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Eros and Order
part two

Carl Parsons

    “Why, don’t you like me the way I am?” Sandra freed one arm and started to rub away the lipstick stain, but Iris immediately grabbed her wrist and held it, tight enough to hurt. Sandra winced.
    “Don’t do that!” Iris admonished.
    Then in a lighter voice, releasing her grip, she added, “You’re great, Sandy, just like you are! You’re beautiful. And everybody knows it.” She pointed to the mirror again. “Why, men trip all over themselves just to get near you. I’ve watched them. Women look at you, too, wishing they could be you. Say, do you remember that guy at the beach last October? Every afternoon he’d show up and follow you around like a lost puppy, probably trying to get up the nerve to make a play for you.”
    Sandra thought, then replied, almost in a whisper, “I do remember him.”
    “But you know what, you still need to loosen up. And leave my lipstick where I put it. I put it there on purpose, you know.” Iris waggled her forefinger in Sandra’s face playfully. “Let the whole world know about us. When people see us together tonight, they’ll know right away where that kiss came from, now won’t they?”
    Ignoring Iris’s last remark, Sandra repeated, “Yes, I do remember that man.” Her voice had become wistful, distant, and she looked away from Iris. “He did find the nerve, you know. On our last day there, he took me to his room.”
    “He did! Why you little slut! I don’t remember that.”
    “No, you were too busy on the beach, playing nearly nude volleyball with that gaggle of college girls.” Sandra looked back at Iris now and punched her arm lightly. “See, you didn’t even miss me, did you?”
    “Wow, I guess not. But, hey, tell me more! He was really a nice-looking guy.”
    Sandra slipped from Iris’s embrace, effortless now, feeling as though she might float away. “Yes, he was. But first let me get my coat so we can go.”
    She walked toward the bedroom, still talking—and remembering. As she went, she raised her voice so that Iris could hear. “When he saw I was alone that afternoon, on the patio at the resort, he offered to buy me a Margarita. Naturally, I accepted. He said his name was Alex. No last name. I told him I was Alessandra and that you always called me by my nickname, Sandy, since I suspected he’d already heard you. At least that much between us was true.” Perhaps there was more, she thought, but that was later. “Anyhow, he said he was a salesman. Restaurant equipment, I think. I didn’t understand everything he told me.”
    “Hah, no wonder.” Iris called back to her. “Your mind wasn’t on his occupation, now was it? But—now tell me the truth, Sandy girl—wasn’t he younger than you?”
    Sandra was standing out of sight now and motionless, her hand on the closet door. “Yes, a little bit, I think. Maybe three or four years. He never said; I never asked.”
    He acted so much like Paul, she remembered, so solicitous and tender. Details now rushed back to her. He had been so shy with her. He offered her a second Margarita, probably because he still needed time to muster his courage. She accepted that one, too. When he still hadn’t asked or suggested anything, she helped him.
    “Are you staying at this resort, Alex?”
    “No, I’m in Myrtle Beach on business. Can’t show a resort bill on my expense report, only a motel.” He laughed. “But I am buying our drinks with my own money, I really am.” He wanted to make his gallantry clear to her.
    Finally, he said, “The motel I’m staying in is just next door. Would you like to walk over that way with me? Perhaps go inside? To my room?” He glanced at his watch. She glanced at hers, then sipped her drink.
    “It’s two thirty now,” he continued, apparently sensing her interest.
    “So?” she said.
    “Well, housekeeping always starts on the third floor. That’s where my room is. The maids have finished by now. And everyone else is at the beach. It’s very private at this time of day.”
    She smiled at him and picked up her drink. “I guess I can take this along, can’t I?” she said. “They only give you plastic cocktail glasses out here on the patio.”
    He took her hand as she stood up and kept it in his as they walked, holding it the entire way, even when they kissed in the elevator, held it until he unlocked the door to his room.
    “We were still wearing our beach clothes,” Sandra resumed, speaking aloud again to Iris.
    “Yeah, I think you had on your orange bikini that day, didn’t you? It looked great with your tan.”
    “Thanks. It’s Paul’s favorite, too.” She opened the closet door and stared vacantly inside. “I also had on the matching beach jacket. He was wearing khaki shorts and a green sport shirt.”
    “I’ll bet he didn’t let you keep that jacket on for long, not once he got you inside his room, now did he? Or the bikini for that matter?”
