Thank you for clicking onto my fourth Price of Salt fic. Once again, I wanted to contribute whatever I could but this time from Therese's POV, as I haven't written from her character before and I wanted to challenge myself.
Also as a side note, I truly appreciate those who reached out to me or left reviews for my other Price of Salt stories. Thank you so much for your feedback and your kind encouragement.
This story takes place some time after the book, when Carol and Therese are assumed to be living together in Carol's new apartment. However long when after where the book ends, you can decide. I rated it T for some discussion of religious themes and some mature psychological content.
Once again, these characters do not belong to me but to Patricia Highsmith.
Selfishness
In the middle of the night, Therese woke up.
The frist thing she said was "Carol?"
Carol said nothing.
She didn't need to.
Therese already knew Carol was awake.
Therese knew this by the tenor and the pace of the other woman's breathing, how it contrasted with the pitch of the rest of the surrounding air like the hum of a generator or the subtle wash of distant rain . Therese knew whenever Carol was conscious and was thinking. Carol's intelligence was such, that it could never be concealed, even when she said or did nothing. Her thoughts were loud, reasonant and whenever Carol thought, it left a strong, nuanced presence in the room, like something you could feel, hear and touch. Carol had that exquisite ability , to set and suffuse whatever space she possessed with the atmosphere of her person , like a scent of a heady perfume or to turn it silvery and trembling with motion like the liquid looking droplet pearls earrings she often wore. Therese could sense Carol's alertness, like she could often feel the weight of Carol's thoughts, when Carol looked at her, her comprehending and penetrating opal-blue eyes lingering on and apprehending her body. Where ever she might go, the fact was that Carol's gaze perpetually sought and safely encompassed her.
When Carol did not respond, Therse knew something was wrong.
Uneasily , hesitantly, Therese said again. "...Carol- ...?"
No answer.
It was dark in the room, the blackness of it profound, sizzling,and solid. Therese was answered by that stillness and silence. But it was not a easy or vacuous stillness, something was contained in it , blinding and incomprehensible, a great ponderous mass of silence. It was plaintive quiet that belied anything but absence or a dearth of feeling , but an over-abundance of it. The air teemed and swarmed with it. With Carol's thought or dreams and the darkness and sometimes the starts and shatters of light inherent in them.
"Carol...Are you...?" Therese spoke again.
She stopped herself.
She would not bother to ask.
Therese knew she would not get any response .
Tentatively, Therese reached over .
She carefully, delicately felt , just barely skimming over the smooth hard peak of Carol's cheekbone with the tremulous spray of her finger tips.
Her fingertips came back wet.
Therese raised her fingers to her lips to taste.
It culminated, in a warm droplet, which ran down the Y shaped gap between her fingers. She followed that meandering path down the pads of her palm with her mouth .
On her fingers, she tasted salt.
Which meant Carol was crying.
Therese's breath stopped. The taste of Carol's tears spread like fire across her tongue.
Then she listened for it.
Others panted, sniffed and sobbed as they wept.
Carol didn't.
Unnervingly, she did not make a sound.
Meaning if Therese hadn't woken up for no discernable reason, she would have never known about it. (Even asleep, Therese thought , she could perceive and respond to Carol's distress, enough so, it had awoken her from her dense dreamless sleep). Not just that , but if Therese had not actually taken care to reach across to feel Carol's cheek , Therese would have never found out about it either.
Which meant Carol was used to tears in secret,private tears. Restraining herself to specific times to not be caught. That Carol had to learn it throughout her life, as a adaptable skill. Therese imagined it, each image like a pang: Carol crying as a girl in her child's bed, unhappy and alone with her melancholic and unchildish thoughts. Crying bitterly for years next to her sleeping (now ex-husband) Harge as not to wake and disturb him . Even crying, tight lipped, wide eyed next to jovial and well-rested Abby, dissatisfied with their claustophic and overly intimate 'friendship'.
Tonight, Carol remained silent again . Her back faced Therese , not like the familar and adored structure of bone and stretched skin, with its sensuous and refined kite-like arc, but like an shuttered soldered gate, an impenetrable rampant, while the rest of her body seemed remote as if placed on its side in a glass coffin. Her arms clutched protectively around her own body as if she were trying to fend off a relentless chill. She was immobile and refused to speak.
Carol needn't say anything.
Therese already knew what Carol was crying about.
Although she did not want to admit it.
Rindy.
Therese knew it was about Rindy.
Carol never spoke about Rindy, not to Therese or anyone. She never insinuated or mentioned how much the loss of her daughter affected her.
Except that frist conversation. Carol had mentioned that she might not see Rindy again, affecting in a frank and cavalier way, that it didn't much matter .
Therese knew now that Carol had been lying.
When Carol lied or behaved overly cool and composed, it was always to protect or help Therese, for her benefit. It was similar to the that moment when she had acted calm, and resolute when she had gone herself to confront the private investigator herself with Harge's gun in tow . Carol must have been terrified , (as anyone would and Therese had been ) but one would have never known but Carol had not made it outwardly known or apparent . She had not wanted to further frighten or burden Therese with her own fear.
Carol had only cried and asked for a cigarette afterwards.
But it had been about Rindy again.
Carol was good about it, so good at pretending- she would have been a consummate actress- Therese almost wondered if losing Rindy had bothered her at all, or that Carol were like her own mother . If giving up her daughter had been an easy sacrifice, an alleviation and a relief. Even a happy thing.
Therese knew it wasn't.
But occasionally, selfishly, Therese wished to delude herself otherwise.
