Dating Game Read online

  It was a lonely summer for her, with Wim gone, and Meg in Los Angeles. She and Peter had come to an agreement about the settlement. She was getting the house, as Peter had promised, and a respectable amount of support. He'd been generous with her, to buy off his conscience, and she didn't have to work. But she wanted to do something. She didn't want to just sit around for the rest of her life, particularly if she was going to be alone, which she assumed she would. Anne Smythe tried to talk to her from time to time about going out with men, and Paris didn't want to hear about it. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was date. It was a door she refused to open. She didn't even want to peek inside, and Anne always let it go, but she continued to suggest it from time to time.

  The only people Paris saw that summer were Virginia and Natalie. She didn't go to any dinner parties or social events. She had no desire to go anywhere, except lunch with her two friends occasionally, but by August she was looking better again. She had been working in the garden, reading a lot, and sleeping less during the day, and better at night. She had a deep tan, and had never looked better, although she was still very thin. But by the time Wim came home from Europe, she looked more herself again, and he was relieved to see a familiar twinkle in her eye when she picked him up at the airport and threw her arms around him. He had been very good about calling her, and he had had a fantastic time in France, Italy, England, and Spain, and all he could talk about was going back again next year.

  “I'm going with you, if you do,” she warned him, with a look of mischief in her eye, which delighted him. She had looked like a dead person when he left. “You were gone for way too long. I don't know what I'm going to do when you go away to school.” And then she told him about the suggestion Anne Smythe had made, about moving to California. Paris was curious about his reaction.

  “Would you really move?” He looked startled by the idea, and not as enthusiastic as she'd hoped at first. Meg had been much more excited about it. He was looking forward to being independent when he went away to college, and he had visions of her bringing his lunch to him on campus in the little Batman lunch box he'd had when he was in first grade. “Would you sell this house?” It was the only home he had ever really known, and he hated that possibility too. He liked thinking of her in the home he loved, waiting for him, just as he had imagined her all summer while he trotted around Europe.

  “No. If I did anything, I'd rent it, but I'm not even sure I'd do that. It's just a crazy notion I had.” She wasn't sold on the idea herself.

  “How'd you come up with that?” he inquired, looking intrigued.

  “My shrink suggested it,” she said blithely, and he stared at her.

  “Your shrink? Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Better than I was when you left,” she said calmly, and smiled at him. “I think it helps.”

  “Whatever works,” he said valiantly, and then mentioned it to his sister that night on the phone. “Did you know Mom was going to a shrink?”

  “Yes, I think it's done her a lot of good,” Meg said sensibly. Her mother had seemed less depressed in the last two months since she had started seeing Anne Smythe, which Meg thought was a good thing.

  “Is Mom losing it?” he asked, sounding worried, and his sister laughed.

  “No, but she has a right to, after what Dad did to her.” She was still angry at her father for disrupting all their lives, and Wim didn't like it either. “A lot of people would have lost it after a shock like that. Did you call Dad while you were in Europe?” He had, but his father hadn't had much to say. He had called his mother more often, and his sister frequently. But most of the time, he just had fun with his friends.

  “Do you think she'll really move to California?” Wim was still surprised by the idea, but he could see some benefits in it, as long as she didn't turn up in Berkeley constantly. He was still concerned about that.

  “Maybe. It would be a big change for her. I'm not sure she really wants to, I think she's just playing with the idea right now. What do you think?” Meg was curious about his reaction.

  “It might be okay,” he said cautiously.

  “It would be a lot better for her than sitting around in Greenwich in an empty house by herself. I hate to think of her sitting there alone after you leave.”

  “Yeah, me too.” It made him think about what that would be like for his mother, and he didn't like that either. “Maybe she should get a job and meet some people,” he said thoughtfully.

  “She wants to, she just doesn't know what to do.

  She's never really worked. She'll figure it out eventually. The shrink will help.”

  “I guess.” He was still surprised by that. He had never thought of his mother needing anyone to solve her problems, but he had to admit, she had had her share of surprises in the last three months. It had been a big adjustment for him too. It felt strange to come home and have his father not be there. He drove into the city to see him two days after he got home, and they went out to lunch. He introduced him to several lawyers in his office, including a girl who hardly looked older than Meg, and she had been very warm and friendly to him. He mentioned her to his mother when he got home, and she looked instantly stressed. All he could think of was that it upset her now to hear about his father, so he didn't say much about it after that.

  Peter had promised to fly out to San Francisco, to help settle him in school. And Paris didn't look pleased about that either, although she didn't say anything to Wim. But she was planning to go out and settle him in the dormitory too. And having Peter there was going to be hard for her. But above all, she didn't want to make it a problem for Wim. And it didn't seem fair to Peter or Wim, to ask Peter not to come. But she discussed it with Anne the next time they met.

  “Do you think you'll be able to handle being out there with him?” Anne asked her sympathetically, as they sat in her office peacefully one afternoon, and Paris looked uncertain as she considered it, and then finally looked at her, feeling stressed. Even thinking about it was hard.

