She said, “Is East Hampton on Long Island?”
“Yes.”
“Near Springs?”
“Springs is out there too, I think.” Springs was the name of the town to which she placed her phone calls twice a month. “I don’t know exactly where. Do you have any idea how far out it is?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think I have a New York map in the car.”
“It’s not important,” she said.
“Martha, if you want to call tonight, why don’t you?”
She answered sharply. “Because I don’t want to!”
“It was simply a suggestion,” I said.
She rose then, picked up the comb that was on the blanket, and started off down along the rocks. She was pulling the comb absent-mindedly through her hair as she disappeared around the edge of the cove. A little time passed, and then she was back.
She dropped the comb onto my toes. “I’m not going to give in to myself. Okay?”
“At the risk of your getting angry again, I don’t think you should think of it as giving in to yourself.”
“Don’t you?” she asked dubiously.
“Forget it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, kneeling beside me, “I’m just suddenly having a bad day.” She took my hand.
“I shouldn’t have brought out that letter half a dozen times either. I depressed everybody.”
“You have a right to your troubles.”
“They’re not even new troubles — they’re old ones. Whatever could have been done had to have been done a long time ago. And I don’t even know what that was. The hell with it.”
“You said that already.”
“What is it, Martha? I thought you were happy today. You told all those jokes, you were even nice and loud, sweetheart—”
“I was. Happy, I mean. I am happy. I just thought before that today was Sunday, and then I realized it’s only Saturday.”
“There’s no law that says you can only dial New York on Sundays.”
“There is,” she said. “I made it.”
If that was the way she wanted it, that’s the way it would have to be. But I could not escape feeling that if she did call her children, we might have a more pleasant evening in store for us. Though that was to reason directly in the face of past experience — whenever Martha put the phone back down on the hook, it took us some time before we could look each other in the eye. “Well,” I said, feeling nagged at and naggy, “Sunday’s tomorrow anyway.”
“Right. I’ll call then.”
But she became bluer and bluer. “Should I get the map?” I asked. “Do you want just to see how far Springs is from East Hampton—?”
“Let’s sit here and enjoy the view.”
“Because you could come East with me. How does that sound? We’ll stay with my father and Mrs. Silberman. I’m sure they’d like it. I’d like it.”
“I just started work.”
“Delsey wouldn’t mind. Tell him you’re going to visit your children.”
“You don’t even know whether or not Springs is close.”
“The whole stretch of island is only a hundred miles.”
“I’ll be all right. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you call tonight if you want to.”
“Why don’t you let me decide for myself!” She got up and jumped down two levels of rocks until she was standing at the water’s edge, her back to me.
“Whatever you decided,” I called down after her, “you decided for yourself!”
She turned only her head. “Oh did I?”
That was the exchange, brief but to the point.
She made her way back to the blanket later and said, “I’m just having a few bad hours.” She put her hand on mine again. “It’s simply a matter of keeping control.”
“Would you like to have a drink?” I touched her arm, and when she moved toward me willingly, I touched her face. “Would you like to go home and take a shower and get dressed? We’ll go out to dinner someplace where it’s cool—”
“It’s too beautiful now. I want to stay.”
“Whatever you want,” I said.
“Gabe, really, though,” she said in a moment, “if you want to take a little trip … Nobody who doesn’t have to stay in Chicago for a whole summer should be allowed to feel that he must.”
“I don’t want to take a trip!”
“Okay then, it’s just an academic discussion. They’re nice to have too,” she said, but I wasn’t charmed.
Or softened, or forgiving. “Though sometimes you’re able to convince me that a trip wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Then—”
“Then what?” I demanded.
“Nothing … I didn’t say it, see? The better part of wisdom is to be short on suggestions,” she said, with a cold look on her face.
“Is that directed against me by any chance, that remark? I don’t know that I’ve made any suggestions to you.”
“You’re a suggestion,” she said, flatly.
“I’m terribly sorry about that.”
“You’re not.”
“No, I’m not. I never made any promises.”
“I said you were a suggestion, not a promise.”
“Oh Christ, let’s stop this. Why don’t you come East with me? We’ll go together — that’s right, this is an outright suggestion — and you can see the kids—”
“Right now,” she said, standing and patently ignoring my remarks, “you know what I’d like to do? First, I too would like us to stop being accusative — imperative, whatever it is we are. Two, I’d like to get home and take that shower; and three, I’d like to go out to dinner, some place where we can eat outside.”
“We could drive East in a day.”
“Delsey needs me now.”
“Delsey has a big heart. Tell him why you’re going.”
“I don’t think it would really be a good idea.”
I got up too and put on my shirt. “If that’s what you want.”
As we started toward the car, she said, “But don’t think you can’t go—”
“I don’t.”
At home Martha said she wanted to pin up her hair, and she asked would I take the first shower. When I was finished I stepped onto the bath mat and opened the door an inch to let the steam out. Martha was on the phone, saying to the operator that she had been cut off again. She hung up and the phone rang; she picked it immediately off the receiver. I pushed open the door another few inches.
“Hello — hello, Dick? It’s Martha again. We were cut off. I said we were cut off — we still have a lousy connection.… How are the kids doing? … And Markie? … Are they in, can I talk to them? … I know it’s Saturday … What! … Well, can’t you wake them up? … For Christ’s sake, Dick, I’m their mother — what? … I said I’m their mother, I’m calling long distance.… I know it’s an hour later — will you please wake them up! … Then let them sleep late in the morning—please, this is costing money.… Okay, okay, yes.…” Silence. Then, “Hello — hello, Cynthia? Honey, it’s Mother … Mother—what’s wrong with this connection! Cynthia, baby, can you hear me? Come on, try to wake up. Rub your eyes or something — Mark, is that you? … Speak louder, darling. Speak into the phone … Cynthia, Cynthia, are you still there? Speak into the phone, darlings. Look, how are you? … Did you go swimming today? … I said, Did you go swimming today? Cynthia, let him talk — what? … Cynthia, sweetie, why don’t you write? … Well, ask him for paper.… Of course he’ll give you paper.… Where are all your envelopes I gave you with the address on them? … What? … Who left them where? I can’t hear you if you both talk.… Oh children, stop arguing, please, this is long — what? … Of course, darling, you send it, I’d love to see it.… Stephanie is fine, uh-huh.… Cynthia, please, it doesn’t matter if he hasn’t finished it. You send it anyway. Okay, operator, fine … Cynthia, you write, do you hear me? And watch your brother in the water.… Are you both all right? Do you need anything? … That’s fine.… He’s here, honey. No, dear, no, no.… Goodbye, honey — look, let me talk to your daddy — Mark? Markie? Let me — hello? Is anybody there …?”