Likewise,at the time of Carol's trial, when she had realized that Carol was not returning to Sioux Falls to be with her - or the moment when she had become acutely aware that Carol loved Rindy more than her, then Therese had been only completely consumed with the thought of Carol's ' betrayal'. Only later did she realized with cowardly regret, that she had been so greedy and childish, she had not even considered Carol facing her own terrible ordeal miles away.
Therese now knew that the court-case for Carol had been grotesque, humiliating. More than that, it had been unendurable, devastating . What Carol had subjected herself to, to an complete capitulation to the court and her ex-husband, only to recieve nothing in the end.
But Therese had not bothered to think of that at all.
She had even been unable to even think sympathetically of Rindy's hardship, an innocent little girl pulled in different directions, the turmoil and how it would inevitably confuse and damage her ,and her losing her mother in the process.
Not losing her mother entirely. Technically, there were some sort of vistations allowed, but only once or twice a year, for a brief period and always with a appointed chaperone, in the fears that Carol might in her criminal and moral turpitude 'corrupt' her daughter.
But it did not matter anymore
Whatever Harge and his family had told their daughter had been effective.
Rindy did not want to see or speak to Carol again.
Sometimes, futilely Carol still made attempts. Tried to call Rindy. Send letters. Packages. Checks.
They were always sent back. Unopened.
The outcome was too sad to imagine.
So Therese did not allow herself to imagine it.
Partially, this was for a selfish reason.
It reminded Therese of her own sobering memory of the relationship with her mother, whom had sent her letters and those she had also refused to open, until the nuns had forced her for the sake of getting her tuition money.
It also reminded Therese of the astounding thought of Carol's prior life, one that was mysterious and unimaginable as it had been because it had nothing to do with her , and she did not like to think of Carol without her, outside her, and admittedly, she could not even fathom Carol beyond the parameters of her knowing her.
Lastly, Therese did not want to put a damper on her happiness with Carol, to taint or mingle it with any other bleak and troubling sentiments as she felt sickened with guilt when she remembered, and with it an mindless dread to think of her own odious reaction to Carol returning for Rindy years back.
Therese had previously thought that Carol had, by prioritizing Rindy over her had failed and betrayed her. But her reaction had been her own moral failure, her own betrayal towards Carol.
Therese carried that failure with her with what she felt like a memory of an illicit crime that she might eventually have to pay for, if ever discovered.
Therese remembered Carol had once told her: All adults had secrets. Infact Therese wondered if that was the object, the defining marker of adulthood, where one knew the cost of one's secret,and the safe-guarding and the constant computations of one's secrets and secret self. Some selves and secrets more corrosive and necessary to retain within than others. Therese suspected if Carol found out her secret, Carol would not love her anymore and that prospect would be unlivable. Therefore Therese swore she would not let anyone discover it, and she would never tell anyone, not even on her dying day.
Therese would never tell Carol that she had once been so petty that she, at 19, had felt competitive towards Rindy, who was a child, her child.
And the secret was beyond that. It was ultimately was this: Therese knew herself, and her punishment was she had to live with this fact, with whom she really was and what Carol, even knowing her as intimately as she did, did not know.
Therese was not a good person.
She was selfish .
But at the time, (even now Therese still tried to justify it)- she had been desperate over Carol- and while Rindy had her father and her other relatives and the future people in her life who loved her and she would love in turn, and the girl was so lucky she would always be unaware of how fortunate she was - but Therese? Therese had nothing except Carol. At least Rindy too could take comfort in the fact that Carol loved her, wanted her, had went back to fight for her. Therese's mother had never even tried- had done the opposite. Rindy, in that regard , was far more fortunate than she and always would be. As Carol was all Therese had, all she had ever had, the only person Therese would ever love, the older woman was her past and present and future, her integrity, her purpose, her soul, her sight - the prism of which through refracted all forms had coalesced and were made sensible, and nothing mattered, nothing had any cause, beauty, effect or reason without her. That thought of Carol and being with her, had been the one thing certain , the inescapable premise Therese's once impoverished existence hinged on. Now her life , with Carol was filled, an actual life in what before had been only its paltry rendering. This ofcourse left her incapable of any other focus except Carol ,to see or try and comprehend the feelings of anyone else. But how could Therese be humanly expected to do that ? One deprived of air, couldn't think of anything but of air they were deprived of! Or maybe a better analogy was like an alcoholic- forced to go dry, would be unable to think of anything, except a drink, no matter the consequences .
But at least, Therese had not felt any personal animosity , any seething vendetta towards Rindy- Rindy was after all, how they met, through Carol needing to buy a doll for her, and the little blonde girl was only an abstract notion to her, something like a photo or doll herself, an obstruction in the background to put aside in order to fully access Carol . Therese had been outraged at Carol- because she was so powerless , even in regard to the miraculous love they had fortitiously found and created , but what was it compared to the love between a mother and a child ? There was no comparison, no contest. What Therese and Carol had, however powerful and all encompassing it was, was meaningless, inconsequential, disposable, just as Therese was, compared to Rindy . It was not Rindy who was the background, a vagary or easily put aside doll, it was Therese. Rindy was Carol's daughter. Therese was merely Carol's ' vacation. ', roadside experience' , an escape, a diversion from her life, forever her second choice . Because a mother's love was instinctual and selfless (supposedly) , had preceded her and would always supersede her . A lover's one was not, and she, like any lover could be forgotten , replaced and discarded , like Abby or Harge or even some man named Stanley McVeigh. Therese did not understand. How could love not be instinctual, all selfish or all selfless?
