O+F Part 51

"The church will find good use for the money."

Emma. The church. They fell silent. It was late and still. There were no distractions. Suzanne turned toward Oliver. Her face was rueful and sweet and helpless. He slapped her hard, turning her head sideways. It was like a snake striking.

She turned her face slowly back to him. A tear welled up in each eye.

Oliver's mouth was open in shock. "Suzanne . . ." he said, horrified.

"It's all right, Baby," she said. The tears slid down her cheek. "You can hit me again, if you want to. It would only help me remember you."

"_No, no!_ I never want to hit anybody again, let alone you. I don't know what happened."

"It's the strain of what we're doing. I feel it, too." She was speaking the truth for both of them. She was braver than he was. "We have to stop," she said.

"It's true," Oliver said. "Suzanne," the words came in a rush, "you would be such a wonderful mother. You are so special. You deserve better." A bitter wind was tugging at his heart. "You're right--we have to stop." He stood up. "This is hard. Better to get it over with."

"You have been so good to me," she said, standing slowly. "Maybe the Lord's going to let me get away with one." She came to him, and their mouths met--a long gentle meeting. As they pulled apart, Oliver realized that they were separating as equals. He felt a ripping in his chest. He walked quickly to the door and took his coat from the peg.

Suzanne stood in the center of the room. She was crying, but her face was clean and shining.

"Bye, Oliver," she said. "Don't feel bad."

He couldn't speak, could only acknowledge her and try to thank her with a helpless wave. He went out the door without putting on his coat and drove away without looking back.

The wind in his chest began to howl. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Suzanne was right. She was right. He turned south on the main road. He was right, too, to go--before they got caught, before she was seriously hurt. She would get over him. She had a lot going for her.

The wind howled louder. It was like a dark angel blowing through him.

He had never hit a woman before. He hadn't known he was capable of it.

The dark angel was telling the truth, blowing him down the road. He had to set Suzanne free. She was better off without him in the long run.

She sensed that, too, although they hadn't talked about it directly.

They were a perfect match physically, and he loved her, but they were just too different. He banged the wheel with one fist and hung on as the angel blew harder.

Enormously harder. _Jennifer._ He had to leave her, too. Free everybody. Oh, no! _Emma. Emma._ He hit the wheel again and shook his head, but the angel wouldn't let him alone. "Do it now," he told himself. "Do it now. While you can." Could he?

Yes--if he kept going. The truth kept blowing through him. He couldn't have continued, otherwise. He bounced to a stop in front of his house, went inside, turned on all the lights, and played _La Traviata_ at top volume. He put his toolboxes in the Jeep and covered them with a tarp.

He dumped his clothes in piles on the back seat, shoes and boots on the floor. He filled a cartridge box with ca.s.settes and put it in the front seat with the George Nakashima book. He gathered bathroom stuff together and remembered his briefcase and the file box where he kept his credit card information, the brokerage agreement, bank statements, and his pa.s.sport. He put these in the front of the Jeep and took another look around the house. He added a flashlight and a picture of Emma to the pile in front. Woof and Verdi watched uneasily.

He made a mug of black tea and sat at the kitchen table with a pen and a pad of paper.

"Jennifer, I have to leave. I just realized it. It's better to do it now while you're away. I don't think I could if Emma were here. I can't give you the life you want and that you should have. It will be better for Emma, too, in the long run. I am very sorry to cause you this pain.

You have been nothing but sweet to me, and you deserve better. I don't know where I'm going, but it won't be anywhere around here--so you don't have to wonder if I'm going to come driving in. Take care of Emma. I couldn't do this if I didn't know it was best for everybody.

"Here is enough to keep you going for three months. I'll send more as soon as I can. You can have the house and everything else. I just took my tools and clothes. I'm sorry. Oliver"

He wrote a check and left it on top of the note. He washed the mug and left it on the dish rack. Woof made a whimpering sound. Oliver patted her. "Take care of everybody," he said.

Verdi sniffed at the door. "You want to come with me?" Oliver asked, suddenly hopeful. He opened the door and watched Verdi stalk around the end of the house. "No. You're better off, here." He turned out the lights and drove down the hill. "So long," he said.

A band of gray was lightening in the east. The wind was still blowing through his chest but without the angriest gusts. He thought of stopping at Becky's in Portland, but he couldn't face leaving another familiar place. It was better to drive. Drive where? South. That's where people go when they leave Maine. Down the turnpike. He pulled off at the first rest stop and nodded at a trucker who was walking back to the parking lot. Take a leak, a cup of coffee. Go.

