part of it . . . no, thanks . . . the rotten . . . lousy . . . cheating . . . miserable . . . Tears streamed down my face and sobs choked me as I drove toward the Gillmours' place. All I wanted to do was get Sam and then get the h.e.l.l out of Chris's house. For good. I was suddenly relieved that I hadn't given up my apartment in the city. Sam and I could go back that night and make believe nothing had ever happened. Chris had never existed . . . Chris was gone. . . .

The tires squealed as I drove into the Gillmours' driveway. I pulled up behind their station wagon, put on the brake, turned off the ignition, and wiped my face. I felt as though the world had just come to an end, and how was I going to face Sam?

Elinor Gillmour came out as I got out of the car and waved as she stood barefoot in the doorway.

"Hi, Gillian. How was your day?" . . . How was my day? Are you kidding?

"Fine. Thanks for taking Sam on the picnic. I bet she loved it." The Gillmours had five children, two of whom were close enough in age to Sam to make an outing with them really fun for her. Visiting them was like going to a playgroup.

"Hi, Mommy, can I stay for dinner?" Sam had come thundering out at the sound of my voice.

"No, sweetheart, we have to go home." You bet . . . home . . . San Francisco, to our place in the Marina.

"Awww . . . Mommy." She wound up for a good long whine and I shook my head.

"I'm not kidding tonight, Sam. We're going home. Thanks, Elinor. Now, let's go." I took her firmly by the hand and led her to the car, as we waved a last wave to the Gillmour brood trickling out of the house. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Yes. Can we do something special for dinner? Like have a picnic with Uncle Crits?"

"No, you just had a picnic, and I have a surprise for you. We have to go back to the city for a few days, so Mommy can do some things." A few days seemed like enough explanation, I had decided. She was going off with her father in a week anyway.

"Why? I don't want to go back to the city. Is Uncle Crits coming too?" She seemed cheerier at the thought.

"No, sweetheart. He has to stay here." You're d.a.m.ned right he does. I was absolutely livid by the time we got back to Chris's house. I didn't even feel hurt anymore. I just wanted to kill him. But I didn't want Sam to know that there was trouble underfoot.

"Gill. . . .'' He was waiting for us outside the house when we got there.

"Hi, Uncle Crits. It was a nice picnic."

"Hi, Sam. Would you do me a big favor and go water my plants for me again. They look thirsty as a cowboy in the desert. Thanks."

"Sure, Uncle Crits." She looked delighted with the errand, and ran off behind the house to comply.

"Gill. . . . He followed me into the house as I headed for the bedroom.

"Forget it, Chris. Don't bother saying anything. I'm not interested. I saw what was going on and I don't dig that scene. I'm going back to the city tonight with Sam. I'll see that you get the car back somehow tomorrow."

"f.u.c.k the car."

"That too? My, my . . ." I was yanking drawers open in our room by then, and most of my things were already lying in a heap in my suitcase on the unmade bed. The bed. Where he screwed that girl. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d. "You could have at least made the G.o.ddam bed."

"Look, Gill, please. . . ."

"No. No 'please.' Just nothing. I'm getting the h.e.l.l out. Now."

"Look, it was no big deal. I don't give a d.a.m.n about her. It doesn't change anything between us. She's just a girl I picked up in town." He sounded desperate.

"Oh? Is she? I'm thrilled. Just thrilled, to know that she doesn't mean anything to you. But it seems to me that neither do I. The whole time I've known you you've been living with some girl. You come, you go, you arrive for dinner, spend the night, and then disappear for three days. And now you f.u.c.k some girl, just for the h.e.l.l of it. In our bed, and h.e.l.l . . . it's your G.o.ddam bed, but I don't give a s.h.i.+t. We're supposed to be living together. And I don't do stuff like that. That's probably my big mistake."

"No, Gill, it's not your mistake. I love you the way you are. But I'm a man for chrissake, and I need to have some fun."

"Then what am I?" My voice seemed to shake the rafters.

"You're not just fun, Gill. You're for real. I love you." His voice had dropped to an almost whisper, and he looked at me earnestly from across the room. "Please don't go, Gill. I need you. I'm sorry this happened."