Therese had in truth, had not been envious, she had been threatened, terrified of Rindy, or of Carol's love for Rindy, like she had been afraid of death, death (like Rindy) being a hurdle to ultimately being with Carol.
Even knowing this, Therese's present mind rejected her initial reaction. She had been thinking of Carol she assured herself .
In truth she had not even been able to contemplate Carol realistically, that Carol might be suffering, only except that Therese was losing her, had been wronged by her, and had her heart broken- even stupidly distraught over a painting that coincidentally resembled Carol, instead of considering or trying to sympathize with the actual sensate woman herself.
Unacceptable was the word.
The young woman could not accept that that contemptible person had been her.
And to some degree, it still was.
Therese had grown , and matured. She had gotten better. She had grown more self- aware, and had 'improved' with time.
But every day, Therese was aware that she still retained the searing memory of who she had been, and there persisted to this day, an unseemly and excruciating gratitude that she had Carol- that they lived together , even though that arrangement had seperated Carol from her daughter, and that presupposed horrendous suffering on Carol's part.
Even as Carol cried tonight, Therese knew she was partially to blame for it. She wondered if Carol might one day resent her for it or begin to question her choice.
Even now, Therese still harbored a secret fear that Carol might end it, if Rindy posed an ultimatum, would consider seeing her again on that condition that Carol end it with Therese, or somehow (even though it was highly unlikely) if she re-married Harge.
For that reason, Therese was relieved that Rindy had not made such a caveat and that she avoided her mother altogether so there could be no more impediments between her and Carol.
This way, she did not have to share Carol's love with anyone.
Knowing this only excerbated Therese's horrified shame about her selfishness , and also, in turned, made her feel even more astounded and grateful that Carol loved her. Even though she was undeserving of it. Therese thought, how fortunate she was! As absurd as it sounded, Therese thanked God every day for Carol. It was like a pardon, a boon of grace given to a unrepentant and irredeemable sinner, the woman herself was an angel, an answer to Therese' s prayers.
But Therese chastised herself.
She was thinking of herself again.
When she should be thinking of Carol.
Therese would strive to continue to improve herself. For Carol.
Therese knew Carol kept in a drawer of things of Rindy. Photos of Rindy. Old letters. A pink porcelain rose pin- she could only assume Rindy 'bought it for her' or had especially liked it on her . A wooden beaded bracelet Rindy had made for her. A pair of baby shoes. Only occasionally she would see that clumsily strung wooden bracelet on Carol's wrist. Or see Carol stare and touch those few little things she still had of Rindy's like they were her collection of relics, her fingers rolling over the beads of that bracelet like the beads of rosary. ( Therese only occasionally thought of the green gloves that Sister Alicia gave her , how she had outgrown them, now could no longer find them or had thrown them out.)
She and Therese never discussed that either. Or moments like this, those times when Carol would cry besides her in the middle of the night, missing Rindy.
It happened rarely, over time rarer still. But even one time was enough to have Therese sleepless and anxious for days afterwards .
And worse, Carol did not share this grief with her, because she did not want to include Therese in it.
That tormented Therese too. It was unfair of Carol to keep this from her and let this suffering be a separation between them. Sometimes it infuriated Therese, how dare she do that- but it was Carol's right , and perhaps was Carol correct ; would the burden would be too great , too much a strain upon them both? What was the worse torment? To be included or excluded from this private pain ? Therese almost wanted to beg Carol for it- she wanted the other woman's hurt inside herself, to feel it inseparately like she felt her pleasure too, like when they were in bed together. If Carol's pleasure was sacred, precious, her pain even more inaccessible was even more so.
Or was that wish selfish as well? Another seizure , and bid for her complete posession over Carol?
Or maybe Carol was selfish too. Like Therese, her disposition could be secretive, withholding, proud. It was possible she still did not want to appear wholly vulnerable and undone before Therese even after all this time. Carol still wanted to take care of Therese (she refused to allow Therese to help to pay for their expenses , even now insisted on giving her checks and at times buying her dresses like she were still a child needing pocket money . This frustrated Therese also). Was this retain some 'mysterious allure' some semblance of power and autonomy , than reveal all the vistas of her whole self to Therese, even now?
Another possibility is that Carol suspected that it was beyond Therese's ability to be able to console her, so she would not test her that way.
Perhaps Carol was right, Therese thought in despair. No matter how much she matured and imagined she might pain for Carol's behalf, Therese would never be able to comprehend the depth of that loss. Therese thought of The Virgin Mary sculpture she once had , and had impulsively broken- now the barest memory, and had done it right before Richard- who was now too, a shred, an indistinct glimmer in her sub-consciousness . It seemed impossible at one time she had been involved with Richard, and had tried so hard to convince herself that she could love him, that she may have even married and had children with Richard if only to prove it to herself.
It brought back a clearer memory of a conversation she and Carol had , long ago, over dinner one night after picking her up from The Black Cat. They ate at Palermo, a place Abby had once taken her.
"Don't you have any plans for the weekend. " Carol had asked her over her well-ordered plate.
"Read. Make my model sets. Maybe I'll start and write a diary." Therese had tried to sound flippant, facetious. She remembered she had sounded timid, frayed instead. She remembered she taken efforts and worn green that night, to match Carol's automobile.
She doubted Carol would bother to notice.
"Is that really how you spend your weekends?" Carol asked wryly. She slowly and indulgently smiled at Therese. " Especially when you look adorable, with that lovely new green dress on."
"Oh, I've had this dress for ages. " Therese lied easily and tried to conceal a grin of intense pleasure at her own mistake. "And why can't I just do that? What else is there for a girl to do?"
"Plenty. Go out. Take in a film. Go dancing for instance. Do you want that for yourself Therese? Instead of evenings in, reading books , waiting for a phone call like a well behaved spinster ." Carol remarked at her condescendingly.
It was a little slight Carol had said. Carol did that from time to time. Therese would have to get used to it. Not look dumbfounded, wounded and confused, as she knew she did right now.
"What could I want other than that ? " Therese tried to not let it bother her. She thought: Other than this. Other than you.
"Many things. Wealth. Fame. Glamour. The world on a string and put in your pocket. " Carol said smoothly. " The groom and bride on a cake. The happy ending. "
"...No" After a pause, Therese managed a anxious smile. "Why on earth would I want that?"
Carol looked at her. Then she laughed.
So did Therese.
However they were laughing for very different reasons.
Therese was only half joking about that -she recalled how once she wanted to die in a tunnel with Carol, in her green car and have their bodies pulled out together and how natural of a wish it seemed.
Yes, she thought, that still sounded far preferable to anything just mentioned.
"So Therese." Carol took a sip of her mist-colored white wine. " Haven't you considered it?"
"Considered what." Therese took a sip of her nearly black blood- red, in order to avoid the question.
Carol smiled. "Marriage I mean ."
Please Carol. Therese thought, her smiling fast becoming agonized. Please don't ask me that.
Unfortunately, Carol's scrutiny was unwavering.
"...Richard says he wants to marry me. " Therese then snorted incredulously like she might want to laugh again . Laughable like the thought of her and Richard getting wed, although the thought didn't seem funny. Her laughter would be a pretense, wary, the doomed kind , to even mention it was the beginning of warning , a looming threat as did the entire idea of marriage itself . It may be an ending , but a end of what ? It did not seem happy to her. She added hastily. " ...But I don't believe him."
"Why not." Carol murmured as if she were only slightly interested, but she was listening closely Therese could tell.
" Well. " Therese had replied, trying to sound off the cuff, clever."Richard likes to imagine things happening , but the imagining itself is enough for him, not the actual doing of them. Its as if the chief concern of his life is a gratification of a dream than any sort of actual useful endeavor. Richard is very... flexible and I used to like that about him, as I used to think that was because he's got an artistic temperment . But that means; he has many ideas and all sorts of grand goals but accomplishes none of them." She finished quickly. " And he never will. "
"Come now. You're being a little hurtful aren't you." Carol eyed her knowingly. Unimpressed. " Who knows. He's young yet. He might accomplish a great deal with himself. You can't deign to cast a condemnatory sentence upon him, or predict this future. Likewise, perhaps Richard might be being truthful about his intentions towards you. At least , he finds pleasure in the idea doesn't he?"
"For now." Therese said tersely.
" But do you?" Carol asked.
Therese sat there, her own improper thoughts thick in her mouth.
"No. I don't especially. " Therese frowned and shook her head. "I once liked the idea of a ... family . But not in the idea of marriage. And no, I don't think I want a... child either . I know alot of girls do... innately, but I haven't felt that desire at all. I just don't understand ... the wish to have one."
Carol seemed to regard this very seriously .
She rested back in her seat, eyes half-lidded, studying Therese.
"Thats because you're still a child yourself. But naturally you will. " Carol finally proclaimed. "Eventually. You will want it. It will happen to you."
"... I don't understand. " Therese had said frustrated. " How does such a thing just... happen to you? How can you be so sure ?"
"It happened to me, didn't it." Carol said.
"Yes. But... but I'm not you - or like you in that way. " Therese tried to express this in the most inoffensive way possible. "We don't live... in the same time, we don't face the same... choices."
Carol tilted her head at her. Skeptical.
" Yes. I do admit my senses weren't were like yours when I was your age." The older woman lit a cigarette. "...But with time, I've come to realize that for the blessing that is."
Another slight. Therese thought.
"Although certain experiences are as they say, are common ones. Across the board. It happens in the same way one grows up and gets older." Carol said firmly but smiled ,but it was not genuine. It was a smile of resignation of a woman used to digesting disappointment, and constantly anticipated new ones at every opportunity. Seeing it saddened Therese and angered her too. " But it certainly will, and I am sure of it as sure as we sit here and have this conversation. I can say it because I have the benefit of experience, and a larger context and perspective than you do ."
"What context, what perspective?" Therese snapped dismayed ,thinking or her own disappointments and she realized she could not bear an entire lifetime of absorbing any more. She was afraid what kind of monstrous person she might transform into if that were so. " We don't need a context do we? We met and we ... immediately understood something about eachother."
"Did we? And what is that ?" Carol said, being purposely flippant and cool. "What is life, a man or a woman without a time and place? What are we Therese? Are we merely flung out of nowhere?"
If its the only place we can be together thats where I prefer to be flung out! Therese wanted to cry out. But Carol would laugh at her if she did. And that made her want to fall face -first into the table cloth and burst into tears in frustration or do something equally as outlandish and unwise.
"Perhaps in a place thats never been before. A new place. Another time. Or we could be... moving somewhere else." Therese struggled to answer , weakly.
"A new place? A new time? How vague and intriguing , but I prefer it just where I am. Thank you. And has your education been so poorly neglected ? " Carol lifted a brow."Nature abhors a vacumn Therese."
"Well I abhor whooever said that- and nature too then. " Therese announced sharply.