    “No, he didn’t, but he didn’t rush things, either.” Sandra forced a laugh, making certain it was loud enough for Iris to hear, then added, “In fact, the first thing he did was put warm water in the ice bucket and wash my feet.”
    “Washed your feet! Ha, he just wanted to keep sand out of his sheets since they had already been changed.”
    “No, I don’t think so because he didn’t let me to wash his?”
    “You mean you actually offered to wash his feet?”
    “Yes, I did, but he said no. And when he had finished washing mine, he kissed them and then put me on the bed. So, you see, he didn’t hurry.”
    “He was a good lover, then, is that what you’re saying?” Iris had lowered her voice now, for she was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, her shoulder against the door jam. “Was he worth it?”
    Sandra hesitated a moment. “Yes, oh yes, he was,” she answered softly. “He kissed me all over before we finished.”
    “Okay, now tell me this, what’s been taking you so long in here, anyway? Were you in here daydreaming about him? And are you now?”
    Sandra took her camel-hair coat from the closet and pulled it on. “No, not daydreaming, just babbling, I suppose. Just can’t find my gloves.” She lied.
    Then, after patting the sides of her coat, she pulled her leather gloves from one of the pockets. “Ah, they were here all along. Sorry.” She put them on and resumed. “He was a very good lover, Iris. And fortunately, by that time in the week, I was feeling normal again, thanks to your help with the clinic.”
    “Oh, you’re welcome. They’ve always been good to me there.”
    She remembered his face bending down to kiss her as she lay on his bed. He seemed filled with awe just at her presence, much as Paul had been their first time together.
    “And I’m sure I satisfied him,” Sandra added, out of nowhere.
    “Satisfied him? What about you? Were you satisfied?”
    “It was wonderful for me, too.”
    “Was he single?” Iris was tapping her foot by now.
    “Yes, at least he said he was. But, either way, I think most of all he was lonely.”
    “And did you tell him you were married?”
    “Had to,” she said, then added, “He saw my rings.”
    Sandra was staring at the floor now, remembering how gently Alex had touched her and caressed her as they first stood beside his bed. He asked if she were comfortable. Was the room too warm, too cold? Did she want anything. One pillow, or did she use two?
    “One,” she whispered to him. “Nothing else now, only you.”
    “I was still wearing my wedding rings, then, afraid I’d forget to put them back on before I got home and Paul would notice. I wasn’t ready for that. It was my left hand he was holding as we walked to the motel. So, of course, he asked me about the rings. I told him I was separated from my husband. But I never gave him my last name.”
    “No,” Iris laughed, “never do that. No names and no addresses. And don’t ever let them take that ‘picture-to-remember-you-by’ either.”
    “After I confessed, he said it was all right. Said he understood, and that it didn’t matter.”
    “Of course, it didn’t matter, Silly. You were about to give him everything he wanted, probably more than he ever hoped for.”
    Maybe so. I tried to. “After we made love, he begged me to stay, to have dinner with him, and to spend the night with him.” Sandra raised her head to look at Iris. “We talked about loneliness. Is everyone everywhere lonely, Iris? He told me I was too pretty to be alone. But I told him I was already with someone. That I was with you. After that, I think he just gave up. He walked me back to the resort and kissed me goodbye outside our room.” Kissed me as though he might die when we stopped, because then he would be alone again.
    “It was hard not to invite him in, Iris.” Harder still to send him away. Sandra managed a smile now, coming back to the moment, and poked Iris in the chest. “As for you, it was nearly six by then.” Sandra injected a comical ring into her voice. “And you were still playing volleyball, I guess.”
    “Nope, the game was over, and three of us had piled into one of the girl’s room for a while to fool around.”
    “Well, when you came back, I forgot about Alex, until now.” She lied again.
    “Good girl! But, like I said, men are so easy. This one might have been the real deal, but mostly they only treat you like you’re Venus when they want to get you in bed. After they’ve managed that trick, comes a little afterglow. And then—poof! —away they go, back where they came from. So, Girlie, we have to do the same—use them and lose them. And that’s all there is to love with a man, Sandy. Never expect anything more.”
    Iris embraced her and planted another kiss on her cheek, just below the first one.
    “There,” she proclaimed, “now you’re branded for life!”
    “Well, are we going?” Sandra feigned impatience.
