It was easier to focus on Wim, and from then on, they were both busy carrying his belongings upstairs. Once they got into the room, Paris stationed herself in the area of Wim's bed, to unpack what they brought up, and Peter and Wim lugged boxes and bags, a trunk, a small stereo, his computer, and his bicycle up three flights of stairs. They had rented a microwave and a tiny refrigerator from the school. He had everything he'd need, and it was four o'clock before everything was set up. Two of his roommates had arrived by then, and the third appeared just as they left. They all looked like healthy, young, wholesome boys. Two were from California, and the third was from Hong Kong. And they seemed a good mix. Wim had promised to have dinner with Peter that night, and he said he'd be back at six, and then turned to Paris as they walked slowly down the stairs. They both looked tired, it had been a long day, and emotional in every way. She was not only watching her youngest child fly the nest, and helping him do it as she lovingly made his bed and put his clothes away, but she was setting Peter free at the same time, or trying to. It was a reminder of her double loss. Triple, when she thought of Meg. All the people she counted on and loved were now gone from her daily life, and Peter far more than that. He was gone for good.

He turned to her as they reached the main hall, which was graced with a huge bulletin board covered with fliers and messages, and posters of concerts and sports events. It was the essence of college life.

“Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?” Peter asked generously, as she shook her head. She was almost too drained to talk, as she brushed back a lock of blond hair, and he had to fight the temptation to do it for her. She looked like a young girl herself in jeans and T-shirt and sandals. She hardly looked older to him than the girls moving in to the neighboring dorm, and seeing her that way brought back a wave of memories for him.

“Thanks. I'm wiped out. I think I'll go back to the hotel and get a massage.” She was even too tired for that, but the last thing she wanted was to sit across a dinner table from him, or worse, next to him, and see what she could no longer have. As tired as she was, she knew all she would do was cry. She wanted to spare them all that. “I'll see Wim tomorrow. Are you coming back?”

He shook his head in answer. “I have to be in Chicago tomorrow night. I'm leaving in the morning, at the crack of dawn. But I think he's pretty well set, by this time tomorrow he won't want anything to do with either of us. He's off and running,” Peter said with a smile. He was proud of their son, and so was Paris.

“Yes, he is,” she said with a sad smile. It hurt so damn much, no matter how right it was. It was painful for her. “Thanks for carrying all the heavy stuff,” she said, as he walked her to the van. “It didn't seem like that much when we packed.” It had grown exponentially somehow on the flight out.

“It never does,” he said with a smile. “Remember when we took Meg to Vassar? I've never seen so much stuff in my life.” She had even brought wallpaper and curtains, and a rug, and insisted her father put up the wallpaper with a staple gun she'd brought. She had her mother's gift for transforming a room, and fortunately her roommate had liked what she'd brought. But Peter had never worked so hard in his life. Putting up the curtains to her satisfaction had been agony, and Paris laughed at the memory with him. “Whatever happened to all that stuff? I don't recall it coming home, or did she take it to New York?” It was the trivia of which lifetimes are made. A lifetime they had shared and never would again.

“She sold it to a junior when she left.” He nodded, and they looked at each other for a long moment. So many memories they had shared were irrelevant now, like old clothing left to disintegrate quietly in an attic. The attic of their hearts, and the marriage he had destroyed. She felt as though her entire life had been deposited in a dumpster like so much trash. All things that had once been cherished and loved and belonged to someone, and now had no home. And she along with it. Tossed out, forgotten, unloved. It was a depressing thought.

“Take care of yourself,” he said somberly, and then finally let himself say what he'd been thinking all day. “I mean really take care. You look awfully thin.” She didn't know what to answer him, she just looked at him, nodded, and looked away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. “Thanks for letting me be here today.”

“I'm glad you were,” she said generously. “It wouldn't have been the same for Wim if you weren't here.” He nodded, and she got into the van without looking at him, and a moment later she drove away, as he watched her for a long time. He believed in the choice he had made, and there were times when he had never known such happiness as what he and Rachel shared. And there were others when he knew he would miss Paris forever. She was a remarkable woman. And he hoped that one day, she would get over what he had done to her. He admired her for her dignity and courage. He knew better than anyone that she was a woman of great grace. More than he felt he deserved.





