However, what was was. Be philosophic. He would have to work with what he had … Gabe had driven straight through from Chicago in one day and had arrived at eleven-thirty the night before. They had all sat down to have a cup of coffee and a sandwich together, and no real strains had been apparent. Gabe had even said good night to her as he went off to bed, and when they were alone again, Fay had commented on what nice posture the young man had. Well, there was a certain willingness in that remark, wasn’t there? And as for Gabe, he was an intelligent boy, a decent boy — so why then should there be strains? They were three grown people; if they all worked at it a little, they could have a week together that would be a foundation for their future happiness.
He reasoned and he reasoned, and still, when Gabe swam to shore, and Dr. Wallach handed a towel up to him, he found himself unable to relax. He was stiff and ill at ease, fearful of saying the wrong thing, all this in front of his own flesh and blood.
Gabe sat down beside him and they looked out at the sea. He asked if his father had gotten over his chill and Dr. Wallach assured him that he had. This enabled them to look out at the water again. The doctor checked his watch, but they were not due back for breakfast for another half hour. The beach was empty of people as far off as he could see.
“So how’s teaching this year?” Dr. Wallach asked. “Still crazy about it?”
“Oh, I like it all right.”
“Still like the Windy City?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Gabe, rubbing his towel across his shoulders, “I’m getting a little tired of it.”
He could hardly believe his ears. His heart took a long stride forward and met, head-on, the wall of his chest. Through some miracle of the will, he managed not to cry out, “Then come, come, my darling son — come back with me!”
He said instead, “Oh? No kidding.” He was so proud of his self-control that he could have shaken his own hand. He looked — casually — over at his son, and saw upon his face what seemed to be depression. “So,” he began again, “I suppose you won’t be hanging around Chicago very much from now on.”
“I don’t know. I’ve even been thinking of leaving teaching.”
“Something happen?”
“It’s just not quite as satisfying as it was. Maybe I’ll try something else for a while.”
“I see.” He attempted to let more than a second elapse, but couldn’t. “For instance, what? Just speaking off the cuff, you know.”
“Traveling. Maybe living in Europe for a while.”
“Oh. Uh-huh. Interesting …”
They had been speaking with their eyes toward the horizon, but now Gabe turned to the doctor and smiled. The boy had the height and carriage of his mother, but he had the doctor’s long head and stern good looks. There was no doubt that he was the doctor’s son. “But I’m not sure, you see, about anything,” he said.
Dr. Wallach wondered if his own stern eyes looked stern enough; they were not teary, and he most assuredly did not want them to look as though they were. “When would this be?” he asked. “You know, a year, two years—”
“I don’t know … I’m even thinking of resigning. Of not going back, except to get my belongings.”
“Well, this is a surprise.”
“For me too. It only occurred to me about halfway through Pennsylvania yesterday. As I said, I’m not even sure.”
“Well,” the doctor said — casual still — letting some sand drift slowly off his hands, “it just shows — your heart is in the East after all.”
“I didn’t mean to indicate that I’d decided anything—”
“Who said you decided anything? I was just making an observation.” They were silent. Until Dr. Wallach said, “I mean your business is certainly your business. Europe is a beautiful and educational place, there’s no doubt about that. It’s too bad you didn’t feel this way last year”—he was desperate with the desire to sound simply chatty—“when I was going.”
“Yes — well — I thought I’d stay a little longer. I’m not so much thinking of touring as settling down there awhile.”
“Well, sure, you’re single. Live it up. You still like the bachelor life, huh?”
Gabe shrugged. “I’m not planning to marry anybody just yet.”
“Certainly, take your time, look around. Take a walk down Fifth Avenue for yourself. The most beautiful women in the world. Let me put it this way: the Italian girl is a beautiful girl, I’ll grant that, and the French girl is certainly a girl of fine qualities too. And even the English girl has got something about her, very soft skin and so forth, but for nice wholesome all-around good looks, give me an American girl, any day. If I were a young man looking for a wife, I’d look right around here. You don’t even have to go very far from Central Park to find the kind of girl I’m talking about.”
Gabe only nodded his head. The doctor felt his face go incandescent — how obvious he was! His son said, “Shall we go back for breakfast? I’m getting hungry.”
They both got up. “No,” the doctor said, “I didn’t think Chicago was going to be your city forever. New York gets in a man’s blood — speaking for myself, I mean. You know that song, “Autumn in New York”—well, popular as it is, there’s some truth in it.”
“Of course my plans aren’t definite …” They started off.
“Look,” said Dr. Wallach, a finger on his son’s arm, “nobody’s plans are definite.”
“I suppose that’s so.”
He was afraid to say more. How could he tell him he was uncertain about Mrs. Silberman when he was actually uncertain whether or not he was uncertain? Suppose he confessed to doubt and married her later anyway? Could he possibly allow himself to appear even more weak, more needy, than he had already? To his own son?
Why not! Damn it, what was a family for, if not to be weak in front of?
“Would that be a breach of contract?” he heard himself asking. “Suddenly resigning like that?”
“No, no — I don’t even imagine I’ll do it. It was just something impractical, really, that I thought of in a groggy state.”
“After all, though, if you’re not happy out there, there’s no reason you should stay. You have a right to make your own decisions.”
“Dad, look …”
“What? What’s the matter now?”
“Nothing. You know, though, that when you and Mrs. Silberman marry — is this what you’re getting at?”
“What?”
“Well … let’s do get things out in the open. You know I couldn’t move in with you two. I mean if I were to leave Chicago. That would be very unrealistic for you to bank on. Surely you know that as well as I do.”
“Absolutely,” he shot back.
“Well, okay then. I’m sorry. I just began to feel that this conversation …”
“Absolutely not. I was thinking about your own welfare. Now you didn’t get anybody out there in trouble, did you?”
Gabe shook his head. “Just a change, that’s all.”
“Because if we’re going to be open with one another—”
“Yes?”
But he owed it to everybody not to whine, not to beg. He was a sixty-year-old man earning $35,000 a year; he could not act like a child. Instead of talking about his own ambivalence, he found himself talking about his son’s.
“I understand, of course, that this isn’t your mother. So, believe me, I understand your feelings.”
“Which feelings?”
“That you’re a little skeptical where Fay is concerned.”
“If I’ve been skeptical, it’s not been my business to be. Above all I want you to be happy. If this is going to bring you contentment—”
He heard the real emotion in his son’s voice, and now did indeed feel tears in his eyes. “It will,” he said, interrupting. “I’m absolutely sure of that.” He felt at once proud and ashamed of the strength he had displayed. Then his eyes were dry.