“You act as though you expect an award for being a wife and mother. India, that's your job. I don't get an award for doing mine. They don't give Pulitzers or Nobel prizes for leading a normal life. This is what you signed on for. If you're expecting a prize for this, or if you're expecting me to kiss your feet every time you pick the kids up at school, India, don't. I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you want to be a career woman, or a photographer floating all over the world, you're going to have to pay a price to do that.”

“I feel like I already have just for talking to you about it, Doug. You've been punishing me for the last two months.” He didn't answer, and all she could see in his eyes was ice and anger.

“I think you've been unfair, dishonest, and you've betrayed all of us with what you're saying. You never told me you'd want to go back to work one day. but never said anything about that.” It was obvious how betrayed he felt from everything he'd done to her since she first said it.

“I didn't know,” she said honestly. “I never really thought I'd want to go back, and for all intents and purposes, I don't. I just want to do a story from time to time.” By now, it was a familiar chorus between them.

“That's the same thing.” He stood up then, and looked at her with rigid disapproval, and what looked to her like strong aversion. “We've said enough about all this. Make up your mind.”

She nodded, and watched him go, and she stood in the kitchen alone for a long time. She could see her children playing on the beach as she looked out the window, and she wondered if it would really be as terrible for them as he said. Would it be such a shock, such a blow, such a betrayal? Somehow she just couldn't bring herself to believe that. Other women worked and traveled and still managed to take care of their children, and their kids didn't all end up in jail and on drugs as a result. It was Doug who wanted her there every moment, nailed to the floor, doing the job he had hired her on for, without offering her either compassion or love. It was Doug who was forcing her to make the choice. But a choice between what and what? Did she owe him total obedience, like a galley slave, with the chance to be little more than his housekeeper and companion? Or did she owe herself something more? She knew what Paul would have said.

And as she stood there, thinking about it again, she knew it was hopeless. He was never going to come around, or agree to what she wanted. In fact, she had no choice, unless she was willing to give him up. And for now at any rate, that still seemed too high a price to pay for just a taste of freedom.

She said nothing to him when she went into the bedroom to pack their things. She made no announcement, she never told him she'd made up her mind. She just gave up. The dreams she had came at too high a price, and she knew it.

She was very quiet that night at dinner, which was unlike her. She told the kids to pack their things the next day, and she did everything she had to, to close the house. She didn't go to see the Parkers to say good-bye, or anyone else that year. She just did what was expected of her, what her “job” was, as Doug said, and when it was time to leave, she got in the car with the others.

They stopped at McDonald's on the way home, and she ordered for the kids and Doug, fed the dog, and ate nothing herself. And when they got home and unloaded the car, she went inside, and Jessica turned to her father.

“What's wrong with Mom? Is she sick or something?” They had all noticed it, but she was the only one who dared to ask him.

“I think she's just tired,” Doug said calmly. “It's a big job closing the house.” Jessica nodded, wanting to believe him, but her mother had closed the house every summer, and she had never looked like that. She looked drawn and pale and unhappy, and more than once Jessica was sure she'd seen tears in her mother's eyes when India thought no one was looking. Her parents never said a word to each other on the entire trip back to Westport.

And finally that night, India said something to Doug. She turned to look at him as they were getting ready for bed, and fought back tears as she told him. “I'm not going to take my name off the roster. But I won't take any assignments if they call.”

“What's the point of that? Why not do it cleanly? If you're not going to take the jobs, why let them call?”

“Why not? Eventually they'll stop calling anyway. It's just good for my ego when they call to know they still want me.” He looked at her for a long moment, and then shrugged. He wanted not only her heart, but her liver and her kidneys. It wasn't enough that she had given in to him, he wanted to drive home the point. Even though he knew he'd won. He wanted to be sure the subject would never come up again. He wanted to know he owned her. And more importantly, he wanted her to know it.

