Chapter 25
Before Russ and I were married, I’d told him again that I didn’t want more children, and I’d told him I wouldn’t change my mind.
Once we were married, I could get a prescription for a diaphragm, but the doctor warned me that even using a diaphragm, every time, it would be possible for me to conceive.
I told Russ he’d either have to pull out or use a condom to increase our safety.
He said no way to condoms, but when we were first married, he was pretty good about pulling out in time.
Whenever he wasn’t, he swore it was an accident.
In any case, for the first year we were married, my luck held.
But it seemed like after that evening that Buddy and Peg came over, Russ’s accidents started to happen more frequently.
I’d get mad, and he’d get mad back, saying he didn’t like that I was accusing him of doing it on purpose.
But then he’d say that if I really loved him, I’d have a baby with him, and that I must have loved Mr. Nameless more.
It was during these kinds of arguments that he would sometimes get rough with me physically, especially if he’d been drinking.
He’d grip my arm while he enunciated his points, squeezing enough that I would cry.
He would tell me I was dramatic, and that I didn’t know how lucky I was.
He’d say that he’d shown me so much more understanding than another man would have, and that if he’d really wanted to hurt me, he could have.
Soon enough, though sometimes not until morning, he’d be sorry, telling me how much he loved me, that I was all he’d ever wanted, and that he didn’t want to hurt me for anything.
But that would usually lead to him telling me how our troubles would end if only I would agree to have a baby with him.
It bothered him, he said, that I’d done that for someone else.
I pointed out that I’d always been clear, from the very beginning, that I wouldn’t have a child.
I never said “another child,” because even when Russ was being sweet, he could flip back to anger pretty quickly.
But I did tell him, over and over, that I did not love the unnamed man. And that, in fact, I despised him.
“Then just give me a name,” he said.
I said I didn’t want that name in my mouth.
I said I didn’t want it in our marriage.
And I could tell him, in all honesty, that I felt fortunate to be his wife.
I knew very well most men would never have agreed to marry someone with my history in the first place, and he was right that he worked hard, and his hard work was why I lived in such a beautiful home, close enough to my family but far out of town and out of sight of all the people in St. Pete I didn’t want to see.
This included not just Leonard and his new girlfriend or wife, but his parents, and most of the people I went to school with, and also toddlers coming into the library with smiling mothers for story time, and even my sophomore-year English teacher who once cornered me while I was in the waiting room for the dentist. She wanted me to know how surprised she was that I never graduated, as she always thought I had so much potential.
If you gave me a choice between any of that and sitting on the couch with a beer and a good book on Dolphin Drive, I’d pick the second option, every time.
I only went into town on Sundays to have dinner with my family.
On the way home, we’d stop to do the shopping, and Russ would come in with me.
Even if he was in a bad mood, or tired, or smiling at the checkout girl while flashing his Bambi eyes, I felt better having him with me.
People saw him, and either watched what they said, or stayed away. Both options were fine with me.
That Christmas, Russ got me a pair of diamond earrings, and also the present I’d asked for: a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius.
I’d recalled a substitute teacher advising us to read it when life became difficult, or when we anticipated difficulty.
I anticipated that January, particularly the 16th, would again be a struggle to get through. My daughter would turn three.
I still have that copy of Meditations, the same one that Russ gave me. I see that I underlined Choose not to be harmed, and you won’t feel harmed. Don’t feel harmed and you haven’t been. I took the advice to heart. That whole winter, and into that spring, I worked at that choosing, every day.
—
One thing Russ loved to do was go to the exhibition games between the teams who came down to St. Pete for spring training. He usually didn’t care if I stayed home, but that spring, when the Braves were playing the Yankees, he and his friends all got tickets, and tickets for the wives as well.
“Everyone’s going but Peg,” he said. “And she’s got a good reason.”
I understood that meant I was going, too. I was trying to get along with him, choosing my battles, as they say. He’d gotten mad about my wanting to bring a book, so I didn’t.
The day of the game turned out to be a nice one, sunny but not too hot.
There were three of us couples plus Buddy, and we were up in the high, shaded section by the perimeter fence.
