The Four Temperaments (21 page)

PENELOPE

P
enelope hoped
there would be a spot at the garage. She had decided to join Gabriel at the ballet after all, and she didn't want to have to waste any more time looking for parking. As it was, she was going to be late. But she still was determined to go. She knew that he was perpetually annoyed because she wouldn't leave the baby, wouldn't spend time alone with him. Penelope wasn't sympathetic; she thought he was selfish. Nonetheless, she would try to accommodate him, at least a little bit. Tonight, for instance. She wouldn't leave the baby—she couldn't bring herself to do that—but she would compromise by taking Isobel with her. That way she and Gabriel could watch part of the ballet together. And maybe after that they could take a drive somewhere, over to the Bay to look at the lights, the way they used to before Isobel was born.

Penelope had grudgingly come to appreciate San Francisco. At first, though, the sharp ascent and swerve of the streets gave her an intense sense of vertigo and she blamed Gabriel for bringing her here. That feeling gradually subsided, and there were times she even liked the city; she had felt herself grow taut and strong pushing Isobel's stroller up and down its hills.

The hills seemed to bear some analogy to her moods. The other OCD sufferers she chatted with on-line claimed to experience similar mood swings. It was frustrating because on the up days, Penelope felt she had some control of her life, but on the down days, she required new and more stringent preparations to keep it from disintegrating completely. She now had to disinfect her nipples before the baby nursed as well as wash her hands and dry them two separate times every time she changed Isobel's diaper. Exhausting, but Penelope rarely allowed herself to think that. These things were
necessary.
And it was the necessity that made her comply.

Ever since Gabriel had gone to New York to see that woman, the one with the sinister French name, a small alarm had been steadily bleating in Penelope's mind. Even though she was often impatient with her husband's mere presence, she didn't want to lose him. The life they had built together was better than any she could remember: the calm, white apartment was just a sign, the outward manifestation of that order she had finally brought to bear on things. Isobel was at the center of it all, and Isobel was part of Gabriel. Penelope couldn't bear the thought of Gabriel with anyone else, not because she felt so betrayed—she hadn't had a shred of interest in sex after Isobel came along—but because Gabriel was Isobel's father, and the idea that he could be intimate with someone outside their circle nearly choked her with anxiety. So she would have to start paying more attention to her husband if she wanted to keep him. And she did want to keep him—for Isobel's sake as well as her own.

Joining him at the ballet would be part of her campaign. She stood in front of the bedroom mirror brushing her hair. She wore a lightweight silk sweater in a pale shade of apricot along with a pair of white slacks. The sweater was something she had bought several years ago, and because the color was so pale and soft, she could tolerate it, especially since she knew Gabriel was exasperated by her refusal to wear anything but white. I'm trying, she told herself, I really am. She anointed her throat and earlobes with scented oil from a tiny bottle—not an actual perfume, which would be filled with potentially noxious chemicals and dyes—but a wholly natural, flower-based essence. Then she rapped three times on the doorjamb before leaving her room to fetch Isobel, who was already asleep for the night.

But the muted sound of the doorbell—she had made Gabriel replace the vicious-sounding buzzer that had been there when they moved in—stopped her and she went to open the door. There stood her downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Erikson.

“Hello,” said Mrs. Erikson, whose sun-freckled hands held a large, leafy green mass. “I went to the farmers' market today and picked you up some of that organic kale you like.” Although Mrs. Erikson had often asked Penelope to call her by her first name, Lissa, Penelope couldn't bring herself to do it. Something about the woman's manner seemed to demand a more formal address. Yet Penelope liked her. Mrs. Erikson was a radical vegan too, and the two often discussed how their refusal to eat meat and dairy foods was misunderstood by their respective families.

“Thank you,” Penelope replied. “That was so thoughtful.”

“Well, I know you're busy,” Mrs. Erikson said. Her face was as tanned and spotted as her hands, and tiny lines spread from the corners of her eyes. “Isobel is a lucky little girl.”

“I wish I could invite you in,” Penelope said. Mrs. Erikson was the only person who really seemed to approve of Penelope as a mother. Everyone else was filled with criticism. “Only I'm on my way out now.”

“That's all right,” said the older woman. “I just wanted to give you the kale. In case you wanted to steam it for the baby.”

“I will. Tomorrow. Tonight I'm going to the ballet.”

“The ballet?”

“I'm meeting Gabriel there.”

“Are you bringing Isobel?”

“Of course,” Penelope said. Mrs. Erikson nodded in a satisfied way. “I wish my daughters-in-law were more like you.” Mrs. Erikson had frequently complained about the wives of her two sons. One was a lawyer and the other a teacher. Both left their babies with sitters while they went to work. Penelope had sympathized with Mrs. Erikson's lament and wished, more than once, that she were her mother-in-law—or mother. She was well aware of how both Ruth and Caroline patronized and pitied her. As if all her careful rituals were going to harm Isobel in some way.

“Come by in the morning,” Penelope said to Mrs. Erikson. “I'll tell you about the ballet.”

“Can I give you a hand going downstairs?” Mrs. Erikson asked, looking at the heavy diaper bag Penelope had waiting by the door. Folded neatly on top of the bag was a white cotton blanket.

“That would be great.” Penelope walked quickly into Isobel's room. The baby stirred a little as Penelope lifted her up but then settled peacefully against her mother as Penelope walked down the hallway. Mrs. Erikson walked slightly ahead and pushed the button for the elevator. She carried Penelope's bag over her shoulder and Isobel's blanket under her arm. In the lobby, she started toward the parking area out in back of the building, but Penelope stopped her.

“I'm parked out front,” she told Mrs. Erikson. “There's a waiting list for a second parking spot. I should be getting one next month.” Mrs. Erikson followed Penelope through the front doors. They nodded to the doorman, who smiled at both women but let his eyes linger on Penelope.

In the street, Penelope awkwardly moved Isobel from the baby sling into the car seat in back. Isobel opened her eyes briefly, but at the sound of Penelope's soothing voice, she closed them.

“Asleep?” Mrs. Erikson asked.

“We were out a lot today,” Penelope explained. “She's really tired. I'm hoping she'll sleep through the ballet.” Once the baby was settled again, Penelope tucked the blanket around her, picked up the diaper bag and got in the car. She had popped the trunk, intending to put the bag inside. But she then decided it would be easier to retrieve the bag from the front seat when they finally arrived at the theater. Only after she had said good night to Mrs. Erikson and strapped her seat belt did she remember that the trunk was still open.

She got out of the car, intending to pull the trunk shut. That's when she saw something marring the smooth, white finish. Was that a smear of dirt? Or, worse, a scratch? Penelope was very particular about the Volvo, which engendered its own set of rituals and preparations. Lead-free gasoline and regular tune-ups. Weekly trips to the eco-friendly car wash. And now something had spoiled the pristine surface she tried so hard to maintain and protect. Damn it.

Penelope marched around the other side of the car to inspect it better. It wasn't as bad as she thought; the repair shop could easily fix it. Penelope was now frustrated by all the delays. She wanted to be on her way. If she lost much more time, she would miss the ballet entirely and her whole plan would be ruined.

She didn't see the SUV as its driver hurriedly turned a corner and gunned the engine before the light changed again, but was aware of its hot air enveloping her. The large, dark vehicle swerved slightly. It was enough. The SUV slammed her shoulder; the impact then threw her up and into the path of an oncoming red hatchback. The hatchback's driver frantically put on his brakes, but the startled body flying through the air and toward his windshield came too suddenly, and with too much force. Penelope's last thought was of the deer by the side of the road. Don't hit her again, she pleaded. Don't.

GABRIEL

T
he first
people had just begun to trickle down from the theater as Ginny was gathering her disheveled hair back into some kind of ponytail. Gabriel consulted his watch again. Just a little after eleven. If the traffic wasn't bad, he wouldn't even have to lie about Jeff and the drink. While Ginny was smoothing her dress, he tried calling Nel, but there was no answer. She had probably gone to sleep. He pulled out of the parking lot and out into the light stream of cars. They were at Ginny's hotel in minutes. He kissed her twice and watched while she disappeared through the revolving door.

As he
turned the corner that led up to his street, he noticed the police car sitting at the curb in front of his apartment building. What was it doing there? The red light was off, though, and he didn't see anyone around, so it probably wasn't anything serious. Still, he pulled over to check before taking his car around to the parking area behind the building.

But before he could do that, the police officer who had been sitting at the wheel of the car now got out. His mustache, thick and dark brown, looked too big for his upper lip, which it nearly covered. He bent down to Gabriel's open window.

“Mr. Kornblatt?” he said quietly. “I'm Officer Carmichael. We've been trying to reach you.” The cell phone. He had turned off the cell phone in the theater and never turned it on again. Looking past the officer's earnest face, his eyes were drawn to something he hadn't noticed before—a large, dark stain on the sidewalk. “I think you should get out of the car now, Mr. Kornblatt.” Gabriel turned off the ignition and got out. The stain was wet. There was another officer in the car, and he joined Carmichael. This one was very thin and young. When he took off his hat and gripped it in his hands, Gabriel began to shake.

“Is it my daughter? Is she all right?” Gabriel asked the thin one, who said his name was Baxter.

“Your daughter is fine,” Carmichael said.

“It's your wife,” Baxter added. “There's been an accident. We'd like you to come with us. Please.”

“What happened? Is she all right?”

“That's why we want you to come with us. To the hospital.” Gabriel noticed that he didn't answer the question. The shaking intensified.

“Is that where Isobel is?”

“That's where she is, Mr. Kornblatt,” Carmichael said.

“The hospital.” Gabriel looked at the dark patch on the sidewalk once more before getting into his car. “I'll follow you, all right?” Baxter and Carmichael looked at each other.

“Why don't you come with us instead?” Baxter said.

Gabriel couldn't
believe there was so much blood. Blood matted Penelope's hair, caked her eyelashes, clotted her nostrils; blood was smeared on her face, neck and arms. With her pale skin, who would have thought that so much bright red blood could have been hidden—seething, churning—inside, just waiting to find its way out? He nodded dumbly as the morgue attendant pulled the sheet back over her. Yes, the woman lying there was his wife. Or had been. Then he followed an orderly back upstairs, where he was brought into a small, windowless cubicle. He saw their neighbor, Mrs. Erikson, waiting for him. Tears pooled in her eyes and as soon as she saw him, she began crying again.

“I didn't see it happen,” she said between sobs. “But I heard it.” She stood up and pressed herself into his arms. Gabriel didn't think he had spoken more than ten words to this woman in his life; Penelope was the one who had known and liked her. Right now, though, he was grateful for her presence. Baxter said something about the two drivers—the one who had first hit her and the one who ultimately killed her. Gabriel knew he would need to hear all of this. Now was not the time, though. He lifted his face from Mrs. Erikson's head.

“And my daughter? You said she's all right?”

“Just fine,” said Carmichael. “She's in Pediatrics, upstairs. The car never even touched her.”

“I want to see her,” Gabriel said. “Take me to her right now. Please.”

“Of course, Mr. Kornblatt,” said Carmichael, who nodded to the orderly. Gabriel leaned down to kiss Mrs. Erikson's browned, wet cheek. Then he followed the man through the halls and upstairs to the pediatric ward, where he saw Isobel from a distance, in the arms of a nurse. When he was close enough for her to see him, she began waving her arms in the air, conducting a silent concert of recognition and reunion.

“Dada!” he heard her say, as the nurse, observing her reaction, handed her over to him. As the policeman had told him, she was perfectly fine, her white skin, so like her mother's, unmarred by scratches or bruises of any kind. It was only when he looked down to touch her hands that he saw the tiny, confetti-like dots of blood—Penelope's blood—speckling her arms. It was then that he broke down, sobbing with the kind of despair and sorrow he had not felt since he was a child. He turned Isobel over to the alarmed-looking nurse, who whispered something to one of her coworkers about a sedative.

Gabriel cried for a few minutes before pulling out his handkerchief to mop his wet face. It was white, white as everything and anything Penelope had ever loved. He asked if he could make a telephone call, and a nurse led him to the phone. She punched in the number he gave her and she handed him the receiver. When he heard his mother's voice, the sobbing started again. But he gained control more quickly this time, and he begged her to fly out immediately to see him. Then he told her what had happened to Penelope.