"Well so am I. But I'm going anyway." But my resolve had been shaken . . . I was for real? But what did that mean? "Chris, it's going to happen again and again, I can smell it. And I just can't take it. I'm sorry." . . . Sorry? . . . Why the h.e.l.l should I be sorry? . . . But I was.

"Why do you have to turn it into such a G.o.ddam major happening? Because it just isn't. It really isn't."

"Maybe not to you. But it is to me. Do you have any idea what it felt like to walk in and see you pumping your p.r.i.c.k into her, your a.s.s staring me in the face, and her legs spread fifteen yards apart." The mental image made me sick.

"You make it sound terrific." He had calmed down and he wasn't letting me get to him anymore.

"Well, maybe it was terrific. What the h.e.l.l do I know? It sure looked like it from where I stood. Do you know what I feel? I feel stupid and inadequate, and like I'm not enough woman for you. If you're not happy with us, then tell me. But all I know is we ball our a.s.ses off, and the minute I turn my back you go off and screw somebody else. Joe Tramino was right." I regretted that the instant it was out of my mouth. I should have left Joe out of it.

"And what did that little dago fart have to say about me?" Chris was suddenly livid.

"Nothing. Forget it. He just said you'd make me unhappy, and it looks like he was right."

"Bulls.h.i.+t. We've been plenty happy. And the fact is if you'd come home when you said you were going to you'd have found me and Sam eating dinner in the kitchen, and nothing would have changed. You wouldn't have known. And if you really cared about me, you'd understand, and nothing would be changed now that you do know." . . . Huh?

"Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not. It could happen to you too, Gill. And I wouldn't walk out on you. You're right, we live together. And I love you, and I understand how people work, which is something you don't." I was beginning to wonder if he was right, and it shook me. There was something so cool and knowledgeable in his voice. Maybe those things did happen all the time. But why to me? . . . And why did I have to see it? "Gill, will you spend the night, and see how you feel in the morning? This is silly, and you'll get Sam all shook up going back into town now. I have a job in town tomorrow; if you still want to call it quits, I'll drive you in." I didn't want to sleep on it, but he had a point about Sam. I was wavering, and he knew it.

"Well . . . all right. For Sam. But stay out of my way. I'll sleep on the couch. You can have your bedroom back, as of right now." I swung my badly packed suitcase down on the floor and walked out of the room.

"I'll cook dinner, Gill. You take it easy. You look rough."

"I feel rough, thank you. But I'll do the cooking for Sam. I'm not hungry, and you can take care of yourself." I walked outside to check on Sam before making dinner. She was still devotedly watering Chris's plants and showed no sign that she had heard the fracas. But I was afraid she had.

"Sam, whatcha want to eat, love? How about some cold chicken?"

"That's fine, Mommy." I knew then that she had heard, at least some of it, because she was being inordinately good-natured. But I was grateful.

"You're a good girl."

"Thanks, Mommy. Is Uncle Crits gonna eat with us?"

"No, he's not." My mouth tightened uncontrollably over the words.

"Okay."

She ate the chicken almost soundlessly and then put her pajamas on by herself and told me she was ready for bed. My heart went out to her as I tucked her in. I hated to have her think, yet again, that men wandered through our lives only to go away again. Or have me walk out on them. It didn't seem fair. And I hated Chris for making it all happen again, and myself for letting it. I should never have moved in with him in Bolinas, and I felt nothing but regret as I kissed Sam goodnight and turned off the light.

"See you in the morning, sweetheart. Sweet dreams." A tear crept down my cheek as I walked back to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and I felt as though all of me were sagging. It had been such a rotten afternoon. And I couldn't see how tomorrow would be much better.

"How are you feeling, Gill?" I hadn't heard him come into the kitchen.

"Fine, thank you. Would you mind listening for Sam? I'd like to go for a walk."

"Yeah, sure. Okay." I felt his eyes on me as I quietly closed the door and walked down the road toward the beach. It was a quiet night and the air was still warm. The fog mustn't have come in. But I had been too busy earlier to notice. I looked up and saw the stars brightly etched in the sky above, but even that didn't make me feel better.