"Yes. You must indeed. You prefer artifice to fact and the lights and the stage. And even then, think about it. You paint scenery for plays, in order to make them plausible. And what is a play without some credible scenery? Without any kind of background and believable perspective? Can one act in such a way without time and place, form any sort of sensible sustainable existence while simply flung out of space?" The older woman murmured.
Therese wondered what she looked like to Carol -undoubtedly plain and girlish and shortsighted. Carol thinks she has to teach me things. To prove me wrong. She sees my hope as foolishness. Or maybe it worries her. I have to show her that I'm capable of reasoning out a choice. That I can match her, and understand what she means to say.
"Because the context that matters is what the characters... feel , otherwise it's superficial. The rest ... the other players, the scenery are merely backdrop for the essential story. Thats why you can stage a good play in any dress, any time, any place. It... transcends the context. The players, their feelings- the truth of themselves... You can have a excellent play with bad painted scenery, but you can never have a good play without good characters, and a good story- without a true dilemma,without something... perfect at stake ." Therese explained earnestly as to convince Carol and it felt as if the whole of this restaurant, the street and the tone of this particular evening around them had been especially constructed for the two of them, for the two of them to have this conversation in it.
Carol slowly smiled again with her superior smile . "So you think. But my dear, I think you are a little confused."
The older woman laughed again. Once. Bitterly.
"Why you think everything is a story, a private drama, a scene , don't you. I suppose you're letting me have the good lines too tonight, aren't you." The older woman blew a stream of smoke above them both, into the air. "I imagine you enjoy letting your imagination run away with you."
Crestfallen, Therese bit her lip.
"As for me- I don't read often enough to think that way and I know for a fact that perfection doesn't exist. " Carol concluded.
"Then you've never been in love." The words ejected from Therese, as a shock, before she had a chance to guard and amend them.
"... No I haven't. But you said you wanted to fall in love, didn't you." Carol slowly said, eyes wide, surprised herself. " I suspected it might happen soon "
"Well it happened. I have. I am." Therese said quietly and bit back the 'with you'. It was implied.
After a pause.
"Congratulations. " Carol smiled , tight and cold and glanced at her fingernails . "...With your... beau I presume? "
" What beau?" Therese uttered thoughtlessly.
" Richard." Carol's smile dropped. "The... man you're seeing."
"And what about Richard?" Therese said with impeccable illogic. She had completely forgotten about him.
Carol accused. "Haven't you made love to him?"
"I lost my virginity to him. " Therese shot back. "But we haven't made love. " Not even close.
Carol was silent again for a time.
"I wonder if Richard would say the same." Carol finally said.
"It doesn't matter what he says." Therese grit. What anyone says about that. I know the difference.
She wanted to shout: because isn't love making supposed to be pleasurable, rapturous as it was tortuous ? And it wasn't, with Richard. Instead, it was just torture. Wretched. She felt diminished, mangled and unhappy after bed, a raw lump in her throat of disappointment- something that what been so far from perfect, something fundamentally amiss, something vacant and surreal but all too chaotic and viscerally explicit like being gored, or having a tooth brutishly pulled or being thrown through a wind shield . She had given her virginity to Richard, and yes while Richard might glisten with joy at this possession like a child with a false gem, this feeling of significance but it didn't make it valuable, actual or the experience reciprocal. Even if Richard thought it did. Richard had assumed because she had given her virginity to him, therefore she must love him . In fact their 'love-making' only seeming had further alienated her from Richard, made him love him less. She already didn't love him. But Richard seemed to care for her, he said, much more than other girls in the past. She thought the sex might prove something. It had happened naturally, and she had wanted to do it. But she had not loved him. Therese had wanted to try it, wanted to like it, as it was inevitable, expected and she was 19, she wasn't a child, it was best to get it over with. Or could that be called love nowadays, pass for it? This pointless urgency? These half-admitted concerns, this discontent, this clinging boredom, this persistent death-like loneliness?
Therese closed her eyes.
She remembered how she had asked him during it, wincing, 'is this quite right?' and Richard had stared at her then burst out laughing-perhaps it was a reflex at the question's absurdity, or at a loss of how else to react. Inconsiderate to her distress, Therese didn't find it funny- instead Richard's laughter compounded the misery and mortification she was already feeling. Later she had gulped and wept with pain and disappointment and sheer embarrassment after extricating herself from their bodies embittering embrace, and Richard had apologized, in a guilty and ashamed tone , sitting at the end of the bed with his head bowed, told her that he felt like a brute, that now that she was no longer a virgin and he knew how much it meant that she had given that to him. He had said he loved her, and promised her the next time would be much better - but even then, he had said it with a boyish look of hurt and incredulity , with baffled and strained confusion, a faraway look thinking of plans ahead, even thinking of telling his friends that it had happened between them, or of that trip to Europe or of getting engaged possibly. Despite his best efforts, Richard still had been unable to understand what and why he'd done had been so trying, profoundly difficult for her- instead he was thinking of how her reaction had disrupted his sense of pride and the satisfaction of deed accomplished and anticipated further bed encounters to come . That was why the second time they had attempted to go to bed had been even worse for that reason as Richard had (somewhat impatiently) assumed since she was not a virgin anymore , there would no longer be any more problems, that it would be 'good' for her because he believed she loved him and he wanted it to be. Happy or not, he did not seem to contemplate letting her go, in spite of how apparent and insurmountable their sexual incompatibility was. In 'love-making' - and in other ways, Richard seemed rather stunted. Egotistical. Selfish.