  “To be honest, I'm not sure. It's going to be so strange being there with Peter. Do you think maybe I shouldn't go?” Paris looked worried.

  “How would your son feel about that?”

  “I think he'd be disappointed, and so would I.”

  “What about asking Peter to pass on it?” she suggested, and Paris shook her head. She didn't like that idea either.

  “I think Wim would be sad if Peter doesn't go.”

  “Well, you have my cell number. You can always call me, if things get tough. And you can always leave the dormitory, if it's too uncomfortable for you. You and Peter can agree to go there in shifts.” Paris hadn't thought of that, and she liked that as a fallback position if it was too awkward being there with him.

  “How bad can it get?” Paris asked her hesitantly, trying to sound braver than she felt.

  “That depends on you,” Anne said quietly, and for the first time, Paris realized that was true. “You have every right to walk away, if you want to. Or to not even go out there. I'm sure Wim would understand, if you don't think you can handle it. He doesn't want you to be unhappy either.” And she had been very, very unhappy, and he knew it, ever since Peter left.

  “Maybe I'll look at houses while I'm there,” Paris said thoughtfully.

  “That might be fun for you,” Anne said, encouraging her. Paris hadn't made any decision yet about moving west. It was just something they talked about from time to time, but she still thought she wanted to stay in Greenwich. It was familiar, and she felt safer there. She wasn't ready to make any drastic moves. But it was yet another option that she had. She hadn't solved the job issue yet either. And for lack of a better idea, she had signed up for volunteer work at a children's shelter in September. It was a start. It was all a process, a journey, rather than a destination, at this point. And for now, Paris still had no idea where she was going, or where she would land. Peter had tossed her out of the plane without a parachute three months before, and given everything
that had happened, Anne told her that she thought she was doing well. She was getting up in the morning, combing her hair, getting dressed, seeing her two best friends for lunch occasionally, and she was bracing herself for Wim to leave for college. It was all she could manage for now.

  He was leaving in three days, and Paris was going with him, the last time she saw Anne before the trip. She was braced to see Peter, and she kept telling herself she could handle it. And after she dropped Wim off at school, she was going to L.A. to see Meg. It was something to look forward to, and as she left Anne's office, Paris turned to look at her with a worried expression.

  “Am I going to make it?” she asked, feeling like a frightened child, and the doctor smiled.

  “You're doing fine. Call if you need me,” Anne reminded her again, and Paris nodded, and hurried down the stairs, as she left, reminding herself over and over again of what the doctor had said to her … you're doing fine… you're doing fine. The words echoed in her head. All she could do now was keep on going, and do the best she could, and hope she landed on her feet one day. It was the only choice Peter had left her when he threw her out of the plane. And one day, maybe, if she was very lucky, and the fates were smiling on her, her parachute would open finally. She wasn't even sure yet if she was wearing one, and all she could do was pray she was. But there was no sign of a parachute yet. The wind was still whistling past her head at a terrifying rate.

  Chapter 6

  Paris and Wim flew to San Francisco with all his bags and treasures and computer. Peter was flying out on his own later that night. And all the way out on the flight, as Wim watched the movie, and slept for a while, Paris worried about what it would be like seeing Peter again. After twenty-four years of marriage, he almost felt like a stranger to her now. And the worst of it was that she was aching to see him again, almost like a drug she needed to survive. After three months, and all he had done in leaving her, she was still in love with him, and hoping that some miracle would occur and he'd come back. The only person she'd been able to admit that to was Anne Smythe, who told her it wasn't unusual to feel that way, and that one day, she'd be able to let go, and ready to move on, but apparently not yet.

  The flight took just over five hours, and they took a cab to the Ritz-Carlton, where Paris had reserved two rooms, for Wim and herself. And she took Wim out to dinner in Chinatown that night. They had a nice time together, as they always did, and when they got back to the hotel, they called Meg. Paris was flying down to see her in two days, after she got Wim settled in his dorm. She assumed it would take two days, and she was in no rush to leave him there. What she really dreaded now was going home.

  She had rented a small van to take his belongings across the bridge to the university, and the following morning they left the hotel by ten, and followed all the instructions they'd been given to sign in. And as soon as they got there, Wim took control. He gave his mother the slip of paper with his dorm address, told her he'd meet her there in two hours, and set off on foot. It took her a full half-hour just to find the address. The UC Berkeley campus was huge. She walked around for a little while, and then sat on a rock in the sunshine outside the dorm, waiting for him. It was pleasant just sitting there. The weather was warm, the sun was hot, and it was at least fifteen degrees warmer than it had been in San Francisco an hour before. And as she sat there, enjoying the sun on her face, she saw a familiar figure in the distance, a slow rolling gait she had seen a million times before, and would have recognized with her eyes closed, just from the pounding of her heart. It was Peter, walking straight toward her with a determined look, and he stopped a few feet away from her.

  “Hello, Paris,” he said coolly, as though they'd scarcely met before. None of their time or history together showed in his eyes or on his face. He had braced himself for that. And so had she. “Where's Wim?”