23.

Oliver stopped for breakfast in Chelmsford and then made it south of Worcester before his adrenaline burned down. Ma.s.sive numbness lay ahead like a fog bank. Stop, he told himself. He found a motel and asked for a room. "Sure thing," the desk clerk said. "That'll be six hundred bucks."

"What!"

"April Fool." The clerk fell over the counter, laughing.

"That's me," Oliver said.

He slept all afternoon, ate at a Burger King across the road, watched the news, and fell asleep again without ever really waking up.

The next morning, he stared over a cup of coffee and tried to get organized. It was Monday. Jennifer and Emma were home. The damage was done. Suzanne. What a peach she was. He wrote to her, thanking her for being wonderful. It wasn't just you, he told her. He had to leave Jennifer, too. Suzanne would understand that intuitively. He wrote that he didn't know where he was going, but that he wouldn't be back anytime soon. He asked her to send his last check to Jacksonville, Florida, care of General Delivery. He signed it "Love, Oliver." Spring was a good time of year to go down the coast. He wanted to get far from Maine.

He called Myron and asked him to send a check for ten thousand dollars to the same address. "No problem," Myron said with admirable restraint.

"Do it this afternoon."

"Thanks." Oliver paused. "Any word from Francesca, lately?"

"Not since those two withdrawals."

"I guess that's good," Oliver said. "I'll be in touch."

"I'll be here," Myron said. Oliver hung up, relieved. He had no plan; he was still numb. Might as well change the oil in the Jeep, he thought. Get something done.

While he waited for the car, he wrote to his mother, telling her that the marriage was over. n.o.body's fault, he a.s.sured her with Arlen's words. He didn't want her to be surprised by the news if she happened to call Jennifer. Nor did he want to stop in Connecticut and explain in person. He needed to be alone and somewhere else. His mother would understand, although she would be upset. She acted on _her_ feelings; she knew what it was like, the necessity of it. She must have once written a note to Muni that was similar to the one he had left for Jennifer. He felt more sympathy for each of them.

He stayed another night in the motel. The desk clerk directed him to a Chinese restaurant down the road where he ate silently and noticed that he had no desire to drink. He was still numb. Eating and breathing and sleeping seemed all he could manage.

By mid-afternoon the next day, Oliver was in Jacky country. The light was different in Maryland--flatter and more open. It was full spring.

As he approached the turnoff to the town where Jacky lived, he admitted to himself that he was not going to stop. It was comforting to think of her. Their pa.s.sionate relationship had run its course, served its purpose, and, in the end, had left no bad feelings. She was his friend.

Be true, she had told him at the housewarming. Well, he had been. For better or worse. Now he needed to be alone. "Be true!" he called out the window as he pa.s.sed the turn. Leaving Jacky's, he thought--it must be time for w.i.l.l.y Nelson. _On the road again . . . _

Oliver drove steadily, stopping early, and taking walks at the end of each day. His mind remained knotted in Maine. He went over and over conversations with Jennifer. She had been consistent, always herself--cheerfully ambitious, social, not right for him. He tried not to think about Emma.

Three mornings later he found the Jacksonville Post Office. Myron's check was there; Suzanne's was not. He endorsed the brokerage check for deposit and mailed it to his bank. What to do next?

He was feeling more rested. He'd gotten into the rhythm of traveling and didn't want to wait around for the other check. He bought a road atlas and flipped through the maps over a cup of coffee. Key West looked interesting. Oliver had never been all the way down the coast.

But then what? He pictured himself doing a u-turn and driving back up the length of Florida. I think I'll hang a right, he decided. Arizona.

Tucson. That ought to be different.

He left a forwarding card at the Post Office and turned west. As he settled into the drive to Tallaha.s.see, he let out a sigh and relaxed.

He'd made the right decision, although he didn't know why.

The lush green South eventually gave way to the Texas plains and then the dry highlands of New Mexico. There was something elemental and down home about New Mexico that was similar to Maine, Oliver found. The Indians were impressive--silent and aware, not unlike the j.a.panese in that respect. New Mexico wouldn't be a bad place to live.

Tucson was a small city in a basin rimmed by desert mountains. The University of Arizona was a modern oasis in the center. Suzanne's letter was waiting at the Post Office--a check and a note: