real writer. I’ve been in rather a crisis myself lately, but your book has stayed with me. I go back to it in my mind. That’s one test for me of whether a work of art is truly alive. Does it take on a life of its own in the reader’s imagination? The atmosphere—you are very good at creating psychological atmosphere. The choking reality of the parents’ house, you do that very well.”
“Oh, God, my parents!”
At that cri de coeur, Laura and Harriet burst into laughter. It was a shared laughter, and it had to do with how ludicrous and horrible life could be, at times beyond coping with.
Then Harriet got up and stood by the fireplace, obviously feeling at ease. “How lucky your son is to have you!”
“And his father,” Laura said. “My husband was amazingly wise in dealing with Ben—of course it helped that Brooks, our eldest, was all a father could wish.”
“Can’t people just be people? You say ‘dealing with’?”—
“Yes—well, it’s going to take a long time to get over our ideas of what ought to be. It’s the same thing with women. I was happily married, but when Charles died I became aware that other people really had thought of me as Charles’s wife. That’s why the job at Houghton Mifflin was such a help. There, at least, I was Laura Spelman, a person in my own right.”
“Was it hard—at first, I mean—hard to be a person all by yourself?”
“I felt cut in two. For months I really had no identity. Getting a meal was next to impossible, I lived on egg-nogs.” What am I doing, talking to this girl like this? Laura thought. Is that what one martini does now?
“Please go on …”
“Well, frankly, I think I’d better call it a day, Harriet.”
“Yes, of course. I know you’ve been ill—I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”
“It’s just, I do get rather weak in the knees.”
Grindle now emerged from the kitchen where Laura feared he had eaten the cat’s dinner, but at least he, eager to be caressed, barking his welcome to Harriet, made her departure easier than it might have been.
“We haven’t settled anything,” Laura said, helping Harriet on with her coat.
“No, but it’s been a great help to talk to you. I’ll have to go home now and think about it.”
“Don’t hesitate to call if you get into a tizzy.”
Laura nodded her head reassuringly.
“Good-by, Harriet, and good luck.”
Laura watched the girl walk slowly down the path. She waved, but Harriet started the engine and drove off without looking back.
“Where’s your cat?” Laura asked Grindle, who barked and wanted to go out. “Very well, out you go—and bring Sasha back with you if you can.”
She went back to her chair and the empty glass. It would not be a bad idea to put another log on the fire, but she did not have quite the energy to do it. She sat for a while looking into the crimson, dying flame. She sat there until the fire died and the chill forced her to do something about dinner. The aftereffect of Harriet’s visit was a huge emptiness that she did not know how to fill.
Chapter VIII
Next morning Laura woke at six out of a bad dream. She was being smothered under a quilt and couldn’t extricate herself. “Oh, Grindle,” she murmured, reaching out to find his soft ears, “oh …” She was afraid if she moved quickly she would have a coughing spell, but she had to sit up to breathe. And Grindle, whom she had waked out of a sound sleep, now of course wanted to go out. Sasha was sitting on the window sill. God knows the animals asked little enough, yet how long would she be able to take care of them? Then she remembered Mary O’Brien. It was a relief to know there would be someone soon. Meanwhile she got up, struggled into a dressing gown, and stumbled downstairs with Grindle trying to get past her.
“There,” she said, “out you go!”
So far, no coughing spell. She got some juice and went back to bed, sitting up now, with three pillows behind her. It was a gray dawn
“Oh, God, my parents!”
At that cri de coeur, Laura and Harriet burst into laughter. It was a shared laughter, and it had to do with how ludicrous and horrible life could be, at times beyond coping with.
Then Harriet got up and stood by the fireplace, obviously feeling at ease. “How lucky your son is to have you!”
“And his father,” Laura said. “My husband was amazingly wise in dealing with Ben—of course it helped that Brooks, our eldest, was all a father could wish.”
“Can’t people just be people? You say ‘dealing with’?”—
“Yes—well, it’s going to take a long time to get over our ideas of what ought to be. It’s the same thing with women. I was happily married, but when Charles died I became aware that other people really had thought of me as Charles’s wife. That’s why the job at Houghton Mifflin was such a help. There, at least, I was Laura Spelman, a person in my own right.”
“Was it hard—at first, I mean—hard to be a person all by yourself?”
“I felt cut in two. For months I really had no identity. Getting a meal was next to impossible, I lived on egg-nogs.” What am I doing, talking to this girl like this? Laura thought. Is that what one martini does now?
“Please go on …”
“Well, frankly, I think I’d better call it a day, Harriet.”
“Yes, of course. I know you’ve been ill—I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”
“It’s just, I do get rather weak in the knees.”
Grindle now emerged from the kitchen where Laura feared he had eaten the cat’s dinner, but at least he, eager to be caressed, barking his welcome to Harriet, made her departure easier than it might have been.
“We haven’t settled anything,” Laura said, helping Harriet on with her coat.
“No, but it’s been a great help to talk to you. I’ll have to go home now and think about it.”
“Don’t hesitate to call if you get into a tizzy.”
Laura nodded her head reassuringly.
“Good-by, Harriet, and good luck.”
Laura watched the girl walk slowly down the path. She waved, but Harriet started the engine and drove off without looking back.
“Where’s your cat?” Laura asked Grindle, who barked and wanted to go out. “Very well, out you go—and bring Sasha back with you if you can.”
She went back to her chair and the empty glass. It would not be a bad idea to put another log on the fire, but she did not have quite the energy to do it. She sat for a while looking into the crimson, dying flame. She sat there until the fire died and the chill forced her to do something about dinner. The aftereffect of Harriet’s visit was a huge emptiness that she did not know how to fill.
Chapter VIII
Next morning Laura woke at six out of a bad dream. She was being smothered under a quilt and couldn’t extricate herself. “Oh, Grindle,” she murmured, reaching out to find his soft ears, “oh …” She was afraid if she moved quickly she would have a coughing spell, but she had to sit up to breathe. And Grindle, whom she had waked out of a sound sleep, now of course wanted to go out. Sasha was sitting on the window sill. God knows the animals asked little enough, yet how long would she be able to take care of them? Then she remembered Mary O’Brien. It was a relief to know there would be someone soon. Meanwhile she got up, struggled into a dressing gown, and stumbled downstairs with Grindle trying to get past her.
“There,” she said, “out you go!”
So far, no coughing spell. She got some juice and went back to bed, sitting up now, with three pillows behind her. It was a gray dawn
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