  “Signing up for classes, and getting his dorm room key. He should be here in another hour.” He nodded, looking uncertain about what to do, wait with her, or leave and come back. But he had nothing else to do either, and the campus was so overwhelming in its enormity, it was a little daunting to wander off. Like her, he preferred to stay and wait, although he felt awkward being with her. He hadn't been looking forward to the trip either, and had steeled himself for it, for Wim's sake.

  They sat in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. He tried to keep his mind on Rachel. She kept remembering the things she had discussed with Anne Smythe about seeing him again. And in the end, it was Peter who spoke first.

  “You look well,” he said formally, without commenting on the fact that she looked beautiful, but very thin.

  “Thank you. So do you.” She didn't ask how Rachel was, or how he liked living in New York, presumably with her. Paris had suspected for months that the hotel room he was keeping was only a front, for the chil-dren's sake, and the proprieties prior to the divorce. She didn't ask him if he was happy to be nearly divorced. The divorce was going to be final between Thanksgiving and Christmas, which would add a new dimension to the holidays for her this year. “It was nice of you to come out,” she said politely, feeling an ache in her heart just being this close to him, and having to engage in small talk with him, which seemed so absurd. “It means a lot to Wim.”

  “I thought it might, that's why I came. I hope you don't mind that I'm here.” She looked up at him, and he was more handsome than ever. She had to brace herself just to look at him. It was still nearly impossible to believe how totally and suddenly and irreversibly he had rejected her. It was the single greatest blow of her life. She couldn't even imagine recovering from it, or daring to care about someone again. All she could imagine was loving him, and hurting like this, for the rest of her life.

  “I think we both have to get used to doing things like this,” she said practically, trying to sound healthier than she felt. “There are going to be a lot of events that are important to the kids, and we've got to be able to manage it for them.” Although this was in very close quarters, and over several days, which made it harder for her, particularly on unfamiliar turf. She couldn't go home to safe, familiar surroundings afterward to lick her wounds. All she could do was go back to a hotel, which wasn't the same. He nodded, in silent agreement with her, and all she could feel was the future stretching forever in front of them. A future in which he had Rachel, and she was alone.

  He sat on a bench in silence for a while, as she sat quietly on the rock, both of them wishing that Wim would hurry up. And finally, Peter looked at her again. He seemed to be growing increasingly uncomfortable, and whenever she glanced at him, she could almost see him squirm.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her finally, and she opened her eyes. She'd been holding her face up to the sun, trying not to feel the proximity of him, which was nearly impossible. She was aching to get up and throw herself into his arms, or at his feet. How was it possible to spend more than half a lifetime with someone and simply have them get up one morning and walk away? It was still nearly impossible for her to accept or even fathom.

  “I'm fine,” she said quietly, not entirely sure of what he meant. Did he mean now, while waiting for Wim and sitting on a rock in the sun, or in a broader sense? She didn't want to ask.

  “I worry about you,” he said, looking at his shoes. It was too painful to look at her. Everything he had done to her was in her eyes. They looked like pools of broken green glass. “This has been hard for us both,” he offered finally, which was hard to believe.

  “It's what you want, isn't it?” she whispered, praying he would say no. This was her last chance to say it to him, or so it felt.

  “Yes.” He spat the word out like a rock that had been caught in his throat. “It is. But that doesn't mean it's easy for me either. I can only imagine how you must feel.” To his credit, he looked sad and worried about her.

  “No, you can't. I couldn't have imagined it either, until it happened to me. It's like a death, only worse. Sometimes I try to pretend that you are dead, which
is easier, then I don't have to think about where you are, or why you left.” She was being excruciatingly honest with him. But why not at this point? She had nothing left to lose.

  “It'll get better with time,” he said gently, not knowing what else to say, and then mercifully, they both saw Wim running down the road toward them. He arrived like a burst of summer wind, hot and perspiring and out of breath. For an instant, Paris was sorry he had come when he had, and then just as quickly, she was relieved. She had heard all she needed to know. Peter was firm in his decision, and only sorry for her. She didn't want his pity but his heart. The conversation could only have gone downhill from there.

  It was easier to focus on Wim, and from then on, they were both busy carrying his belongings upstairs. Once they got into the room, Paris stationed herself in the area of Wim's bed, to unpack what they brought up, and Peter and Wim lugged boxes and bags, a trunk, a small stereo, his computer, and his bicycle up three flights of stairs. They had rented a microwave and a tiny refrigerator from the school. He had everything he'd need, and it was four o'clock before everything was set up. Two of his roommates had arrived by then, and the third appeared just as they left. They all looked like healthy, young, wholesome boys. Two were from California, and the third was from Hong Kong. And they seemed a good mix. Wim had promised to have dinner with Peter that night, and he said he'd be back at six, and then turned to Paris as they walked slowly down the stairs. They both looked tired, it had been a long day, and emotional in every way. She was not only watching her youngest child fly the nest, and helping him do it as she lovingly made his bed and put his clothes away, but she was setting Peter free at the same time, or trying to. It was a reminder of her double loss. Triple, when she thought of Meg. All the people she counted on and loved were now gone from her daily life, and Peter far more than that. He was gone for good.