Those Weekends In New England

Chapter Two

Life is a song. All march to the tune, usually without knowing why.

"Elaine, darling, why leave so soon after the accident? Take more time. You're not yet yourself. And please," the older woman looked at the murky-colored liquid in the glass in her daughter's hand, "you must stop drinking."

Elaine Lorenzo took a deep breath to quell her rising aggravation. Keep calm, she told herself. If I'm not careful....

"Thanks for your concern." She turned a smiling face to her mother before pointedly downing every drop in the glass of straight scotch. "Really, I'm all right. I'm not an invalid; I can take care of myself. And I'm not drinking too much."

"But Denny wouldn't—"

"Denny this. Denny that." Elaine's voice sharpened. "I don't give a flipping damn what Denny would or wouldn't want me to do. I'm not his wife anymore in anything but name. Can't believe I ever was. Everybody says I was, but I'm still not sure." She grimaced. "I've listened to his music." She stuck out her tongue.

Ruth Stein shook her head. Thirty-five years old, and her daughter, Elaine, still often acted like a child. That one thing never changed, accident or no accident. "But," she insisted, "you are his wife. Whether you care about that or not the fact stands. You are married to the man. He—is—your—husband."

Elaine put her glass on a table, not caring that she left serrated-shaped, wet circles on her mother's expensive antique furniture. Seeing them there, in fact, pleased her. Moving over to the only window in the dark, cherry wood paneled room, she stared down on a backyard she was told she'd known all her life. She felt so comfortable with this view in front of her. No city intensities working on her up here in the mountains of New York. Manhattan might be another planet, for all she cared while she was here.

So why does that other life still matter? Why do you still want so much to be Denny Lorenzo's wife?

"Elaine, did you hear me?"

She had heard something, though what she heard hadn't been her mother. Those damn voices again.

"What?" She turned, shaking her head, trying to dispel the unwanted conversation pounding around in her head. Wrong, Elaine.

Forcing herself to focus on her mother, she willed the voices to leave her alone. At least one more round of battle with this old woman faced her, and she needed all her wits to win. Then maybe the bitch would let her live her life as she wanted. "Yes, Mother, I heard you. But I am going back. Denny can do as he wishes. His life doesn't need to revolve around poor Elaine. In fact, I think I'll see a lawyer. I don't want Denny to feel responsible for me anymore. He can just give me enough money to stay comfortable, and be done with me." She returned to stand next to her mother and put an arm around her shoulders. Her smile was crooked, and she didn't feel at all pretty.

"No! No lawyer. Not yet. Call your husband first. Talk things over. Don't go overboard, Elaine. You're not yet yourself."

That's an understatement, the voices told her in unison.

Hannah yawned. "When do you have to leave, Peter?"

Her husband rolled over to her side of the bed. "Trying to get rid of me?" He twined one of her curls around his finger.

An absent-minded action. Hannah knew if she were to kiss him, try to initiate lovemaking, he would have some seemingly well-grounded excuse to put her off.

What was more, she thought as she watched him stretch, she didn't really want him. This realization was a sad one, but she didn't care much anymore. "No, of course not. Only wondering. Right now..." she craned her neck over the bulk of his body to check the alarm clock on his nightstand, "...it's already seven thirty. You're usually gone by now."