Unsuitable (18 page)

“Time to get to bed, John,” Carrie announced, handing Rose her stack of paper napkins. “You’re falling out of that chair.”

“Oh, gee,” the boy protested. “Can’t I stay up to talk to Dad? I want to tell him I saw him rescuing the horses. It was just like in the movies.”

“It was very exciting,” Carrie agreed, taking his arm and steering him toward his room. “But you can see him in the morning and tell him all about it. He’ll be very angry with me if he comes back here and sees you passing out in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” Johnny said reluctantly, picking up one of his crutches and lurching along with it, using it like a pogo stick. “But you saw what he did. Wasn’t it brave?”

“It was very brave,” Carrie replied, following him into his room, where she helped him change into his pajama top. He was already wearing the bottoms; he’d been dressing for bed when the fire started.

“Can I have my water buffalo?” he asked as he climbed into bed.

“What?” Carrie answered, half laughing. His water buffalo?

“The stuffed animal, the pink one. You know, it has the fat stomach and the big head?”

“Oh, that,” Carrie said, retrieving it from the closet where she had put it during one of their ineffective drives to clean up his room. “I didn’t know what it was.”

“Dad won it for me at the Chamber of Commerce fair last year,” he said proudly. “He had to shoot down all the ducks and not miss one. It was the grand prize, the biggest one there.”

“That I can believe,” Carrie teased, tucking the toy in next to him. It loomed out of the semi-darkness like a misshapen gnome.

“My dad’s a real hero, isn’t he?” Johnny said drowsily, already succumbing to sleep.

“He certainly is,” Carrie said warmly, touched by his sudden return to childhood. Ordinarily he disdained toys, preferring games and science projects, but after a hard night he wanted the comforting presence of the cherished buffalo. He was, after all, only a little boy.

“Do you think I’ll be brave when I grow up?” Johnny muttered, almost out.

“I’m sure of it. You’re already one tough cookie. Now go to sleep before I bop you.”

“G’night,” he whispered.

“Good night, John.” Carrie tiptoed to the door and slipped through it, closing it noiselessly behind her.

Rose was still occupied in the kitchen, making up trays and handing them through the back door to the men. Carrie helped her distribute the last of them and then put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

“Rose, go home. Your husband will think we’ve sold you into bondage. You have to get your kids off to school in the morning.”

Rose looked worriedly at the clock. “Are you sure? You’ll have to clean up after this crowd.”

“I can handle it alone. You’ve been a godsend, staying here and feeding all of them. I’m sure Jason appreciates it. Now take off, will you?”

Rose got her things and left, pausing to start up the dishwasher on her way out. Carrie kept busy for the next couple of hours, refilling coffee cups and straightening the kitchen. She never saw Jason, who remained outside.

The fire department finally left around 4:00
a.m. Carrie observed from the window that the barn was ashes but not a single horse had been lost. She could see the hands filing past the driveway to go back to their quarters, and Jason eventually staggered in at 4:30, the last to abandon the cleanup effort.

“Are you all right?” Carrie greeted him, putting aside the dishtowel in her hands.

He didn’t answer, just emptied the pot standing on the stove of its muddied coffee and downed it black. He looked exhausted, his bright hair extinguished by grime, his eyes bloodshot and swollen with fatigue.

“Johnny?” he said, dropping into a chair.

“He’s fine. He went to sleep several hours ago.” She paused. “He saw what you did.”

Jason rose suddenly and hurried out of the room. Carrie followed, alarmed, and arrived in time to find the bathroom door slammed in her face.

Retching noises followed and she deduced that Jason was losing the coffee he’d just drunk. She hesitated in the hall, undecided, and finally knocked. When he didn’t reply she tried the door. He hadn’t had time to lock it, and it swung inward.

Jason was on his knees, drained, his pallor obvious even through the layer of dirt covering his skin. When he saw her standing next to him he crashed his fist to the floor.

“Leave me alone!” he rasped gutturally, his voice strained. “You’re everywhere, like God. Can’t I puke up my guts in peace?”

Carrie ignored him, wetting a cloth in the basin and offering it to him. He threw it across the room.

Carrie turned on her heel and left, banging the door behind her. She took a seat in the kitchen and waited until Jason finally emerged from his hideout. He had washed, but hurriedly, and his appearance was still far from normal. The water had streaked the soot rather than removed it. He resembled a child who had been forced to clean up for dinner after an afternoon of making mud pies.

“I thought you were gone,” he said wearily when he observed her sitting patiently at the table.

“I wanted to see that you were okay,” she said simply.

“I am. You can go.”

“Jason, we have to talk.”

He slid into a chair and stretched his long legs in front of him. “About what?”

“About what you did tonight. That took a lot of courage.”

He snorted derisively. “I don’t think they award medals for getting sick from fear.”

“Of course you were afraid,” Carrie said defensively. “But you overcame it. That’s the important thing.”

“That’s nothing,” he said flatly.

“What do you mean? I know what it took for you to go into that fire and save those animals. It was magnificent.”

He shook his head as if she had lost her mind. “Who says so? You? What do you know? Do you know how I felt, do you know that I almost turned and ran back a dozen times? Do you know that I actually considered letting those horses roast to death rather than do anything about it? I threw up twice in the barn and once in the house, for your information, and the scene you witnessed was the least dramatic of the three. So don’t talk to me about courage. I’m not a whole man and I never will be again.”

“Jason, that’s ridiculous.”

But he was in no mood to debate the issue. “Carrie, go home.”

“Everyone is afraid of something, darling, don’t you see?” She got up and moved to his side, but he wouldn’t look at her.

“I see that it’s not going to change. I will always be like this, maimed, crippled. Is that what you want to be saddled with for the rest of your life?” he demanded.