    “Sure, I’ve been ready. You’re the one who’s been holding us up, Daydreamer! And when we get back,” Iris said while taking Sandra by the hand and glancing suggestively at the bed, “you can be my pillow princess again—unless you’re ready for more.”
5.
    Late Monday morning, Sandra was organizing her appointments for the week. As she did, she kept thinking about Iris’s behavior at the Mexican restaurant on Saturday night, how she pointed out the lavender lipstick stains to the hostess, the waiter, and anybody else who passed by their table. She also thought about Josefina’s warning regarding Iris.
    Suddenly, Joel Burton, the department’s assistant director, appeared beside her cubicle. “Sandra, Jo needs to see you right away. She’s waiting in her office.” Joel’s manner, typically abrupt, seemed almost threatening today. As she walked toward the office, he walked several steps behind her, like an armed guard with a prisoner. The other case workers and clerks—everybody, really, including Iris—looked up from their work to stare at them. Sandra felt as though she were being marched to an execution. When she entered the office, Joel didn’t follow. Instead, he closed the door behind her.
    “Come, sit over here, Sandra.” Josefina rose from her desk and pulled a visitor chair close beside her own. “There’s a document we need to go over together, and I haven’t had a chance to make a copy yet.”
    When Sandra was seated, Josefina asked, “Do you remember a client named Bret Ashton?”
    “Yes—yes, I do, from about two months ago. A child custody case that went before Judge Rollins, but that case is closed now.” Sandra nervously rubbed her hands together as she replied.
    “And the wife involved, her name was Thea. Does that ring a bell?”
    Though she didn’t need to, Sandra delayed a moment, as if trying to recall the name. “Yes, that would be right. But what’s the problem? As I said, the case is closed. Judge Rollins awarded custody of the two Ashton children to Thea. Nothing unusual about that, is there?”
    “Except that Thea was arrested Friday for opioid distribution.” Josefina’s voice quickly darkened. “She’s in jail now, and her children have become wards of this county, at least for the moment. They’re probably headed for foster care, unless we can intervene.”
    Sandra jerked upright as though she’d been touched by a cattle prod; her face whitened. After recovering a bit, she replied, “I’m so sorry to hear that, I really am. The girl and boy are such sweet children, especially considering all they’ve been through with their parents. They’re about the same ages as my kids.”
    “Well, you might be sorrier yet, because there’s more. This morning I received a letter from a local attorney, William Givens. This letter.” Josefina held up the letter and shook it. “This guy Givens is a real shark, according to our county attorney. He represents the children’s father. What is his name, again?”
    “You mean Bret Ashton?” Sandra was quick to respond this time. “He’s an auto mechanic in one of the dealerships here in town.”
    “Ah yes, Ashton. I see it here,” Josefina said, looking at the letter. Then, with obvious frustration, she said, “Here, Sandra, read the letter first. Then we’ll talk.”
    Josefina thrust the two-page letter into Sandra’s hands, leaned back in her chair, and waited. Sandra could feel Josefina’s aquiline stare upon her, burning into her forehead, while she fumbled with the letter, trying to make sense of it.
    Finally, as she finished the second page, Sandra burst out, “Defamation . . . malicious intent! No such thing. I never said anything like that, Josefina. I wouldn’t.”
    “But you apparently said something that allowed Judge Rollins to hand over these children to their drug addicted mother, who then promptly took up once again the habit of leaving them on their own all day and much of the night while she went out to buy, abuse, and now even sell drugs. Much as she had done before. All of which had previously prompted her husband to file for divorce, after more than two years of having his children endangered and his own employment threatened by his wife’s misconduct. Only then to have this judge, whom we all know to be an incompetent idiot, award custody of the children to the wrong parent. Thus, giving rise to this new mess!”
    Josefina snatched the letter from Sandra and leaned back in her chair. “Now, you tell me what happened, Sandra, because that is what Attorney Givens is claiming in this letter.”
    “I only said that Thea’s rights as a woman and mother should be considered, too. That’s all. And that she was trying her best to reform.”
    “And what did you say about Bret Ashton.”
    “Very little. His side of this matter hardly came up at all.”
    “But when it did, what did you say about him.”
    “Only that he worked a lot of overtime, so it would be hard for him to care for the children if he had custody.”
    “Does working overtime make him an unfit parent?”
    “No, not necessarily.”
    “Did he say he was willing to provide a nanny for the children?”
