 would have been thinking faster, or at least covering better
for my lapse. But Clare, who is the most truthful person I know, is acutely
sensitive to even small lies, and now the only alternatives are to refuse to say
anything, which will make her frantic, or to lie, which she won't accept, or to tell
the truth, which will upset her and do strange things to her relationship with her
mother. Clare looks at me. "Tell me," she says.
Clare: Henry looks miserable. "I can't, Clare."
"Why not?"
"It's not good to know things ahead. It screws up your life."
"Yes. But you can't half tell me."
"There's nothing to tell."
I'm really beginning to panic. "She killed herself." I am flooded with certainty.
It is the thing I have always feared most.
" No. No. Absolutely not."
I stare at him. Henry just looks very unhappy. I cannot tell if he is telling the
truth. If I could only read his mind, how much easier life would be. Mama. Oh,
Mama.
Henry: This is dreadful. I can't leave Clare with this. "Ovarian cancer," I say, very
quietly. "Thank God," she says, and begins to cry.
Friday, June 5, 1987 (Clare is 16, Henry is 32)
Clare: I've been waiting all day for Henry. I'm so excited. I got my driver's license
yesterday, and Daddy said I could take the Fiat to Ruth's party tonight. Mama
doesn't like this at all, but since Daddy has already said yes she can't do much
about it. I can hear them arguing in the library after dinner.
"You could have asked me-"
"It seemed harmless, Lucy...."
I take my book and walk out to the Meadow. I lie down in the grass. The sun
is beginning to set. It's cool out here, and the grass is full of little white moths.
The sky is pink and orange over the trees in the west, and an arc of deepening
blue over me. I am thinking about going back to the house and getting a sweater
when I hear someone walking through the grass. Sure enough, it's Henry. He
enters the clearing and sits down on the rock. I spy on him from the grass. He
looks fairly young, early thirties maybe. He's wearing the plain black T-shirt and
jeans and hi-tops. He's just sitting quietly, waiting. I can't wait a minute longer,
myself, and I jump up and startle him.
"Jesus, Clare, don't give the geezer a heart attack."
"You're not a geezer."
Henry smiles. He's funny about being old.
"Kiss," I demand, and he kisses me.
"What was that for?" he asks.
"I got my driver's license!"
Henry looks alarmed. "Oh, no. I mean, congratulations."
I smile at him; nothing he says can ruin my mood. "You're just jealous."
"I am, in fact. I love to drive, and I never do."
"How come?"
"Too dangerous."
"Chicken."
"I mean for other people. Imagine what would happen if I was driving and I
disappeared? The car would still be moving and kaboom! lots of dead people and
blood. Not pretty."
I sit down on the rock next to Henry. He moves away. I ignore this. "I'm going
to a party at Ruth's tonight. Want to come?"
He raises one eyebrow. This usually means he's going to quote from a book
I've never heard of or lecture me about something. Instead he only says, "But
Clare, that would involve meeting a whole bunch of your friends."
"Why not? I'm tired of being all secretive about this."
"Let's see. You're sixteen. I'm thirty-two right now, only twice your age. I'm
sure no one would even notice, and your parents would never hear about it."
I sigh. "Well, I have to go to this party. Come with and sit in the car and I
won't stay in very long and then we can go somewhere."
Henry: We park about a block away from Ruth's house. I can hear the music all
the way down here; it's Talking Heads' Once In A Lifetime. I actually kind of wish I
could go with Clare, but it would be unwise. She hops out of the car and says,
"Stay!" as though I am a large, disobedient dog, and totters off in her heels and
short skirt toward Ruth's. I slump down and wait.
Clare: As soon as I walk in the door I know this party is a mistake. Ruth's parents
are in San Francisco for a week, so at least she will have some time to repair,
clean, and explain, but I'm glad it's not my house all the same. Ruth's older
brother, Jake, has also invited his friends, and altogether there are about a
hundred people here and all of them are drunk. There are more guys than girls
and I wish I had worn pants and flats, but it's too late to do anything about it. As I
walk into the kitchen to get a drink someone behind me says, "Check out Miss
Look-But-Don't-Touch!" and makes an obscene slurping sound. I spin around
and see the guy we call Lizardface (because of his acne) leering at me. "Nice
dress, Clare."
"Thanks, but it's not for your benefit, Lizardface."
He follows me into the kitchen. "Now, that's not a very nice thing to say,
young lady. After all, I'm just trying to express my appreciation of your
extremely comely attire, and all you can do is insult me..."He won't shut up. I
finally escape by grabbing Helen and using her as a human shield to get out of
the kitchen.
"This sucks," says Helen. "Where's Ruth?"