“I want to help you,” Carrie replied desperately.

He nodded sourly. “Yes, I know. That’s where we differ. I want you to love me.”

“I do!” she protested, amazed that he could doubt it.

“No, you don’t. You want to take me on, straighten me out, like Johnny. You want to bring me up like one of those snotnosed kids you teach. I’m a project, like UNICEF or Save the Whales. You’re a do-gooder, Carrie, and you want to do quite well with me. No, thank you very much.” He turned his back.

Carrie tried to keep calm. She knew what was happening. After the night of the storm when she had seen his vulnerability he had been embarrassed. He was feeling that way again now. He wanted her to think he was a rock, unshakable. He didn’t know that his triumph over his fears was real strength. He wanted to fight his battles alone, without onlookers, and he was trying to drive her away again.

“Jason, you don’t mean this. Tomorrow when you feel better we’ll talk again.”

“Tomorrow I will say the same thing,” he insisted. “Your car is outside. Take it and go home. I don’t want you here.”

“Jason, please...” Carrie said, beginning to be frightened. He sounded very certain, very final.

He raised both fists in the air. “Can’t you hear me? We’ve been kidding ourselves; this will never work out the way it should. Find yourself some professor or poet or somebody else suitable. I’ve broken you in nicely; you shouldn’t have any trouble now.”

Carrie gasped, unable to believe he’d said it. Her feet seemed nailed to the floor and evidently she wasn’t departing fast enough to suit him. He decided to speed her along.

“Get the message?” he spat, raising his brows in inquiry. “I don’t want you. Do you think I ever did— a skinny little schoolmarm who can’t even make love to a man properly? You were something new, a curiosity, that’s all. For an educated woman you’re certainly ignorant in a few very important areas. I’m tired of stringing you along, lady, you’re too much damn work.”

Carrie didn’t cry. She was too shocked by his cruelty to react normally. She turned stiffly and made it to the door, her legs moving automatically. She picked up her coat, gloves and purse as if floating in a dream. With her hand on the knob she turned and faced him.

“Your pride is more important to you than my love, Jason,” she said, in a voice that she managed to keep steady with an extreme effort. “When I heard the truth about your relationship with Louise I thought our difficulties were over. I see now that you have other problems you have to solve on your own. I’ve tried to be understanding but I don’t deserve to be treated like this. No one does. Goodbye.” She went out quietly and pulled the door closed behind her.

Jason stared at the door for several long seconds. Then, like a man who has lost his last hope, he slumped to the table and buried his head on his arms.

Chapter 10

Carrie didn’t hear from Jason after that. Christmas came and went, made bearable by a visit from Jim and his family. She sent a gift—a set of books about horses—to Johnny, and received a politely worded thank-you note three days later. There was no message from his father.

She decided to take advantage of a teachers’ ski package and go to a resort in Vermont over the vacation. She didn’t ski but the reduced rates would make it possible for her to get away and think about her situation. Or lack of one. She left two days after Christmas and planned to return the day after the New Year’s holiday.

Once Carrie got to Burlington, she did begin to feel better. The imitation Swiss chalet was one the likes of which would never be found in Switzerland, but she actually enjoyed the tacky fake beams in the ceiling and the Alpine costumes worn by the staff. Her room was beautiful and spacious, overlooking the slopes, with a stone fireplace and a sunken tub in the bathroom. She took walks in the cold air, read a lot, and ate dinner alone in her room, declining the offers of company which sometimes came her way. In the evenings she would stare into the fire and remember her time with Jason. It was odd how much he enjoyed making a fire on the hearth in his living room when he feared fire so much elsewhere. Maybe he liked being able to control it. And he was always playing with his lighter and searching for matches. But he was a contradiction in many ways, and in the end it was that aspect of his personality which had undone both of them.

As the New Year drew closer Carrie contemplated a return to her old life, and it was not a prospect she relished.

* * * *

Ten days after the fire in his barn Jason sat in his darkened living room, watching the lights on his Christmas tree blink on and off. An inch of Scotch remained in the bottom of his glass and he swirled the amber liquid in a circle, studying the play of gold and shadow in its depths. He looked up to see his son poised in the doorway, leaning on his crutch. He was still wearing a small ankle cast, but that was due to come off the following week. I wish I could heal as readily, Jason thought, and then called out to the boy, who was turning to move away.

“What’s up, John?”

Johnny shrugged. “Nothing, Dad. I just wondered if you were going to sit there all afternoon.”

“Quite possibly,” Jason replied, swallowing the rest of his drink.

Johnny sighed. “Then could I go over to Mark’s house? His mother will pick me up. He has a new train set.”

“Fine, Son, if that’s what you want.”

Johnny watched his father a moment longer and then said, “Dad, I sure do miss Carrie.”

“You’re not the only one,” Jason answered quietly, running his fingertip around the rim of the empty glass.

“Why don’t we see her anymore?” Johnny asked meaningfully.

Jason put down his glass with a bang. “Because your father is a jackass, John.”

“Oh,” Johnny answered, unsure how to reply. “Did you two have a fight?”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Jason said. “It was an assault. I assaulted, without provocation, a kind and generous, beautiful and tolerant, exceptional lady who had given me nothing but love and understanding. That’s why I’m a jackass.”

Johnny hadn’t quite followed his father’s last statement but he gathered that Jason was holding himself responsible for the breach. “Why don’t you go and talk to her, Dad?”

Jason hauled himself out of his chair with an effort. “Because, my boy, she would be entirely justified in shooting me on sight.”

“Come on, Dad. You know how nice she is. She’ll listen. You’ve been moping around here ever since the night of the fire. Rose thinks you need vitamins. I think you need Carrie.”