Beyond Obsession (29 page)

They made up after that, as they always seemed to make up. As much as Dennis needed her, she needed him. Her relationshipwith Joyce had deteriorated once more, and Dennis was a prop to support her.

Someone once called adolescent love one of life's great tragedies or, if not a tragedy, at least one of its sorrows. It lasts only a moment and envelops those who are stricken with a white flame, passion so intense they are sure no one has ever experienced anything approaching it, agony so excruciating it is unbearable. Teenage lovers are certain their love is eternal and will never die. Yet it burns too fast, and in its dying, it afflicts those who suffer with such anguish they are sure they will never recover. No one can escape it, no one can be immunized against it and there is no antidote. Yet for most people, adolescent love is a necessary thing, a stage of growing up, of turning from dependent child into independent adult, a passing through so that someday mature and lasting relationships can form. Perhaps Karin was beginning to accept that. Dennis was not. For him this love was the only love.

But they were drifting, and things were changing. In April he got his first real sense that something had passed beyond his control. Joyce had gone away again to Colorado with Albert Markov to continue their search for a music school. Karin was left home alone once more.

“One night we went out to a movie,” he remembers. “On the way we stopped at a Pizza Hut in East Hartford to get something to eat. The place was very crowded, and we had to share a table with some other people. We were sitting there, and suddenly she said, ‘Well, you're not going to sleep in my bed tonight. You're not going to share my bed while my mom's away.' Everybody at that table, and I think everybody around us, heard her say that, and they started staring at us. I got very embarrassed. It's the way I am. I didn't like things discussed out in public for everyone to hear. I said, ‘Karin, shut up.' She got very angry with me. Our whole relationship changed after that. Nothing was ever the same again.”

On a Friday evening a few weeks later Karin told Dennis he shouldn't bother to drive her down to Rowayton for her lesson that night and go to all the trouble of driving her home and then down to New York early on Saturday. She had her own car by then, a used Volkswagen Rabbit; she had gone shopping for it with her mother and Archbishop Whealon when she got her license in March, soon after her birthday. She would just drive herself, she told Dennis, stay over at the Markovs' and then drive into Manhattan in the morning with Albert, return with him to Rowayton, pick up her car and drive back in the afternoon. He protested, complaining that she was spending too much time at the Markovs'. She was adamant. Her lessons were going well. Besides and perhaps most important, she said, Albert Markov had become a father figure for her, a real father figure such as she had never had before. Dennis accepted that, but he didn't like it.

“One time I called the house, and Joyce told me she was down there,” Dennis says. “I called again on Saturday, and Joyce told me she was still down there and was staying over another day. I remember the next morning waking up at five-thirty and driving down to the Markovs' house and hanging around the house, just driving around. About seven-thirty or eight o'clock I went over to a pay phone and called the house. Alex Markov answered, and then she came on the phone, and she was really pissed at me for showing up. I got out of there. I made it back to Glastonbury in about forty-five minutes. It usually took more than an hour. I had my foot on the gas and the needle as high as it would go. I just didn't care.”

21

There was something in Rowayton to attract her, to keep her there longer than usual. It wasn't Albert Markov and the violin lessons. It was Alex Markov.

He was the personification of Joyce's fantasies for Karin even more than Alasdair Neal had ever been. Despite what Joyce said, her attempts to lure Michael Zaccaro for Karin had failed, and she knew it. Alasdair Neal was no longer attainable. Alex Markov was handsome, young and exotic, even more exotic than Neal. The Russian-born violinist fitted Joyce's dreams closely. If he was not in the first rank of concert virtuosos, if he did not have a catalog of recordings of major concertos, chamber pieces and solos, nevertheless he had won his prizes and he had his tours. He was successful and seemed on the verge of greater renown, and he was in demand for performances on the concert stage and at festivals around the world. Joyce saw him as the perfect match for Karin.