Its how I feel that matters, Therese thought decisively. 'Perhaps I'm not a virgin anymore. But I feel no different about myself now that I'm not one- except I know that I don't love Richard. And if its a choice between him or you Carol, I wouldn't think twice. I'd never see Richard again without a single regret or even think of him again.'
"And what about what I say Therese? " Carol broke into her thoughts.
"About Richard? " Therese suddenly slung back like an arrow. "-I'd say what about Harge?"
Carol was quiet for a moment.
Therese feared that Carol might be angry, or might answer the question honestly, and felt her extremities prickle with dread and even worse.
" Not that it relevant but there's no need to be concerned. We aren't intimate anymore. We haven't been in a long time." Carol told her calmly , unaffected, like the question were nothing.
"...But you... loved him once? " Therese asked timidly.
"I was young. So was he . I thought I did at the time . We both thought we did. And that how we have Rindy . " Carol's voice and eyes always softened when she mentioned Rindy " He knows ... that I tried . He knows my feelings now. "
Another long pause as if Carol were thinking.
Carol finally finished her thoughts. " I don't have regrets."
Therese offered forth. "Because of Rindy?"
"Yes" Carol said definitively.
Therese stated. " And you love her?"
"Yes. I love my daughter ." Carol swallowed. "Very much . "
"And ...Abby?"
"Abby." Carol frowned, as if she were disturbed that Abby were being mentioned. " I ... care for her. She's a dear friend."
Therese didn't care for Abby at all.
"And now, that I speak of my life- and about my daughter, I think... What might my daughter say? Or Harge - even as we are now, he is the father of my child or what about his family? Or have you forgotten about that." Carol broke the silence again.
Therese had nothing to say about that.
" Just as I expected. You'd have no reply to that. As I would expect. But I feel compelled to ask one of you anyways. I wonder Therese." Carol tapped her fingers on the table." Is your ...affection strong enough to offer a sacrifice?"
I could ask you the same .Therese wanted to say. She didn't dare to though.
"Not if its to give up seeing you." Therese said determinedly .
"And if I stopped seeing you?" Carol immediately said.
This was the most straightforward Carol had even been . And it was nearly intolerable. Not seeing Carol. Give her rope and hang it over the beam for her, let her stand upon the chair she sat on and step off and her neck snap, it'd be a less gruesome and horrid death.
"Then its different. Then it would be your choice Carol ...Not mine. I wouldn't ... choose that. But don't talk about it... I won't even entertain the thought. " Therese said grimly
"I see. You ignore reality whenever it interferes inconveniently with your fantasies. " Carol commented dryly . " I hate to persuade you to give up your romanticized ... dreams for the sordid world yonder, although my age obliges me to be the voice of reason..."
Carol cleared her throat. " And possibly of compassion too."
"Compassion?"
" Compassion yes. " Carol stared into her face intently. "I feel sorry for your friend Richard. "
"Why?" Therese gaped.
"Why." Carol sighed. " That young man you're seeing is not any kind of fiend or brute, he doesn't deserve to be villianized or dismissed like that. He's simply a misguided young person ... a child who is in a state of struggle trying to find himself- just like who you are, another young lost person playing some sollipstic game, seeking a foothold in a tough world- and he feels something for you and is invested in you and wants to help you , but you can't even think of or reciprocate this clearly misguided boy or give him a chance . Yet you refuse to confront the fact that what to do has adverse repercussions, and regardless of how you feel for Richard, he might be upset or damaged by what you do ."
"Then its Richard's choice if he gets damaged." Therese asserted bitterly. " I already told him flat out that I don't love him."
"Like that makes a difference- supposing he feels for you , how you think you imagine you might feel yourself." Carol said.
Therese grit . "I'm sure Richard doesn't. Infact I know for a fact he doesn't love me! "
"Are you so sure ?" The older woman lilted accusingly. She looked so magnificent in the light, like a spot light were above her head, in this settling, or any setting, she elevated and was the subject of it, like a figure of a painting, even in a unsightly and tragic one, Carol would redeem it, make it both poetic and extraordinarily beautiful Therese felt. "How can you be? Or do you think he's put you on a pedestal as an illusionary hope, and a hopeless puzzle, some curious infatuation on his high-journey to imbecility?"
Therese started to shake in her seat.
She knew Carol wasn't speaking about Richard.
"...Why are you asking me this." She croaked.
What she wanted to say is, over the deafening gallop of her heartbeat: Stop this. Don't ask me. Don't pretend that you care about Richard. I'm sorry I even told you about him. Don't tell me what and how to dress as you do, or what I'll think and do with myself and insult me by giving me money like I'd stoop to take it when what I want is so much more and so much more harder given. Don't act like some cruel teasing governess , or some perplexing sphinx when I try to be affectionate, or speak plainly to you. Please stop this Carol. Please come towards me. Love me.
This all culminated in the urge to grab Carol because she looked so alone and perfect sitting there, almost too perfect to look at or withstand. Grab her and push her down to the closest bed where she could crush her lips upon her mouth, feel her, pull and press their bodies together, at last with nothing between them- and make Carol gasp and cry out and feel how sorely she wanted her. Something that Carol could not deny or doubt.
Was this what Richard wanted from her?
"...I'm sorry Therese.. " Carol finally said, pale, pacing herself with dignity ."I don't mean the conversation to become...difficult like this. I don't mean to hurt you or anyone. You may not believe it... but I don't."
Then don't. Therese wanted to plead, knowing how it sounded foolish . Pathetic. Don't. Stop hurting me. I love you.