    “Yes, but I knew he wouldn’t hire one. He already had a girlfriend who would do that for him. He’s just an auto mechanic, after all. He couldn’t afford a real nanny.”
    “But that’s not for you to decide, now is it? If the court made having a nanny a condition of custody, then he would have had to provide one. And, financially, he could probably have done so with the childcare payments he would have avoided by having custody. And if the nanny were his girlfriend, so much the better. At least that would be a someone he could trust, assuming he’s made a better choice with this woman than he did with Thea. After the divorce and awarding of custody, he intended to marry this girlfriend anyway—or so Givens says here.” Josefina looked at the letter again. “And, apparently, Ashton has done so since the divorce decree was issued. Did you see that on the second page?” Josefina held it out, pointing to the sentence in question. Sandra, merely glancing at it now, remembered all too well what it said.
    “Yes, I see it.” Sandra was nearly in tears now, fearing what the next moment would bring.
    “Sandra, this is a serious matter. Bret Ashton intends to sue this department for $500,000 based on the premise that you misinformed Judge Rollins about his fitness as a parent and ignored his wife’s addiction, thus endangering their children—again.”
    “But Thea promised to do better . . . she swore to me she would!” Sandra was openly crying now.
    “I’m sure she did. Just as she no doubt swore to her husband before. Many times, apparently. But after two years of her addictive behavior, he finally knew better, and as an experienced case worker, so should you. Thea wanted those children for the childcare money and welfare benefits they brought her—both of which she was spending on opioids! You should have anticipated that. But even that money wasn’t enough, so she lately started selling the junk as well. And got caught. Is that the good mother you defended to Judge Rollins in preference to a father whose greatest sin was working a lot of overtime to support his family?”
    Sandra didn’t answer.
    “Your own background check of Mr. Ashton, I see your own file, didn’t turn up so much as a traffic ticket.” Josefina slapped her hand on the file folder laying on her desk, a folder already quite familiar to Sandra.
    “I’ve been on the phone with our attorney most of the morning discussing this case. He says that this letter is a typical opening ploy by Givens, intended to scare us into a big settlement. Well, our department budget doesn’t have a line item called “big settlements,” and I’m not going to create one now.
    “The only good thing we have going for us is that Judge Rollins has been reprimanded previously for being too sympathetic with unworthy mothers, as you should have known. He seized on your comments about the overtime and used those to do what he wanted to do in the first place—and has done before. At least, that will be our position. Because of that, we may be able to wriggle off this nasty hook. But whether we do or we don’t, what distresses me more than anything in this whole mess is that the interests of the children were not served, not at all. And that fault, Sandra, falls squarely on your shoulders. Those children were the main stakeholders you were supposed to protect.”
    “I understand—and I’m sorry it happened this way. I see now I shouldn’t have trusted Thea.”
    “It could hardly have turned out otherwise, given her track record. Instead, you should have more fully considered the father’s position. What he was claiming was based on fact—his own hard experience of those facts—while you were relying solely on the promises of a drug addict.”
    By now Sandra was sobbing, but Josefina was still in no mood to offer sympathy.
    “I want you to go home for the rest of the day. Go home and think about how you’ve been handling your cases. Think whether you have any other cases that might bite us.”
    “There aren’t. I’m sure of it.”
    “Nevertheless, on Wednesday morning come in prepared to review with Joel and me the status of your current case load and those cases you’ve closed within, say, the last three months. I don’t want to see another surprise letter like this one, Sandra. Never!”
    “I will. I’ll be here.”
    “One more thing. I’ve gotten this case reopened with Judge Rollins. You need to write a letter to him at once stating explicitly that you found nothing to indicate that Bret Ashton is anything other than a worthy parent. Then bring me the letter. I’ll review it with our attorney. If it’s acceptable, then you may leave for the day. Understood?”
    “Yes, I understand. I’ll do it right away.”
6.
    That afternoon Sandra sat at the second-hand table Iris used in the kitchen. Her cell phone and the opened copy of The Iliad were on the table in front of her. Iris, home from work herself by now, had just come from the bedroom after changing into her workout clothes. She had asked Sandra if she were feeling okay, after commenting on how subdued and passive she had become.
    “I know you had a rough time today,” Iris said, “but are you losing your confidence in us? As a couple, I mean? I’m getting that feeling, I really am. And it’s annoying me.”
    Sandra remained silent.