The sea was lapping gently at the beach when I got there, and I lay down on the cool sand, to think. Or not to think. I didn't really care what I did. I just wanted to be alone, and away from Chris. And as far away from the house as I could.

I watched a stray dog amble slowly past and sniff at the water, and then, without thinking, I began to take off my clothes. I slipped into the water, naked, and swam slowly toward the land spit at the end of Stinson Beach, remembering the day Chris and I had crossed that stretch of water with the horse from the Carson shooting. The day we'd met. The first day . . . that had been three months before, and this was such a different day.

Once on the other side, I lay on the sand in the bright moonlight and wondered what would come next, and if I'd ever trust anyone again. It seemed as though I lay there for hours, and then I heard footsteps in the sand behind me and turned in sudden fear.

"Gill?" It was Chris.

"What are you doing here? You said you'd stay with Sam." He could have at least done that much.

"She's fine. She's sound asleep, and I wanted to talk to you."

"There's nothing to say. How did you know I'd be here?"

"I just knew. I would have come to the same place too."

"I didn't think you'd have cared that much." The tears started out of the corners of my eyes again as I said the words.

"I only wish you knew how much I do care, Gill." He sat down on the sand beside me, and I could see his wet flesh glisten in the dark.

"I'd better get back to Sam." I didn't want to wait and be told anything.

"Sit with me for just a minute . . . please." There was something in his voice that caught at my heart, almost the way Sam's quiet good behavior had when she went to bed.

"Why, Chris? What's the point? We've said it all."

"No, we haven't. Or if we have, then let me just be with you here, quietly, for a few minutes. I can't stand the thought of your leaving me." I shut my eyes hard and squelched a sob before it rose in my throat. "Want to take a walk?" I nodded silently, and we set off down the beach, side by side, but far apart. I still felt terribly alone.

"We'd better go back, Chris. Sam." We had walked halfway to the point at the other end, and we still had to walk back to the inlet, swim back to the Bolinas Beach, and then get back to the house. It would take at least a half hour to accomplish, and I had really begun to worry about Sam being alone in the house. She'd be frightened if she woke up and there was no one there. It wasn't dangerous, but it still wasn't nice.

"Okay, Gill. I wanted to stop at our cove." His voice sounded like that of a small boy who has just suffered an immense disappointment, but his words were like a slap in the face.

"Chris, how could you? You really don't understand a G.o.ddam thing." The peace of the silent walk on the moonlit beach was totally interrupted, and I began to run toward the inlet. When I got there, I dove into the water and swam as hard as I could toward the other side. But he reached the beach even before I did and he swung me into his arms and held me tight when I got out of the water.

"You just shut up, G.o.ddam you, Gillian Forrester. I did a lousy thing today. But I love you, and if you don't know that by now you aren't worth a d.a.m.n." He crushed his mouth down hard onto mine and his kiss touched my very soul.

"Chris. . . ."

"Shut up. We have to go back to Sam." He took my hand firmly in his, walked me over to my pile of clothes, and watched me dress as he slid into his jeans. They were all he'd worn.

When I was dressed, he took me by the hand again, and we walked back to the house without saying another word. The lights were on, and all was quiet when we got in. I checked and was relieved to see that Sam was still asleep. And as I walked away from her room I saw ours. Chris had tidied up, the bed was made with fresh sheets, and there were flowers from the garden in a vase.

"Are you coming to bed?" He was sitting on the edge of it, and smiled a tiny smile.

"You did a nice job." There was no sign to remind me of what had happened that afternoon, except what was already lodged in my head, like an aching splinter.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you coming to bed?" He flicked out the light, and I stood there in the darkness, wondering what to do. I didn't want to get into the bed but I didn't want to leave him either. I wondered if he had been right when he had said earlier that if I had come home as late as I'd planned I wouldn't have known, and nothing would have changed. Except I hadn't come home as planned.

He turned over on his side in the darkness and I walked slowly into the room and began to take off my clothes. I would sleep with him, but I would not make love. Maybe he didn't want to anyway. He had had his for the day. The memory made me cringe again as I slipped between the sheets, turned my back to him, and fell asleep, exhausted.

I woke up next morning to the smell of bacon frying, and looked at the clock. It was 5 A.M. and it was foggy outside.