Carol spoke again, her voice burningly clear though the chatters and din of the surrounding patrons . " May I remind you again, you don't and can't understand everything there is or the inner intricacies of every human being. I do have a husband. I have a daughter Therese. But you don't understand the responsibilities , the weight of that... that these aren't just props or notions in your heads to be manipulated, and dismissed whenever it suits you. These are real people with thoughts and lives and that their feelings that matter-"
But Therese had already stopped listening.
So because they matter, I don't matter to you then! Am I and my ENTIRE life not real too? " Therese wanted to stand up and howl in this restaurant and bang her fist on the table and shake it, so everyone in this room could hear it, not caring how mad it'd look and sound. " I'm absolutely nothing to you, am I? And its not FAIR at all - when you're everything to me- when you're around, and when you're aren't. DO YOU HEAR ME?! To hell with everyone Carol! The only person I like and care a thing for and only person I want to see and talk to is you Carol and I don't notice anyone but you when you're there and the only voice I hear is yours. But it's as if you're always there with me and nothing else in the world matters. Except for you Carol!
" That may be so. But I don't care about them the way I do you. It's your inner ... intricacies that interest me .. not anyone's else " Instead, Therese stammered, blushing and inarticulate, voice near inaudible . " So... I just don't care. I really don't care."
"Don't say that. Surely there must be other people you care for a little Therese. " Carol squinted at her, teasingly. "Come now. Think hard."
"What other people." Therese blinked rapidly,already feeling the stupid surge of tears already. Another joke, that wasn't a joke. She shrunk and laughed shakily into her drink. But truthfully. No. No Carol. Not really at all.
Carol leaned back in her seat.
She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something.
And Therese found herself staring at Carol again, as she frequently did. This time, a button of Carol's blouse had come undone, and she could slightly see her silvery blue brasserie between the gap of her shirt, calling to her like beacon with that hint of the lace like a glint of a coin in a pool of water.
Whether Carol was aware of this or not, she couldn't tell. Still the sight, spun and entwined images of Carol and herself through her hotly like molten glass.
"But why am I bothering to tell you this." Carol then stopped herself. Her smile was labored and she laughed a little breathlessly herself. " You don't understand do you darling? You're not even listening to a word I'm saying."
Therese didn't bother to refute her.
Instead Therese whispered. "...Can I kiss you goodnight?"
Carol looked at her and motioned her in.
Once she did, "No. " The older woman said in a low voice, glancing from side to side. "We shouldn't."
"Why."
Carol answered. "Some women have poor impulse control."
"You mean ...women like me?" Therese swallowed.
"No." Carol murmured, leaning in closer. Her eyes brushing hers subtly up and down like the feverish light of candle between them . " I mean women like me ."
Therese had been so thrilled , delighted and a little frightened and near- shuddering with excitement at that answer, she know scarcely remembered the exchange that preceded it.
Reflecting back, Therese knew Carol was right. She didn't understand. She had not even cared to.
Her true goal of the conversation had been trying to procure Carol's reassurance, to see if she were on Carol's mind , and how so , and if Carol would confess to anything certain, or to kiss Carol and if by some miracle or design, see Carol undressed.
Yet, even if she had tried with all her will and intellect, Therese didn't and couldn't know what Carol was talking about . She couldn't know what that was like , because Therese had never loved anyone else before Carol, or had a mother who had loved her. Therese wasn't a mother herself - Therese did not want to be a mother, and without any regrets, knew she would never be.
The only similar thing Therese could think of to Carol's losing her daughter, - which was not similar at all ,was the loss of her father.
Loss seemed a appropriate word. It was not as if her shy , kind, and dreamy father had died of pneumonia , he had merely 'went missing' and no one could find him, or he did not want to be found. Some stunned part of Therese could not accept that her father did not exist anymore and she would not see him again in this world, although her father had never seemed to belong in it.
In some ways, Therese still couldn't believe it.
What encapsulated that experience best was not the funeral. She for some reason, did not remember it well.
What Therese best remembered her mother taking her to the church shortly after his death, although she could not remember going very often before . It was not the church they usually went to . Therese had been seven and it had not been long ago since she accepted her frist communion. There had a big stained glass window with Christ as the good shepherd above the entrance. It was the format typical to any Catholic church, the stations of the cross, a reading room, the vessels of holy water at the door, that Therese dipped her then very small fingers and made the sign of the cross as did her mother. It had been dark and empty in that church, she vaguely remembered the enormous altar like a half-lit stage, the golden crucifix with a different kind of Christ than on the stained glass on the entance, a suffering Christ. Therese's mother had kneeled at the pews, and so had she . Supposedly they were there to pray for her father's soul.
Therese however could not pray. Or even think. The girl sat there, blankly, nicely dressed but confused. Numb and incredulous. In a state of disbelief. She remembered seeing her mother's clenched closed eyes under her makeup, the suffering Christ watching them, and her muttering silently lips, how strange and false this pious somber performance seemed. (Her mother had not cried after her father died.)
It seemed to go on for a long time.
Somehow Therese, even as a child, understood Mother was not praying for Father or for her. Or even to God.
Mother was praying for herself .
Afterwards, her mother had directed her towards the side of the altar, where rows of candles burned. Therese remembered the sign had said : 'Six Day Candles'. One gave donations to the side of it, in a dish . Her mother put a penny in this collection dish.
It was lower than the recommended amount.
" Light a candle for your father Therese." Her mother instructed her.
Therese stared at the uniform row of lit white candles. All of those candles represented someone who had died.
All these people had been surely been different. So why were the candles for them all the same?