    Giving up on getting a response, Iris grabbed her gym bag and headed for the door. “I’m going for a workout. Hope you’ll feel better when I get back. Want me to bring you a little pick-me-up? I can do it, you know. A snort or two of pixie dust works real well when you’re blue.”
    Then she was out the door before Sandra could answer, if she had intended to answer. A few minutes later she could hear the buzz of Iris’s Fiesta speeding from the parking lot. As always, Iris was driving faster than she should.
    Alone now, Sandra leaned her chin on her folded hands and thought: Has Josefina by now found something more in my case files that the county can use to fire me? Would they dare? If they did, could I contest it? Don’t I have rights as an independent woman? If they try, I’ll need a lawyer. But where would I get the money? There’s already the expense of the divorce attorney. And I’ve delayed paying her as long as I can.
    Opening the green book to no particular page, she stared at it and thought about Professor Volker. Was he right to question my separation from Paul? Did he see something I’ve missed, something perhaps in this book? She riffled the pages.
    Sandra was frightened now, more frightened than she had ever been in her entire life. For into the center of this maelstrom swirled question after question she couldn’t answer: Why had she left Paul in the first place? What was so wrong about him? His success? And what would have been so wrong about having another child, as he had wanted. “Time is running out for us,” he kept telling her. Or had she simply allowed feeling neglected to turn into hatred and hatred, with Iris’s prompting, to turn into a revenge of acting out in the most outrageous ways she could manage—running off with Iris to Myrtle Beach, aborting the child Paul wanted, flirting with strangers, falling into bed with one of them, and finally abandoning her marriage and her children! Had it now affected her work as well? Instead of the triumph of freedom, these acts now seemed to have contorted into demonic horrors. And their effects were becoming unbearable to her—the remembrance of Paul’s shock and disbelief at her leaving, perhaps now turning into serious depression; the children’s sadness and silence when she was with them, so profound that she could not even face them on most of the visitation days she herself had appointed! Instead, she had tried to lose herself with Iris and the illusion of freedom.
    She picked up the phone, thumbed her way to Paul’s number and pressed it. She was sure he would answer since he was always alert for calls from his clients. And answer he did, on the first ring. Could she come and speak with him tonight? “Yes, it’s urgent. I’ll explain when I get there—at the house, your house, I mean.”
    She said this as softly and calmly as she could manage, but she knew he could detect the distress in her voice. Just two days before she would have laden any call to him with sarcasm and taunts. Now the fire for lashing out had cooled—gone entirely cold, in fact. In its place she felt a sickening apprehension in the pit of her stomach.
    “Of course, you can come.” He’s on a speaker phone, probably in his car as usual, she thought. Then he added, “I’ll head that way right now.” Was he just being condescending, or was there still tenderness in his voice? She wasn’t sure.
    She placed her empty suitcases on the bed she’d been sharing with Iris and began filling them with clothes and toiletries, just in case. Suddenly, the apartment door opened, and Iris rushed into the living room, tossing her gym bag by the coat closet, as she always did. Sandra could hear it thud on the floor.
    “I’ve got some!” Iris called out, almost singing her announcement. “You can kiss your blues goodbye, Sandy girl . . .” Then in the bedroom doorway, she stopped abruptly, froze while holding up her prize up for Sandra to see, a zip bag containing two folds of aluminum foil.
    “Wait! What are you doing? What is this,” she asked.
    “I thought you were going to the gym,” Sandra replied. “And I need to talk to Paul.” Sandra continued packing without looking up.
    “So, you need pack two suitcases just to go talk to that bastard? What are you doing to me, Sandy! Look at me!”
    Sandra didn’t look. “I have to see him, Iris. I really do. I’m in trouble at work, serious trouble. I know you heard about it.”
    “Oh, that’ll blow over; it always does. I’ve told you that before. Don’t worry. You always worry too much. Just give it some time, Baby, give it a little time.”
    Iris took Sandy by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Look at me, Baby. You’re only fooling yourself, not me.” Then Iris pulled her closer, hugged her. “Listen, Paul doesn’t love you. He neglects you, remember? He leaves you home while he chases after clients and dollars. That’s what you said yourself. I’m the only one who loves you. Me! Just me! And no one else can help you the way I can.”
    “No, Iris, this is different. I have to see him.” Sandra pushed her away and put more items in the suitcase. “At least for a while, I have to.”
