I imagined that in a courtroom, during an especially grueling trial, the defense and the prosecution amass as much evidence as they can find. Not just sufficient evidence but a massive arsenal so there is no possibility of doubt . That, in a way, was what I did. I had the journal and I also had the post card Jeff had left for me. I knew there was an imbalance. I retrieved several of our family photo albums and put them on the bed. I removed an old box of letters from Jeff I kept in my closet. I even brought my jewelry box over and selected several gifts he'd given me over the years. Ones that had special meaning just like the ring he'd left for me that morning. I had all of the evidence of my love for Jeff arranged on one side of the bed, on the other side was just Margaret's leather journal. Looking at all of it in there front of me, I still felt her words carried more weight than any evidence or argument in Jeff's defense. It gave me a tight feeling in my throat. It wasn't fair to him. I should have waited for him to tell me what he wanted to say. I looked up at the ceiling for a moment and tried to understand the vacillations. How could he have written something so sincere and remorseful the day before and had callously admitted that he saw to it I'd be committed to a hospital where I'd been ruined for life? I started to cry. The thought of being "ruined" caused the pain to surface. I really had been destroyed but I had never put it into words. I felt myself growing distant from that moment. I didn't want to receded back into that abyss.

The phone rang. It snapped me out of the memory. I walked into the hallway and picked up the phone on the landing just outside of my door. There was a pack of cigarettes on the telephone table. I picked up the phone and shook out a cigarette with the other hand.

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's Charlie."

I flicked the lighter and lit my cigarette. "Darling how are you?" I asked.

"I'm fine. What's going on over there?"

"I'm sorry I called Peggy and upset you. It was for no reason."

He waited a moment before he spoke again. He had nothing but resentment for Jeff but he was so much like him. He was very protective and paternalistic. "I'm coming out there to get you and bring you back to Connecticut."

"Don't be silly. I'm sorry I called and worried Peggy. Everything's fine with daddy."

"Would you stop calling that guy daddy? He nothing more than a stranger to me."

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"I'm coming out to get you."

"Absolutely not. Stop speaking to me like I'm a child."

"Stop acting like one and stop living in a fantasy."

"Don't speak to me like—"

"Stop pretending you're a teenager and dad's a dashing millionaire. For once see this guy for what he is."

"I'm hanging up."

"I'm coming to Chicago—"

"Don't you dare!"

We both stopped speaking for a moment. Then his voice had changed. "I'm sorry I'm so angry. You wouldn't have called Peggy if you weren't worried he was going to hurt you."

"That's not true. I've had a hard few days. I was confused."

"Why have you had a hard time?"

"It's foolish but it has been very upsetting."

"Tell me."

Just as I felt I depended on my younger son too much for companionship, I felt I put Charlie in a position where he always had to protect me. I didn't mean to and honestly I had also tried to encourage a relationship between Jeff and him. It seemed to me that from the minute Charlie and I had moved to Chicago he had contempt for Jeff that only continued to grow. Jeff always said that Charlie hated him, something I found very disturbing for a father to say, but then at some point I realized he was right. I felt it was because of me.

"I found some old diaries from dad's first wife."

"Didn't you already find some? Years ago. Didn't you give those to Clara?"

"I did. But these were hidden." He didn't say anything so I continued. "Not hidden. They were in a box of Christmas things that must have belonged to her. I found them by accident and they're very disturbing."

"What upset you so much?"

I knew what the was doing. He was building a case against Jeff. That's what he did for a living. He was an attorney. A prosecutor. I knew he was doing it and I didn't stop giving him the evidence he needed.

"It said all sorts of very frightening things about Jeffery and Clara. It seemed your father protected them." I took a drag and blew it out. When Charlie didn't respond I said "He did. It seemed like he loved them."

"Good for him. What upset you mom?"

"She wrote a few things about me. Things your father would have had to tell her. She wrote about things that seemed crazy but were true."