Therese watched how they burned. Some were unlit. Some of them had already burned out entirely, their waxen forms deformed into minimal formations or melted away entirely.
Therese did not want to light it.
Therese already' knew' her Father was with God, but somehow could not completely believe that. But Therese did not know where her Father was or could be. She had said it aloud at her mother's and the priest prompting: My father is with God now. Which was another way of saying: My father is no longer with me.
That thought shot through Therese like a spear in her side.
Why couldn't her father be with God and with her at the same time? It seemed a betrayal of her by her father. Or an betrayal of a greater, more cosmic magnitude.
Why had God had to take her father away from her, now to leave her, and her mother alone without him ? Had God required her father so much, that He had been compelled to destroy their small already tenuous family ? (Even though Therese still had their mother, In a way she knew that by her father dying, that she was now orphaned, unwanted, and without a protector ) But God had done this again, with Abraham and Issac God had given Abraham his son, only to ask Abraham to sacrifice him for His sake , (another story that had frightened Therese as a child )? But at least God had been mercifiul, and spared Abraham at the last moment.
God had not done so with Therese.
Was that because her father loved Therese more than God? Or Therese had loved her own father, more than Him?
Was God so jealous? So selfish?
And by lighting the candle, it seemed even more unthinkable. It were as if she were resigning her father's soul to an minute and unjust end , turning him to a candle that would only last for six days. After the candle burned out, her father and all traces of him would be completely gone with it.
"What are you waiting for." Her mother had told her tensely." Go ahead Therese."
Therese thought: Her father had been loving to her. Her father had been a good and quiet man- and she thought of The Good Shephard window at the entrance, the benevolent but sad smile on Christ's face. She glanced at the crucifix before her, the outraged and suffering Christ, of his gnarled and forsaken countenance- his face unrecognizable into a contour map of pain like the globules of a melted candle, the eternal man of Sorrows, but it wasn't a man, He was God to be appealed to, and right now it was neither or all, a carving made of wood made to look like a dying sorrowful man. Therese was still afraid of it.
When Therese had done nothing, her Mother reached into the nearby receptacle, impatiently struck a match and gave it to Therese.
Therese remembering wished her mother would comfort her, give her at least some illusionary solace that was due to a child her age. Tell her something kind and comforting. But instead, why should Therese have to take a match and be given this adult responsiblity? Was this any consolation? No it wasn't.
It was because Therese was her father's daughter, and she knew that her mother was somehow absolving herself of her and her father both by making her do it.
Therese's eyes burned .
She did not want to .
She did not want to do this to her father.
Under her mother's cold appraising eyes, Therese took the match anyways, and lit the wick of the candle.
Seven years old, Therese saw her Father's precious singular life reappear before her eyes, in that delicate light, in that tiny flickering flame before them.
Afterwards, she was unable to move. Make a single step.
Therese would have remained there all six days, until the candle burned out, until her mother hurriedly put a hand on her back and proceeded to push Therese brusquely down the aisle, and out the door.
Therese had looked back over her shoulder for one final look at her Father's candle.
"Goodbye father." Therese had thought, her vision of the candle warbled behind, obscured by a screen of tears as it burned alone, the wisps of smoke now invisible, and getting smaller and more uncertain behind them. "I'm sorry. Goodbye. "
Later Mother had dropped her off at the Catholic girl's boarding school, which just so happened to be across the street from this church.
So everytime Therese went into this church with the other girls, she would end up looking for her father, for his candle, knowing it had burned out long ago.
Was that how Carol felt when she looked at Rindy's photos? Or at her wooden bracelet? Her small shoes?
And moreover, would Therese ever able to comfort her? Was there any comfort possible for certain losses? Would Carol suffer of this all her life?
On this night, Therese thought helplessly, or prayed, even after not praying in many years:God help me, give me strength. Please God. Let me help her.
Therese moved in and gingerly laid a hand on Carol's shoulder.
She whispered again "Carol. I'm here. "
Usually this was when Carol pretended to be asleep, or would brush her aside or would refuse to look at her.
But this time, Carol turned to face her.
Tears streaming down her forsaken gnarled countenance , and clutched , interwoven within her fingers, was Rindy's wooden bracelet.
Without hesitating, Therese took her by both sides of the face, and pulled Carol in towards her.
"And I won't ever go. I'd never leave you. Anywhere. "Therese made herself say it, shakily. Tears coming to her own eyes . She was going to say a lie bravely , madly , that felt so much like a truth and as she did, with a fluid flutter of her fingers, as she helped slide the bracelet up onto Carol's wrist. "If your daughter ... ever wanted you... to leave me... if that give you peace, ... I'd understand. I'd... I'd let you. I'd help you."
Carol's answer to that was the collasped look of her eyes.
And with a gasp, the older woman fell forward into her neck.
Therese took her, and embraced Carol. Pulling her limp mournful body to lay on top of her.
With a sense of peace that she had never experienced before, Therese brought Carol's head to rest , laying it against her breasts, like a mother might do for her child.
There Carol audibly sobbed in a way she never heard before, and gasped, wept loudly, unabashed,between Therese's breasts.
"Carol. I love you." Therese whispered repeatedly, and felt older woman's hot tears pattering, down her chest and ribs. She brushed the tears away from Carol's eyes with her fingers and stroked the tangles of Carol's hair. That was all she could repeat over and over, soft endearments, words of love. " Carol. I love you. I love you."
In the morning, she knew they would most likely pretend this had never happened.
Until then, Carol would lie in Therese's arms, and would remain so until morning.