    Iris stepped back and then exploded. “And while you’re gone, I just might throw the rest of your damn stuff out into the parking lot! How about that?”
    Iris slapped Sandra, slapped her hard. Sandra dropped onto the edge of the bed, clutching her face with both hands. Then Iris slapped her again, even harder, striking Sandra’s hand this time and toppling her onto her side, as she cried out.
    “How would you like that, huh? All your stuff out in the parking lot!” Iris whirled around. “Oh, I just knew this would happen someday. It was too good to be true.” She turned her face to the wall, pressed her pelvis against it as though she were suffering acute abdominal pain and then pounded the wall with her fists. “Oh, I could see it coming, I really could,” she said, turning back around to face Sandra. Then, seeing the welts on Sandra’s cheek and hand, she suddenly dropped to her knees in front of her. Placing her hands on Sandra’s legs, she cried, “I’m sorry, Baby. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
    Sandra was sitting up again. “No, I’m all right, but I still have to go.” She gently took Iris’s head in her arms and pulled it to her breast.
    But Iris’s rage quickly returned. She rose to her feet and was shouting now. “This is why you’ve been so quiet, isn’t it? You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? Thought you could sneak out on me while I was gone? Too damned ashamed to face me like a real woman!”
    She turned away momentarily and then spun back to stand threateningly in front of Sandra. “You’re so weak and pampered, you know that? A little blonde princess, that’s what you are, weak and pampered! Isn’t it true? Paul made a royal mess out of you, spoiled you all your life, and now you can’t do a damn thing on your own. Couldn’t even get an abortion on your own. I had to arrange it for you. Now you want to run back to him, back to your nice house, back to your oh-so-perfect kids and away from me and your freedom, just because your boss yelled at you one time! I hate you, Sandy, you weak little bitch! The truth is I’ve always hated you. I wanted to destroy you all along, and you were too blind to see it.” She raised her hand again to strike, but stopped, her open hand quivering in midair, while Sandra cowered, awaiting the blow.
    When none fell, Sandra finally spoke. “Maybe I am weak” she said, trying to keep a calm, level voice, while still sitting on the edge of the bed. She kept her head lowered, not knowing what Iris would do next. Then daring to look up, she continued, “Maybe I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, or who I am.” She rose from the bed, slowly, deliberately, now finding strength of her own. “But I’ve had my own doubts about you, too, Iris—about your mood swings, your possessiveness, your jealousy and anger. And those drugs, those awful drugs.” Sandra pointed at the zip bag still in Iris’s hand. “You’ve been smothering me. It’s all been too much and too fast and too crazy.”
    “So, Paul neglects you and I smother you.” Iris yelled in Sandra’s face, only inches away from it. “Well, I just wonder which one of us you’ll choose, then. Someone who cares for you, or someone who doesn’t. He just wants his curvy little wife back in bed to get you pregnant again, that’s all he wants.”
    She whirled around again, putting her back to Sandra. “Well, you know what, I will go to the gym. Don’t want to disturb your packing, after all, now do I? Then I’ll have both these hits for myself, since you think they’re so bad.” Iris stopped in the doorway, turned, and shook the zip bag defiantly in Sandra’s direction and left.
7.
    An hour later, Sandra was sitting in the driveway of Paul’s home, the home she had left. She stared at the open garage door. He must have raised it for her. She removed her gloves and took the rings from her purse and put them on. Then, like a stranger, like someone come to solicit for a charity or canvass for votes, she walked to the front door and rang the bell. She held her gloves in her right hand so that Paul could see at once that she was wearing her wedding rings again.
    He opened the door and, speaking cautiously, asked, “Are you all right, Sandy? What’s happened to your face?”
    “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Paul. May I come in?”
    “Of course, you can.” He stepped back.
    Kurt and Kristen were huddled behind their father, also cautious about the meaning of her visit.
    “Are you here just for a little while, Mother?” Kristen ventured while staring at her mother’s swollen face.
    Sandra hesitated and looked at Paul, who, expressionless, was still holding the door open. Then she replied, “At least for this evening, Honey, yes. But let me speak with your father first, for just a bit, then we can talk about it.”
    “Kurt, greet your mother,” Paul commanded after turning to his son. Kurt stepped forward and hugged his mother stiffly but said nothing. Then Kristen did the same.
    “Now,” Paul instructed them, “go down to the game room, Kids, just for a while. I need to speak with your mother.”
    As the children clattered down the stairs, he turned to her. Before he could speak, she blurted out, “Paul, I’ve come to explain myself. I’ve. . .”
    But before she could finish, he raised his hand and dared to place his forefinger on her lips. “You can explain later, Sandy. Just tell me now, have you come to stay? That’s all I really want to know. Have you come to stay? The rest can wait.”
    “Yes. Oh yes, I’ve come to stay. The suitcases I left with are in my car right now.” She pointed in the direction of the driveway. “I promise you, with all my heart, Paul, I’ve come to stay, if you still want me.”
    He opened his arms to her, and she stepped into them. “I knew you’d come back; I just knew you would, but you were gone so damn long, Sandy! And I worried about you so much. Every day I worried! Now look what’s happened.” He touched her bruised face and seemed to understand without asking.
    Wrapped in his arms, she felt weightless and began to sob and shake. She felt like an insubstantial being, quivering with both grief and joy. He kissed her hair, over and over he kissed it, and then her forehead and her neck and her eyes and finally, as her trembling lessened and she grew warm against him, her mouth.
    She realized so clearly now what she had known only instinctively before—that at the bottom of her rebellion, he would still be waiting for her, just as soon as he was needed, he’d be there, requiring nothing more from her than to be pressed against him. Poor virtuous Paul, clinging to every norm, clutching them to his heart and transforming even now the lead of her betrayal into an imaginary gold by the sheer force of his love for her.
    She let him hold her now, as long as he wanted to. And when at last she leaned back from his embrace, she smiled at him, put her hands to his face, and said she loved him.
8.
    That night while Paul showered, she lay on the bed watching the television, something he had never wanted in the bedroom but had conceded to her. She was amazed at how quickly old habits and old feelings were returning.
    Suddenly, there on the local ten o’clock news was a young woman in handcuffs, her face bloodied, being led to a police car by a female officer. She was wearing a blue ski jacket and was disheveled and bruised on the forehead and nose. A diagonal gash beside her left eye was streaming blood down the side of her face. Sandra gasped, “Iris!” then quickly covered her mouth. She glanced at the bathroom door. It was still closed, the shower water still running.
    She leaped from the bed and stood squarely in front of the television. She touched the screen where Iris was, as though she might pull her to safety, but Iris was being bent double by the police officer and shoved into the squad car. Then she disappeared.
    Next the camera showed a cordoned area nearby where the red and white emergency lights of an ambulance were flashing in front of a house. The rear of a metallic green Fiesta protruded from its side. A reporter was interviewing a male police officer who was pointing to the Fiesta while explaining that the female driver had apparently attempted suicide by crashing into a tree in the front yard of the property. He turned and pointed to it as well. But the car had ricocheted into the house, killing an elderly man seated in his living room.
    “No, no!” Sandra whispered in horror, with her hand covering her mouth. She looked again at the bathroom door. Still closed, but now the shower was silent.
    Drugs were thought to be involved, the police officer added, as the segment ended. Sandra clicked off the TV just before Paul entered the bedroom.
9.
    That night they lay in their bed, this night of her return, both exhausted. She with her back curled up against him, still nude and sated now with the vigor of his love. He with his arms clasped about her as though to prevent her from ever escaping again. He was already fast asleep, with his slow breath brushing her naked shoulder.
    She, however, could not sleep. At best, she managed a demi-dream in which she imagined being enclosed in a golden cage placed by unseen hands on an ornate but otherwise empty boat. It drifted across dark water toward an island where she knew, somehow, she would find peace and safety. But how would she escape the cage? How would she step onto the island?
    Then, in a lightning flash, those thoughts dissolved, and new ones replaced them. These rose like demons before her, taunting her. We took two months of your life, they said. And took them so easily. Now we want more. Before them they goaded hostages, displaying them for her to see—a sullen boy, a tearful girl, a battered young woman in chains. They tossed a medical waste bag at her. It splatted on the ground at her feet. These all belong to us now, Sandra. You gave them to us. Nor will angels come to retrieve them. For angels will not flock to dreams such as yours.
    She shuddered. Paul awoke.
    “What is it, Honey? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
    She reached over to the nightstand and switched on the light, then pushed herself up and turned to him. She put her hands on his face again and kissed him, desperate to tell him now, to tell him everything, hoping he could bear it, praying there was enough love left in him to understand.

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