Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

there.
    Frank was right. People will tell you the most astonishing things if you give them half a chance. It was late—it was nearly one by now. But we’d only just begun. And what I was going to ask next was going to get those tears flowing again. I was starting to be sure about several things, none more than that.
    “Tina, I’m sorry to cause you more pain,” I said, “but I have to ask you a few more questions. I have to ask you to tell me about Martyn.”
    Her eyes opened wide, and she shook her head, as if by doing so she could make what had happened to hurt her no longer true.
    I nodded, then got up and moved to the couch, touching her hand after I sat down next to her. “Tell me about it.”
    “He’s why I couldn’t go.” Her voice sounded small, almost inaudible. One tear rolled down her cheek.
    “You met some months ago, when you spoke together.”
    She nodded, looking into her lap.
    “We fell in love,” she said, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “No, that’s not true. I fell in love. Martyn only fell in lust.”
    “He didn’t say he was married?”
    “Oh, he did. But he told me it was a bad marriage and that his wife was a very weak person, neurotic, he said, and that she was in therapy and he was hoping that when she got stronger he would—”
    She paused, looking behind her, out the window to a small garden. There was a light on outside, shining on the little bench and the ivy that surrounded it, a pristine place to sit when the weather was warm enough.
    “It sounds pretty lame, doesn’t it?”
    I nodded. “He can be pretty persuasive, can’t he? And he’s a very charming man.”
    She nodded.
    Then she looked suspiciously at me. “Is that why you’re here? Are you and Martyn—?”
    “No, Tina.”
    “I’m so ashamed, Rachel. Not only did I follow him from seminar to seminar, but now it’s all over, and I’m still acting like a jealous—”
    “Don’t do this to yourself, Tina. You’re sincere, so you made the assumption that he was too.”
    “He seemed to be,” she said.
    I picked up the napkin from next to her teacup and handed it to her. She blew her nose and held it crumpled in one hand.
    “He encouraged me to come to his talks. He even paid for one of my tickets. ‘Come to Denver,’ he said. ‘Be with me.’ Then ‘Come to Minneapolis.’ But then—”
    “Did you tell him about the baby?”
    “How did you know that?”
    “Just a guess.”
    “I did tell him.”
    “And what did he say?”
    Tina began to sob. I slid closer and put my arm around her, rubbing her back. I felt her tears running into my neck, felt how thin she was beneath her nightgown.
    “What did he say, Tina?”
    “ ‘What are you trying to pull?’ he said. ‘I’ve had a vasectomy. It can’t be mine.’ ”
    “Good Lord.”
    “He’d said he loved me, then he was so cold. I couldn’t face going to the symposium, knowing he’d be there. And I couldn’t tell Sam I’d been such a fool.” She pulled away and looked at me. “Did Sam send you? Is that why you’re here?”
    “Tina,” I said, ignoring her question, “did Beryl know about this?”
    She nodded. Then I looked to see if the door to the garden had blown open, because suddenly I felt very cold.
    “What did you tell her?”
    “That I’d take care of it. But I was so grateful, with all of this, that she was going to take care of calling Sam for me, that I didn’t have to do that as well.”
    “Tina, I know it’s late,” I said, “but can you make us some tea? There’s something I need to tell you, and I need a minute to think.”
    She stood up and bent to pick up her cup. “I still don’t know why you came, Rachel, but I’m awfully glad you did.”
    I stood and hugged her, my heart feeling as cold and hard as stone, knowing what I had to say next and what it would do to this vulnerable woman.
    I watched her walk away, not an ounce of fat on her. Then I looked around the room.
    Beryl didn’t have a grandchild. There was no tricycle in the garden, no Dr. Seuss on the coffee table.
    Nor was there a grandchild on the way. There was no Dr. Spock, no What to Expect When You’re Expecting , no bag of knitting, and no saltine crumbs next to where her teacup had sat.
    Tina had taken care of it, as she’d promised Beryl. But not in the way that Beryl had imagined, had dreamed.
    And clearly Beryl had taken care of her end of the deal. But not in the way Tina had imagined. Nor anyone, possibly not even