Institute (25 page)

“Teddy, he also loves you.”

“Maybe, but not as much and not in the right way.”

“There’s only one way to love.”

“Goddamn it, do you want this guy or don’t you?”

Teddy ripped it out, then suddenly burst into tears. Once more, we all were crying, and this time when the baby got in it, he really meant business. We got ourselves under control, and for several minutes Hortense whispered to him. Then once more he calmed down and sat, all three of us staring at nothing, not looking at each other.

Suddenly Hortense turned to me with a mean look in her eye. “So,” she snapped, “Teddy’s spoken her piece, and I’ve spoken mine. But you’ve said nothing at all. What
do
you say, Lloyd?”

“On the subject of marriage, you mean?”

“It’s the subject we’re on, isn’t it?”

“I don’t say anything, until you say more than you have. Since that night in College Park, since that night when you just disappeared, you’ve not been the same to me. That I know of, I’ve done nothing to you. So before I say anything, you can. What have I done to you? What’s it all about, the way you’ve been treating me?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

It was some moments before she said it, and there seemed to be more coming. I waited, and she went on: “That’s right—I left you, left your bed, left your place in College Park with a beautiful scheme I had, to be Little Miss Fixit, so you and I could be married, so I could be yours, and you at last would be mine. And my scheme blew up in my face. I have my pride, I guess. You didn’t do anything, that I repeat again—but I can’t look at you. I can’t look you in the eye!”

“But where does
my
eye come in?”

“Are you deaf? It was you I wanted to marry!”

“Well, do you still?”

“What do you think? What do you—”

But with that she completely collapsed. Teddy jumped up, went over, and took the baby again. But it didn’t start to cry. In her arms it looked up and laughed. I went over and patted Hortense, first on the arm, then on the cheek.

“Look at me,” I told her.

At last, she did.

“I’m taking you home.”

Her eyes closed, she smiled, and then motioned Teddy to give her back the child. “Little Theodore,” she whispered. “Such a beautiful name.”

She smiled down on him while Teddy stood on one side of her chair and I on the other. Then suddenly she started to talk briskly and businesslike. “As soon as we decently can, we’ll be married, of course. Until then, he has to be Theodore Garrett—using Lloyd’s name at this state would simply blight his life. Books have been written about it, the torture people go through once rumors get around about their legitimacy. But then, when we’re married, Lloyd can adopt him, and then things will be in line. There’ll be no trouble about it. It happens all the time, that when someone marries a woman who has a child, he adopts it and then it uses his name. But until then—”

“Until when?” asked Teddy.

“Until we get married, Teddy.”

“Why don’t you get married today?”

“Well, there’s a matter of the license—and the waiting period—and a decent interval, after all that happened—”

“Decent? For who?”

“Whom,” I said.

But Teddy paid no attention. “For the eye of the law, there’s a waiting period, but in the eye of God, there needn’t be. It was explained by the priest when my father married again after my mother died, and before my sister came, that I babysat for so much. He told my father: ‘It’s not me who performs this marriage—I pronounce it performed, and file a certificate of it. But you two marry each other.’ He then repeated the words of the service, ‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ and so forth and so on, which thrilled me, just listening to it. So I learned it up by heart, how it goes at that point, and can lead you through it right now, if you’d like me to do it—”

“Well, if we just had a ring—”

“So happens, we do have a ring.”

I took the ring out of my wallet. It was wrapped in its chamois cover. “It was my mother’s,” I said. ‘The undertaker took it from her finger and gave it to me at the funeral. It’s been with me ever since—and she would want you to wear it.”

I offered it to Hortense, and after staring at it, she said: “I feel thrilled. Teddy, if you really want to take charge—”

“I want to pray first.”

She disappeared into the dining room.

“There’s one thing, Lloyd,” Hortense said. “You haven’t answered me yet, on ARMALCO—”

“You mean, on my being president of it?”

“Yes—so I can have some peace.”

“Then if you want me as president, all right.”

“And one other thing: I want you to tape it—our story so I can type it up. I want you to put it all in—every kiss, every crazy remark. Then we can read it on anniversaries and relive our beautiful romance. And
he,
when he’s old enough, can read it and learn
why
he was adopted and
why
he must use your name.”

“Then, consider it done.”

At that moment, I knew she was still my Hortense, popping from a hundred-million-dollar decision to a romance pure and simple. Then Teddy was back. She took our hands and put them inside each other, biting her lips just a little. “God has given me peace,” she said. “Please repeat after me, Lloyd. Now, at last, I must call you that—‘I Lloyd, take thee, Hortense’—now, at last, I call you that—‘to be my wedded wife—’ ”

It lasted no more than a minute, and I felt proud and decent and holy as I slipped the ring on Hortense’s finger, our child still in her arms. Then I kissed her. Then I kissed Teddy. Then she kissed Hortense, said “Goodbye, good luck, God bless”—and suddenly was gone.

“I want to go home,” Hortense said.

“You mean, to College Park?”

“It’s where my home is usually found.”

“Fine, I love it. But where we put
him
I don’t know. That is, if we’re taking him. There’s no place out there he can—”

“Of course we’re taking him! And where we put him is in his crib. It comes apart, and the porter will take it down to your car.”

“I’ll
take it down to my car.” “Then, will you hold him while I unhook it?” She held him to me, blowing into his neck and whispering “Little Theodore.” Then I was holding this tiny, this incredibly tiny thing, in my arms. It opened its eyes and smiled. “Oh!” she yelped. “He’s looking at you!”

“Well, why not? Am I repulsive or something?”

“But until now, his eyes haven’t focused!”

“They got something to focus
on!”

“You crazy goof!”

I guess that covers it. I’m taped up.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

copyright © 1976 by James M. Cain

cover design by Mimi Bark

978-1-4532-9157-3

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