She did everything she could to throw them together as often as possible. She made sure that Karin spent more time in Rowayton with the Markovs, without Dennis along, arranged that Karin spend nights and weekends there. She talked about Karin constantly to Alex, piled praise upon praise about her talent and her beauty, let Alex know that Karin was developing deep romantic feelings about him. She talked about Alex to Karin unendingly, lauding his talent and his looks, and let Karin know that Alex was more than mildly interested in her. “I wouldn't mind if Alex got you into bed,” she told sixteen-year-old Karin. “Just make sure I don't become a grandmother.”

Joyce had been having some medical problems. She went to her doctor. She had to have a hysterectomy. The operation was scheduled for May 20, and she was to be in the hospital for about four days. She arranged for Karin to spend those days in Rowayton with the Markovs.

A few days before she was to enter the hospital and Karin departed for Rowayton, Joyce summoned Karin and Dennis into the Aparo living room and sat them down. She was, she said, very worried and nervous about the outcome of the surgery. “If I don't come out of it,” she said, “I want you to know that I've arranged for Karin to be taken care of.” She turned to Karin. “You know where all the papers are, in the hall closet. If anything happens, you should get them and get in touch with Michael Zaccaro. He'll take care of you and everything else.”

The next day Karin and Dennis met for lunch, at Karin's request—or demand. As they were eating, Karin looked at Dennis and without preliminaries announced, “I want to break up. I'm in love with Alex Markov.”

Dennis couldn't eat. His stomach turned over. His world was falling apart. He begged her to reconsider, pleaded with her not to take such a drastic and final step.

She thought it over, then said, “All right. Then I want us to go incommunicado for a month.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, cut it off for a month. I won't see you, and you won't see me. We won't see each other for the next month, and then we'll see how things work out. They'll work out. Don't worry. I promise that we'll be together again once this is over.”

When Dennis left that lunch to drive back to his father's house in South Glastonbury, he was at the lowest point he could ever remember. Everything was going sour. Karin was out of his life for the next month, unless he could do something to change it. Without her he felt his life had lost meaning. And he had just lost his job at Aetna; his department had been hit by budget problems, and thirty employees had been scheduled to be laid off. With practically no seniority, he had been one of the thirty. He had gone to work for his father's computer consulting firm, but that wasn't panning out well. “I was just overhead,” he says. “It was a small business where my dad contracted his people out to do work for other companies. I did pretty well at it, but there wasn't that much business, and so there wasn't really a place for me.” Still, he had intended that only as a stopgap. He would be going to college, to Central Connecticut, at the start of the new term, first classes scheduled, he remembers, for August 7. But that $375-a-week salary, almost all of which was gone as soon as it reached his pocket, spent on Karin, and on his car, wasn't there any longer. He needed some temporary job at least to tide him over the next months, to keep him in funds. Eventually he found one, as a short-order cook at the concession stand at the Tallwoods Country Club. It wasn't much, certainly didn't make any use of his abilities, but at least it paid a little, about $200 a week.

In his room the night he accepted Karin's offer to go “incommunicado” for a month, he began to write her a log that he did not give her for some time. It covered most of that month.

This is just a little diary of my doings from that fateful day, May 20.
Goodbye
.…

It happened suddenly to me. We had to say goodbye. Something I had always hoped and prayed we'd never have to say in such a context. When the idea of not seeing each other first popped up, I accepted it rather bravely (or so it seemed to me). Deep down inside I knew it might help us. I've never been torn and hurt so deeply though. And as I sit writing with burning eyes, and a lump in my throat, I remember saying to myself, “I can do this if I must.” But when it finally came time to say “goodbye”—I realized just how difficult it is all going to be. I have never been so scared in my life. I have been shaking pretty badly since this afternoon.

I wish my mind didn't work the way it does. Immediately I started to make myself more scared, thinking that this is the beginning of the end of everything. Then I started thinking about what I could do in one month. Not do for me, but do for you. Fix the Triumph so I could give it to you on the 26th. Or buy the synthesizer from Todd [a friend] to write some songs for you. Save up all my money to get you some wonderous gift upon our return. But then I realized that that's not the point of this whole thing. You want me to do something for me, while you do something for you.