Just beyond the field, Tampa Bay alternately sparkled and darkened in the shifting sunlight, and while Russ watched the game, I sipped my beer and tried to think of every shade of blue I’d ever heard of: azure, indigo, denim, cornflower, sapphire.
I’d just come up with cerulean when everyone around me got to their feet, so I did, too, though I still couldn’t see the field.
Russ said that one of the Milwaukee players had been injured and was on the ground by second base, and that he seemed hurt enough that the game was paused.
Buddy announced, to no one in particular, that he was going to take a leak. When he stood, something outside the perimeter fence caught his eye. He moved close to the fence, looking down.
“Get a load of this!” he called out. “Is that our returned captive down there? Making friends?”
Russ got up and made his way over to the fence. I didn’t move, but my heart pounded as if I’d been running. I guessed who Buddy had seen.
Russ peered down through the fence. “Well, well,” he said. “Looks like the Reds taught him a new attitude toward race relations.” He turned to Buddy and bowed. “We all workers, all the same. Repeat after me, good student.”
Buddy yipped and bowed as well. I turned back to the field.
In my panic, this is what I thought: They were looking at Leonard and his Japanese fiancée, or wife.
I imagined she and Leonard were holding hands, smiling at each other on the way to the parking lot, maybe leaving the game early so they could go park at the beach.
I sipped my beer, then started to chug it, concentrating on its cold slide down my throat.
“Nora,” Russ said. “It’s Leonard. Come look.”
“I don’t want to get up,” I said. One of the other couples went over to the fence and looked down.
The wife, Lois, only said, “Hmm,” before she and her husband sat down again.
Buddy announced he was about to pee himself and started down the steps, still holding his drink. Russ came back over and sat beside me.
“Whoa,” he said, “slow down.” He took my empty can and set it by his feet. “I would think you’d at least be curious.”
I shook my head, still watching the field. “I’m scared,” I said. I hoped Russ would think I meant I was scared for the injured player, who was now on his feet, or rather, on one foot. A medic on each side of the player braced him by the elbows.
“Oh honey.” Russ put his arm around me, patting my shoulder. “Sweet girl. He’ll be okay. They’ll get him fixed up.”
The injured player stopped to lift his hat to the crowd.
I joined the standing ovation, clapping until my palms were stinging, promising myself that whatever happened, I’d keep my head up.
If I came face-to-face with Leonard, I’d either nod or say a curt hello.
There was no point in trying to make Leonard feel ashamed, no point in trying to make him feel anything.
He already knew what he’d done. If he didn’t feel his conscience by now, he never would.
The game resumed, and Buddy hurried back up the aisle, taking the steps two at a time. He was already in his seat when I saw Leonard, alone, walking up the aisle steps. He had sunglasses on, but I recognized his long body, even his gait. He carried two cups. Buddy noticed him as well.
“Aw, look!” Buddy’s voice wasn’t particularly deep like Russ’s, but he could make himself heard. “Leonard’s friend had to go sit in the colored section. I bet he’s sad. I bet he wishes we could all go to North Korea and get our brains washed clean, too.”
Leonard was too far away to hear any of this. I watched him make his careful way to an empty seat beside a girl with light blond hair cut just beneath her ears. He handed her one of the cups and took the empty seat.
I put on my own sunglasses and closed my eyes.
That cucumber is bitter, so toss it out!
There are thorns on the path, then keep away!
Thank you, I thought. Good advice. I knew that Marcus Aurelius, being a Roman emperor, had had bigger problems than seeing Leonard Lifton at a ball game, but his words helped me all the same.
Enough said. Why ponder the existence of a nuisance?
Why indeed. Apparently because I needed further torment: I opened my eyes to study the blonde.
She wore a turquoise sleeveless dress that showed off her slender arms.
I looked down at my hands, clutching my empty cup. To love only what happens, what was destined. No greater harmony. The crowd quieted, waiting as the pitcher paused to stretch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Buddy lean forward, his hands bracketing his mouth.
“Hey Leonard! Hey! Lifton! Why you being so cold?”