Am I saying that I feel nothing for James anymore? Not exactly. But the truth is that I wanted to take him away from Mary more than I wanted him for myself.
We began by chatting about this and that, but with James, casual conversation does not last very long, especially when he has patients waiting. He quickly turned on his cool, calm exterior. His voice became as brisk and professional as his well-groomed appearance.
“You said you had to see me about something urgent?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m just not sure how to tell you.”
“How to tell me what?”
I took a deep breath then and feigned looking confused. “I just feel so bad.”
“About what?”
“I hate to see you play the chump, James.” I reached across the desk and took his hands. “There was a time when you meant a great deal to me. Do you remember?”
“Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “Now what is it?”
That was when I did it. I told James everything. I told him his wife was having an affair. I told him that Mary was sleeping with Sinclair Baskin. I told him that she was carrying his baby.
At first James did not react. He merely played with the pencil between his fingers. Then his jaw set. His face turned red. His hands clenched, snapping the pencil in half. Suddenly books were flying, then chairs, then furniture. He was a man out of control, completely crazy. I tried to calm him down, tried to warn him that someone would hear him, but he did not pay heed. He tore apart the office he so loved until his rage finally gave way to exhaustion. He crumpled back into his chair (it was the only thing still standing except me) and dropped his head into his hands.
I circled around the desk. “Don’t worry, James. I love you. I’ll take care of you.” I reached his seat and put my hands on his shoulders. He winced in revulsion. My hands flew back to my sides as if his shoulders were on fire. Slowly his head rose. He glared at me with a twisted look, a look of intense hatred.
“I don’t want you,” he said. “I want Mary.”
Gloria looked up. “Dad knew?”
Laura nodded.
“And he never said anything? He just raised you as his own?”
“I don’t know but I think we should read on.”
“Why?”
“This was written on May twenty-eighth.”
“So?”
“Sinclair Baskin died the next day.”
May 29, 1960
Help me. God, what have I done? The whole situation has become too much for me to handle. It’s completely out of control now. It’s taking on a life all its own, and I don’t know where it will lead. I fear the worst, but what else could possibly happen?
Mary just called me. The pregnancy test came back positive. Though James has kept up a good facade up till now, jealousy has already nibbled away at his ability to reason. What is he going to do now that speculation has become fact?
Mary is on her way to Sinclair’s office to tell him the news. Sinclair, my beloved, what have you done? I understand the power of Mary’s beauty, the sensuous spell she can cast over a man. But wasn’t our love strong enough to fight it off ? Wasn’t our love powerful enough to deflect her physical charms harmlessly into space? Will you grow tired of her and come back to me eventually? Yes, I am sure you will. I must wait.
Later:My life is over. The moment I saw the blood on James’s shirt I knew what had happened. I said nothing. My face showed no emotion. But inside someone was screaming until the vibrations wore through me.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said to me, his voice bordering on hysterical. “I just meant to confront him, to confront them both.” His hands were shaking. “It just happened.”
“Just happened,” a voice echoed. I guess it was mine.
“I was listening in at the door of his office, my ear pressed against the wooden frame. I could not believe what I heard. Mary wanted to leave me. She wanted to run away with that son of a bitch.”
I still said nothing.
“But the bastard wouldn’t listen to her. He threw her out. He was so cold to her, so heartless. He knew he had impregnated a married woman and the son of a bitch reacted by tossing her out of his office like yesterday’s garbage.”
“What did Mary do?” I asked.
“She was in shock. She could not believe he was just going to abandon her like this. She called him a bastard and ran out. I ducked in an empty door way down the hall as she sprinted past. The next thing I remember, the gun was out of my pocket and in my hand.”
“No,” I cried, while my mind kept shouting, “Sinclair is dead, Judy. James may have pulled the trigger but your jealousy killed him.”
James was in a trance now, his eyes wide and dreamy. “I stepped out of my hiding spot,” he began, “and moved slowly down the hall. When I reached his door, I peeked into his office. He was just sitting in his chair looking out the window. His back was to me. I crept closer. My hand gripped the gun. I had not held a weapon since I was in the service, but it felt so right in my palm. As he began to swivel his chair toward the door, I placed the gun against his forehead. He froze for a split second. His eyes, so full of fear, locked onto mine, and I think he knew then that he was about to die. I called him a bastard and then I pulled the trigger. . . .”
“Dad?” Gloria asked, though she knew the answer. “Dad killed Sinclair Baskin?”
Laura felt herself slowly slipping into a shock. “And Judy,” she managed, “and even Stan. . . .”
“No! Not Dad! He couldn’t!”
“Who else? Didn’t you say Stan saw the murder take place, that he remembered the killer’s face? He must have recognized Dad when he saw him at the game.”
“It can’t be.”
“And Judy,” Laura went on, “was going to tell me everything.”
“But I don’t understand. Why did Judy wait so long to say something, Laura? Why didn’t she tell someone years ago?”
“I’m not sure,” Laura said, “but she was probably scared out of her mind. She blames herself for what happened to Sinclair. If she had not betrayed her sister’s trust, he would still be alive. She might have seen herself as an accomplice. And what would have been the point of saying something anyway? It was over. Telling people would not bring Sinclair back.”
“So what made her change her mind after all these years? Why did she finally say something?”
Laura thought for a moment. “David’s drowning,” she concluded. “When David died, she must have realized that the past could not just be wished away.”