He didn't thank her, didn't praise her, didn't tell her she'd done a great thing for mankind, or for him, and that he was grateful for it. He just walked into their bathroom, closed the door, and took a shower. India was already in bed when he came out half an hour later.

He turned off the lights, slipped into bed beside her, lay there for a while, and then finally turned toward her in silence, and ran lazy fingers down her back.

“Still awake?” he whispered.

“Yes.” In some remote part of her she was waiting for him to tell her he loved her, that he was sorry it had been so rough for her, that he would cherish her and make her happy for the rest of her life. Instead, he reached a hand around her in silence and touched her breast, and she could feel her whole body turn to granite. She wanted to turn around and slap him for what he had done to her, for what he hadn't said, for how little he cared about her feelings, but she said nothing to him as she lay with her back turned to him in the darkness.

He tried caressing her for a little while, and she showed no reaction, and didn't turn toward him as she always had. And after a while, he stopped.

They lay side by side in the dark, with a chasm between them the size of an ocean. It was an ocean of sorrow and pain and disappointment. He had defeated her, he had won. And she had lost a part of herself. All she had now was a job. She could cook for him, clean for him, drive for their children, and make sure they were warmly dressed in winter. She could ask him how his day had been at the office, when he wasn't too tired to answer. She could give him what she had promised him years before, for better or worse. And as far as India was concerned, this was worse. And better was far, far behind them.





Chapter 11

GAIL HAD called India several times when they got back from Harwich, but they had missed each other. She left cheery messages on the answering machine but she was never home when India called her back. They had spoken to each other twice after Gail got back from Europe, and she had a feeling something was wrong, but India insisted everything was fine when she asked her.

Gail said the trip to Europe had been more fun than she expected. Jeff had actually been more entertaining than usual, and by some miracle, despite long hours in the car, the kids managed not to fight with each other. It had been the best trip they'd ever had.

The two women didn't actually run into each other until the first day of school, and they finally met in the parking lot after Sam and Gail's twins had gone inside. But the moment Gail saw her, she could see that something terrible had happened to India that summer.

“My God, are you all right?” India hadn't had time

to braid her hair that morning. She'd had to do double car pools for Jessica, and the other kids, and she felt frazzled and knew she looked a little wild and disheveled.

“I didn't have time to brush my hair,” she said, running her hand over the blond mane with a smile. “Do I look that bad?”

“Yes,” Gail said honestly, with worried eyes examining her, “but it's not your hair. You look like you've lost ten pounds.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Except you look like someone died.” She had. But she hadn't wanted to tell Gail about it. “What happened to you? Did you get sick this summer?” Gail looked genuinely worried.

“Sort of,” she said vaguely, trying to avoid Gail's eyes, but as usual, she was unsuccessful. Gail had a terrier quality to her when she wanted to know something.

“Oh, Jesus. Are you pregnant?” But she didn't look like it. She looked miserable and dead inside. There was a lot more wrong with her than morning sickness. “Have you got time for a cappuccino?”

“I guess so,” India said limply. She had some things to organize at home, a stack of laundry to do, and a list of women to call to confirm her car pools.

“I'll meet you at ‘Caffe Latte’ in five minutes.”

They both got in their cars, and Gail was already ordering for them when India got there. She knew exactly the way India liked it. Cappuccino with a splash of low-fat milk, two sugars. Five minutes later, they were at a corner table, with two chocolate-covered biscotti between them.

“You didn't say anything when I called you in Harwich. What in hell has been going on with you this summer?” Gail was upset as she looked at her. She had never seen India so miserable or so lifeless, and she only hoped she didn't have some terrible physical problem. At their age, there was always that to think of, like breast cancer. As Gail watched her, India took a sip of the cappuccino and said nothing for a moment. “Is it you and Doug?” she asked with a moment of insight.

“Maybe. Actually it's me. I don't know…. The ball started rolling in June and it's turned into an avalanche since then.”