“Why should you be? If he wanted to die, that was his affair.”
“I meant I was sorry for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t feel anything, do you?” He crossed the room and stood facing her. “Do you?”
“Not much.”
“Do you ever feel anything? For anybody?”
“Yes.”
“For whom?”
“I... I wish you would not get personal, Mr. Blackshear.”
“My name is Paul.”
“I really can’t call you that.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, that’s all.”
“Very well.”
“I...” She stepped back and stood against the wall with her hands behind her back, like an embarrassed schoolgirl. “How is Mother taking it?”
“I’m not really sure. When she called me on the telephone she seemed more angry than anything else.”
“Angry at whom?”
“Evelyn Merrick.”
“I don’t understand. What had Evelyn to do with Douglas’ death?”
“Your mother holds her responsible for it.”
“Why?”
“Evelyn called your mother last night and gave her some information about Douglas and Jack Terola, the man who’s supposedly been giving Douglas lessons in photography. I won’t repeat the information. It wasn’t pretty, though; I can tell you that. This morning your mother taxed Douglas with it and he admitted that some of it, at least, was true. Your mother wanted a showdown with Terola and actually started out to see him. Whether she saw him or not, I don’t know for sure. She says she didn’t, that she turned around and came back to the house. Meanwhile, the maid had found Douglas’ body when she went to clean his room, and she called the doctor. The doctor was there when your mother arrived. She tried to get in touch with you immediately, and failing that, she called me and asked me to come over here.”
“Why?”
“The telephone company...”
“I meant, why was she so anxious to have me informed right away? So she could be sure I’d send a nice fat wreath, as I sent a nice fat check?”
“That’s uncharitable, Helen.”
“Yes, I guess it is. I’m sorry. Life has taught me to be suspicious. I’ve learned the lesson too well.”
“Perhaps you can unlearn it some day.”
“Perhaps. It’s harder to unlearn, though.”
“I can help you, Helen.”
“How?”
“By giving you something that’s been too scarce in your life.”
“What?”
“You can call it love.”
“Love.” Violent pink spread up from her neck to her cheekbones. “No. No. You... you’re just trying to be nice to me.”
“I’m not trying,” he said with a smile. “I am being nice to you.”
“No. I don’t want your love, anyone’s. I can’t accept it. It — embarrasses me.”
“All right. Don’t get excited. There’s no hurry. I can wait.”
“Wait? What will you wait for?”
“For you to unlearn some of those lessons you’ve been taught.”
“What if I can’t. What if I never...”
“You can, Helen. Just tell me you’ll try. Will you?”
“Yes, I’ll try,” she whispered. “But I don’t know where to start.”
“You’ve already started.”
She looked surprised and pleased. “I have? What did I do?”
“You remembered Evelyn Merrick.”
“How do you know that?”
“You referred to her quite casually a few minutes ago as Evelyn. Do you remember her clearly now?”
“Yes.”
“In her phone call to you the other night, when she said you’d always envied and been jealous of her, was she right, Helen?”
“She was right.”
“That’s no longer true, is it?”
“No. I don’t envy her any more. She’s to be pitied.”
“Pitied, yes,” he said, “but watched, too. She’s all the more dangerous because she can appear quite rational on the surface.”
“You’ve seen her, then.”
“Not yet. I’ll see her tonight. But I discussed her with your mother last night before the phone call, and early this morning I talked to Evelyn’s own mother. Neither of them had the faintest suspicion that the girl is insane. She appears to have a completely split personality. On the one hand, she’s the affectionate, dutiful daughter, as well as your mother”s idea of a perfect daughter-in-law — and the latter would take quite a bit of doing, since your mother”s not easy to please.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“On the other hand, the girl is so full of hatred and vengeance that she wants only to destroy people by turning them against one another. She’s crafty, she hasn’t had to do any of the destroying herself. She just throws in the bone and lets the dogs fight each other over it. And there’s usually some meat of truth on the bone.”
She thought of her mother and Douglas, and how they had fought throughout the years, not like dogs, or like boxers in the ring face to face, but like guerrillas stalking each other in a dark forest. Into this forest Evelyn had thrown a giant flare which lit up the trees and the underbrush and scorched the enemies out of their cover.
Poor Douglas. He was always a boy, he could never have grown up in a dark forest.
“I sent him a check for his birthday,” she said dully. “Perhaps if I’d sent it sooner...”
“A check wouldn’t have made any difference, Helen. The doctor found nearly fifty sleeping capsules in the medicine chest. Douglas had been planning this for a long time.”
“Why does Mother blame Evelyn for it, then?”
“She has to blame someone. And it can’t be herself.”
“No,” she said, thinking: Mother was trapped in the forest just as much as Douglas was. Years ago someone should have led them out, but there was no one except Father and me, and Father was too harsh and I was lost myself.
She covered her face with her hands and tears slid out between her fingers.
“Don’t cry, Helen.”
“Someone should have helped. Years ago someone should have helped.”
“I know.”
“Now it’s too late, for Douglas, for Mother.” She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes softened by tears. “Maybe it’s too late for me, too.”
“Don’t think that.”
“Yes. I feel inside me that I’ve lived my life, I’m only waiting, like Douglas with his hoard of sleeping capsules. Perhaps I’ll get another phone call, perhaps it will light up the underbrush and I won’t be able to bear what I see.”
“Stop it.” He put his arms around her, but her body grew stiff as wood at his touch and her hands clenched into tight fists. He knew the time had not yet come, and perhaps never would.
He walked away to the other side of the room and sat down at the desk, watching the change come over her at his retreat, the relaxation of her muscles, the easier breathing, the leveling off of color in her face. He wondered if this was how they must remain for all time, a room’s width away from each other.
“You’re very — kind,” she said. “Thank you, Paul.”
“Forget it.”
“I suppose now I must go home and stay with Mother. That’s what is expected of me, isn’t it?”
“By her, yes.”
“Then I’ll get ready, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll drive you over, Helen.”
“No, please don’t bother. I’ll call a cab. I don’t want to interfere with your investigation.”
“My investigation, as such, is almost finished. You asked me to find Evelyn Merrick. Well, I’ve found her.”
“You think it’s all over, then? Everything’s settled?” Her voice was insistent. “You have no further work to do on the case?”
“There’s work to be done, but...”