Ruth is hiding upstairs in her bedroom with Laura. They are smoking a joint
in the dark and watching out the window as a bunch of Jake's friends skinny dip
in the pool. Soon we are all sitting in the window seat gawking.
"Mmm," says Helen. "I'd like some of that."
"Which one?" Ruth asks.
"The guy on the diving board."
"Ooh."
"Look at Ron," says Laura.
"That's Ron?" Ruth giggles.
"Wow. Well, I guess anyone would look better without the Metallica T-shirt
and the skanky leather vest," Helen says. "Hey, Clare, you're awfully quiet."
"Um? Yeah, I guess," I say weakly.
"Look at you," says Helen. "You are, like, cross-eyed with lust. I am ashamed
of you. How could you let yourself get into such a state?" She laughs. "Seriously,
Clare, why don't you just get it over with?"
"I can't," I say miserably.
"Sure you can. Just walk downstairs and yell 'Fuck me!' and about fifty guys
would be yelling 'Me! Me!'"
"You don't understand. I don't want-it's not that-"
"She wants somebody in particular," Ruth says, without taking her eyes off
the pool.
"Who?" Helen asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
"Come on, Clare, spit it out."
"Leave her alone," Laura says. "If Clare doesn't want to say, she doesn't have
to." I am sitting next to Laura, and I lean my head on her shoulder.
Helen bounces up. "I'll be right back."
"Where you going?"
"I brought some champagne and pear juice to make Bellinis, but I left it in the
car." She dashes out the door. A tall guy with shoulder-length hair does a
backwards somersault off the diving board.
"Ooh la la," say Ruth and Laura in unison.
Henry: A long time has passed, maybe an hour or so. I eat half the potato chips
and drink the warm Coke Clare has brought along. I nap a bit. She's gone for so
long that I'm starting to consider going for a walk. Also I need to take a leak.
I hear heels tapping toward me. I look out the window, but it's not Clare, it's
this bombshell blond girl in a tight red dress. I blink, and realize that this is
Clare's friend Helen Powell. Uh oh.
She clicks over to my side of the car, leans over and peers at me. I can see right
down her dress to Tokyo. I feel slightly woozy,
"Hi, Clare's boyfriend. I'm Helen."
"Wrong number, Helen. But pleased to meet you." Her breath is highly
alcoholic.
"Aren't you going to get out of the car and be properly introduced?"
"Oh, I'm pretty comfortable where I am, thanks."
"Well, I'll just join you in there, then." She moves uncertainly around the front
of the car, opens the door, and plops herself into the driver's seat.
"I've been wanting to meet you for the longest time," Helen confides.
"You have? Why?" I desperately wish Clare would come and rescue me, but
then that would give the game away, wouldn't it?
Helen leans toward me and says, sotto voce, "I deduced your existence. My
vast powers of observation have led me to the conclusion that whatever remains
when you have eliminated the impossible, is the truth, no matter how
impossible. Hence," Helen pauses to burp. "How unladylike. Excuse me. Hence,
I have concluded that Clare must have a boyfriend, because otherwise, she
would not be refusing to fuck all these very nice boys who are very much
distressed about it. And here you are. Ta da!"
I've always liked Helen, and I am sad to have to mislead her. This does
explain something she said to me at our wedding, though. I love it when little
puzzle pieces drop into place like this.
"That's very compelling reasoning, Helen, but I'm not Clare's boyfriend."
"Then why are you sitting in her car?"
I have a brainstorm. Clare is going to kill me for this. "I'm a friend of Clare's
parents. They were worried about her taking the car to a party where there might
be alcohol, so they asked me to go along and play chauffeur in case she got too
pickled to drive."
Helen pouts. "That's extremely not necessary. Our little Clare hardly drinks
enough to fill a tiny, tiny thimble-"
"I never said she did. Her parents were just being paranoid."
High heels click down the sidewalk. This time it is Clare. She freezes when she
sees that I have company.
Helen jumps out of the car and says, "Clare! This naughty man says he is not
your boyfriend."
Clare and I exchange glances. "Well, he's not," says Clare curtly.
"Oh," says Helen. "Are you leaving?"
"It's almost midnight. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin." Clare walks around
the car and opens her door. "Come on, Henry, let's go." She starts the car and
flips on the lights.
Helen stands stock still in the headlights. Then she walks over to my side of
the car. "Not her boyfriend, huh, Henry? You had me going there for a minute,
yes you did. Bye bye, Clare." She laughs, and Clare pulls out of the parking
space awkwardly and drives away. Ruth lives on Conger. As we turn onto
Broadway, I see that all the street lights are off. Broadway is a two-lane highway.
It's ruler-straight, but without t