I'm living on your promise that you'll come back. And stay back. Living on it. Should I be scared? I don't see how I can't be. So many things dear. Number I on this list: I love you … always, more each day. This is going to be a long month. Oh god.…

My first full day without you. How lonely I felt. I did find, however, that keeping very busy helped me. Shannon and I talked a bit, but I'm not sure it helped me. Maybe if I was thinking the way I should, she would have been a great help. But right now I'm just so scared and depressed nothing helps. I'm tired so it's off to sleep. Have a good night, stay safe and well. I love you.…

I spent today down on Groton working on the boat. I got a pretty bad sunburn and I think my left pinky is either broken, or chipped. My finger has turned blue. I found out my mom is moving back here next Friday. She wants me to drive out to Michigan and back. I miss you. I wonder about it Kare. About the years we could have. All I need is your love and your faith. Oh please, please need me. I'm so scared. Love me. I love you.…

I slept until noon today and worked on my model after that. Ripp [a friend] called me and we went for a ride in his new car, and then went up to Cotton Hollow. We're planning to go skiing tomorrow. Denise called me this evening. I hadn't talked with her since December. I'm afraid of going to bed. Once the light goes out, I lie here and think of you. It makes me feel terrible. I'm
so
afraid of spending time alone. I keep telling myself that it'll all be o.k. soon.
We'll
be o.k. I hope so. I
know
we can make it. Forever … and ever … and ever.…

I drove by your house about 8:00, but no one was home. I went skiing with Ripp today. Up at Killington. It was fun. I figured it would take my mind off “things.” All that happened was that as we drove north, I counted the miles increasing between us. You never left my thoughts once today. I did a number on my hands today in the ice and rocks. I managed to hack a good bit of skin off my fingers. Not to mention my aching back. Anyway, I hope your weekend went better than mine. (Actually I don't.) I love you silly. See you soon. (I hope.) …

I stopped by your locker this evening. I wish you could've at least said hi this afternoon when you dropped Shannon off at work. I know you were in a rush, but it hurt. I drove by your house this evening and you looked out and saw me. That made me feel
much
better. Tomorrow is my big trip to Michigan. I'll miss you even more. I love you silly Kar. Goodnight.…

I got back from my trip to Michigan a couple of hours ago. Glad to be back as well. Dear this is getting bad I'm afraid. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. Oh it hurts
so
badly. The drive from Michigan took 17 hours, and I sat and cried for about 10 of that. It hurts. Please come back to me. Please. At first I thought I would be able to do this, but instead of getting better, it's getting worse. Much worse. Oh how I need you. I just want to hold you in my arms forever … and ever … and ever. Goodnight beloved. Stay safe, and wait for me. I can't bear this without you.…

I talked to Shannon tonight. Sailing was fun yesterday, We did o.k. I got absolutely burnt to a cinder. One of my worst burns yet. My entire face is a blister—literally. My legs are so bad I can't bend them, or even lie on my side. Sleeping on your back is tough. I'm gonna try now.
Love you muchly
.

Karin relented. She would see him, but with a condition.

Early in June, just after the anniversary of the first time Dennis had driven her home from school, she wrote to him. She began by asking how his life had been going. She and Shannon were going to Rowayton for the weekend. Alasdair Neal had reappeared after a stay in Japan, and he was going to join them on Saturday and meet Alex Markov. “How about we make a deal?” she wrote. “No more sex. O.K.? At least until 7–9.”

She was sorry the month they had been apart had been so hard on him, but that was the way things went, that was life and he shouldn't put all his emotions on her because she certainly wasn't the most important thing in the world and shouldn't be the center of his universe. When she thought about it, it seemed that the year since they met had flown; perhaps if he took up with another girl, time would pass even faster for him. He was right that the three years between them was a big gap, but that was a simple fact, and nothing could be done about it. He should just take it easy.