Again she reached to touch him, this time his hair. "Don't turn your face away, Jory. Look at me. Let me see that you don't hate me for failing you when you needed me most. Shout at me, hit me, but don't stop. communicating. I'm tied up in knots. I can't sleep at night, feeling I should have done something to keep you from dancing that role. I've always hated that particular ballet and didn't want to tell you when you choreographed it and made it your signature." She wiped at her tears, then sank to her knees by his bed and bowed her head onto his hand, which she'd managed to seize.
Her low voice barely reached my ears. "We can make a life together. You can teach me how. Wherever you lead, Jory, I'll follow . . . just tell me that you want me to stay."
Maybe because she was hiding her face now, with her tears wetting his hand beneath her cheek, he turned his head and looked at her with such
tormented, tragic eyes. He cleared his throat before he spoke and dried his tears with the edge of the sheet.
"I don't want you to stay if living with me is going to be a burden. You can always go back to New York and dance with other partners. Because I'm crippled doesn't mean you have to be crippled, too. You have your career, and all those years of dedicated work. So go, Mel, with my blessings . . . I don't need you now."
My heart cried out, knowing differently.
She looked up, her makeup ruined from so many tears. "How could I live with myself, Jory? I'll stay. I'll do my best to make you a good wife." She paused while I thought her timing was so wrong, so damned wrong. She gave him time to think that he didn't need a wife, only a nurse and companion, and a substitute mother for his child.
I closed my eyes and began to pray. God, let her find the right words. Why isn't she telling him the ballet meant nothing without him? Why didn't she say his happiness counted more than anything else? Melodie, Melodie, say something to make him believe his handicap doesn't matter, it's the man he'll always be that you love. But she said nothing like this.
She only opened his gifts for him, showed them to him, while he studied her face with bleaker and bleaker eyes.
He thanked her for the best-selling novel she'd brought (chosen by me); thanked her for the traveling shaving kit with the sterling silver razors--straight edged, electric and a third kind, dual edged--with a silver-handled lathering brush and a round mirror that could be attached to anything with a suction cup guaranteed to work. There was also a fancy silver mug with soap, cologne and after-shave lotion. Then finally she was opening the best gift, a huge mahogany box full of watercolors, a hobby that Chris enjoyed. He planned to teach Jory the technique of using watercolors as soon as he came home. Jory stared at the paintbox for the longest time without interest before he looked away. "You have good taste, Mel."
Bowing her head, she nodded. "Is there anything else you need?"
"No. Just leave. I'm sleepy. It's nice to see you again, but I'm tired."
She backed off hesitatingly, while my heart cried for them both. So much in love before his accident, and all that passion had been washed away in the deluge of her shock and his humiliation.
I stepped into the room.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I think Jory is tired, Melodie." I smiled at both brightly. "You just wait until you see what we're planning for your return home. If painting doesn't interest you now, it will later on. At home we've got other treasures waiting for you. You're going to be thrilled, but I can't tell you anything. It's all supposed to be a huge welcome-back surprise." I hurried to embrace him, which wasn't easy to do when his body was so bulky and hard with the cast. I kissed his cheek, ruffled his hair and squeezed his fingers. "It's going to be all right, darling," I whispered. "She has to learn to accept just like you do. She's trying hard, and if she doesn't say the words you want to hear, it's because she's too much in shock to think straight."
Ironically he smiled. "Sure, Mom, sure. She loves me just as much as she did when I could walk and dance. Nothing has changed. Nothing important."
Melodie was already out of his room and standing in the hall waiting, so she didn't hear any of this. Over and over again she repeated on our way home, with Chris following in his car, "Oh, my God, my God .. . oh, my God . . . what are we going to do?"
"You did fine, Melodie, just fine. The next time you'll do even better," said I, brightly.
A week passed and Melodic did do better on her second visit, and even better on her third. Now she didn't resist when I told her where she had to go. She knew it wouldn't do her any good to resist.
Another day I sat in my dressing room before the long mirror, carefully applying mascara. Chris stepped into view with a look of pleasure on his face.
"I've got something great to tell you," he started. "Last week I went to visit the university scientific staff and filled out an application for their cancer research team. They realize there, of course, that I've only been an amateur biochemist in my spare time. Nevertheless, for some reason, some of my answers seemed to please them, and they have asked me to join their staff of scientists. Cathy, I'm thrilled to have something to do. Bart has agreed to allow us to stay on here as long as we like, or until he marries. I've talked to Jory, and he wants to be near us. His apartment in New York is so small. Here hell have wide halls and large rooms that will accommodate his wheelchair. Right now he says he'll never use one, but he will change his mind when that cast comes off."
Chris's enthusiasm for the new job was contagious. I wanted to see him happy, with something to do to take his mind off Jory's problems. I stood to he
ad for the closet, but he pulled me down on his lap to polish off his story. Some of what he said I didn't understand, for every so often he'd forgetfully slip into medical jargon, which was still Greek to me.
"Will you be happy, Chris? It's important for you to do what you want with your life. Jory's happiness is important as well, but I don't want you staying on here if Bart is going to be insufferable. Be honest . . . can you tolerate Bart just to give Jory a wonderful place to live?"
"Catherine, my love, as long as you are here, then of course I'll be happy. As for Bart, I've put up with him all these years, and I can take it for as long as need be. I know who is seeing Jory through this traumatic period. I may help a little, but it's you who brings more sunshine with your gossipy chatter, your lilting manner, your armloads of gifts and your consistent reassurances that Melodie will change. He considers every word you say as if it comes straight from God."
"But you'll be coming and going, and we won't see much of you," I moaned.
"Hey, take that look off your face. I'll drive home every night and try to reach here before dark." He went on to explain that he didn't have to reach the university lab until ten, and that would give us plenty of time to breakfast together. There wouldn't be emergency calls to take him away at night; he'd have every weekend off, a month off with pay, not that money mattered to us. We'd take trips to conventions where I'd meet people with innovative ideas, the kind of creative people I enjoyed best.
On and on he extolled the virtues of his new enterprise, making me accept something he seemed to want very much. Still, I slept in his arms that night, fretting, wishing we'd never come to this house that held so many terrible memories and had caused so many tragedies.
Around midnight, unable to sleep, I got up to sit in our private sitting room that adjoined our bedroom, knitting what was supposed to end up a fluffy white baby bonnet. I almost felt like my mother as I furiously knitted on and on with such intensity I couldn't put it down. Like her I could never let anything alone until it was finished.
A soft rapping sounded on the door, soon followed by Melodie's request to come in. Delighted to have her visit, I answered, "Of course, come in. I'm glad you saw the light under my door. I was thinking about you and Jory while I knitted, and darn if I know how to stop once I start a project."