Chapter 7




When Paris showed up at the dormitory to see Wim the next day, he was on his way out with his friends. He had a thousand things to sign up for, people to meet, worlds to discover, things to do, and she realized within minutes that if she stuck around, she would be in the way. Her job was done. It was time to go.

“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” she asked hopefully, and he looked awkward and shook his head.

“I can't. I'm sorry, Mom. There's an assembly for the athletic department tonight.” She knew he wanted to get on the swimming team. He'd been on the varsity team all through high school.

“It's all right, sweetheart. I guess I'll head down to L.A. to see Meg. Will you be okay?” She half-wished he would throw his arms around her neck and beg her not to leave, as he had done at camp. But he was a big boy now, and ready to fly. She hugged him for a long moment, and he looked at her with an unforgettable smile.

“I love you, Mom,” he whispered, as the others waited for him in the hall. “Take care of yourself. And thanks for everything.” He wanted to thank her for the day she had been willing to spend with his father the day before, in spite of everything, but he didn't know how. His father had spoken respectfully of her the night before, which almost made Wim ask him why he had left if he thought so highly of her. It was impossible to understand, but more than he wanted to know. He just wanted them both to be happy, whatever it took. Especially his mom. Sometimes she seemed so frail. “I'll call you,” Wim promised.

“I love you…. Have fun …” she said, as they walked out of his room, and he hurried down the stairs with a wave, and then he was gone, and she walked slowly down, wishing for only a second that she was young again, and starting all over. But what would she have done differently? Even knowing what she knew now, she would have married Peter anyway. And had Wim and Meg. Other than the last disastrous three months, she had no regrets about their marriage.

She drove back to San Francisco in the van on a brilliantly sunny day, and went back to the hotel to pack. She had thought of looking at some houses and apartments, in case she ever decided to move out, but she wasn't in the mood. Having left one of her chicks at Berkeley, she was now anxious to see the other in L.A. She booked a three o'clock flight, arranged for a car to get her to the airport, and asked the hotel to return the van, since they had rented it for her anyway. And at one-thirty she was on her way to the airport. She was due to arrive at LAX just after four o'clock, and had promised to pick Meg up at work. Paris was staying at Meg's apartment that night, which sounded like fun and would be less lonely than a hotel.

And on the flight down she thought of Peter again, the way he had looked, the things he had said. She had gotten through it at least, and managed not to humiliate herself, or embarrass Wim. All things considered, she had done well. She had a lot to talk about with Anne Smythe. And after that, she closed her eyes for a few minutes, and slept until they landed in L.A.

The moment they arrived, she could sense that she was in a bustling metropolis and not a small provincial town like San Francisco, or a bohemian intellectual suburb like Berkeley. The atmosphere in Los Angeles, even at the airport, felt more like New York, with looser clothes and better weather. It was fun just being there. And when she got to the studio, she could see why Meg loved it. Her job was crazed. There were a thousand things going on at once. Actors and actresses with beautiful hair and perfect makeup were scurrying across the set or making frantic demands. Technicians were everywhere, with lighting fixtures in hand or coils of wire draped around their necks. Cameramen were shouting to others to set up scenes that still had to be lit. And a director had just told everyone to call it a day, which left Meg free to leave.

“Wow! Is it like this every day?” Paris asked, fascinated by the action swirling around them. Meg smiled, looking relaxed and poised.

“No.” Meg laughed. “Usually it's busier. Half the actors were off today.”

“I'm impressed.” Her daughter had never looked happier. She looked gorgeous, and just like her mother. They had identical features, the same long blond hair, and these days Paris was even thinner than Meg, which gave her an ever more youthful appearance.

“You two look like sisters!” a lighting technician commented with a grin as he walked by, having just heard Meg call her “Mom.” And Paris smiled. It was an intriguing world, and a lively scene.