"Like what?"

What I was going to say next was the kind of thing I did that turned Charlie against Jeff. It wasn't fair and I didn't know why I wanted Charlie on my side so much that I would share things with him that I would never have with the other children. Or maybe it was because Charlie was my biological child. Then, there was the night at the lake. He was only seven and he witnessed the whole event. I still remember his face in the back seat, terrified as I tried to back away from the cottage. Jeff standing in the headlights, a gun pointed directly at me. I had been bleeding from falling and gashing my head. I had screamed for Charlie to lay on the floor so he wouldn't get hurt, but he was paralyzed with terror. He couldn't move. I knew somewhere deep in my heart that he was branded that night. His soul had a black mark. He knew what had happened.

"Mom what else did it say?"

"It said that he was with Anna before we moved to Chicago. Before he asked me to marry him."

"Anna? -- That doesn't even match up." He said.

"Why not?"

"Wasn't she a lot younger than dad."

"I don't know if she was. She was young. Or she looked young."

"You married dad when I was two. That was twenty five years ago."

"OK so say she was 37 when daddy married her. She may have been young when they met while he was married to Margaret."

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. Did he say it was true?"

"He did."

"What else did it say?"

"She wrote about the hospital. Putting me in the hospital. But, the thing is that she was writing that she's afraid of him. That he said he was going to kill her. She was clearly crazy but the things she sprinkles in are true. Like the asylum or sketches he drew of me. Or you, she knew about you."

"Why are you afraid?"

"That's just it. I don't think your father is really doing anything. When I called Peggy I was so upset because I've been having these episodes of fear and terror. I can't remember things. After I read the diaries I'll have these horrible memories flooding. One night dad came home and found the diary. I was asleep on the couch. I think he was angry at me, but I wasn't really able to tell whether things were going on in my imagination or if they were real. I thought he said he would try to kill me again if I ever had an affair."

"Something's going on." He sounded decisive. "Mom. I'm coming to get you. I don't know what's going on but something is."

"No. I don't want you to. Matt's here. I can always call him."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

There was a long pause. It seemed he lost his patience with me again. "This is what I'm talking about mom. This is what I can't understand about you. Do you do it on purpose?"
"Do I do what on purpose?"

"You just told me that your husband said he would kill you if you were with another man. So don't you think there's some danger in seeing your ex-fiancé?"

"I wouldn't call him an ex-fiancé."

"Mom. Stop it. Don't slip back into your pretense. Don't tell me nothings going on. It doesn't make sense but something is going on. I want you to leave that house."

"Daddy is in California. He's not even here right now. You don't have to worry. Darling as much as you say I'm foolish—the truth is I'm usually wrong about these types of intuitions."

"For once and for all, let's just set the record straight. I saw the man try to kill you. Any and all intuitions you have about your safety are to be trusted."

"I'm sorry I upset you. I'll call you or Peggy in the morning. I'll make sure I let you know I'm all right so you won't worry."

"I am worried. We want you to move here with us. Mom you can teach here. I'm sure you'd meet someone. You'd have us. The kids love you to death."

"I have to go. I love you."

"Mom." He was almost pleading.

"What darling."

"Please tell me you recognize that he's dangerous."

"I'm sorry. I don't feel the way you do about it."

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon before I went back up to my room where I'd put her diary and all my old photo albums. Honestly, it took mustering some energy to sit down and start the process of reading, recollecting. I feared what else would reveal itself. I was prepared for the memories, my own bad experiences. Likely it was going to be more evidence against Jeff, a destruction of his character. There really was nothing that would surprise me. I realized I'd built it up in my mind so much that I'd drawn all sorts of other people into my fantasy world. Matt, Charlie and Jeff. I had led them all to the same assumption. That this was all taking place right now and there was going to be some volcanic revelation. I supposed I'd even suggested that when all of that destruction hit, I would be mortally wounded. I didn't mean to. It was the power of my anguish. It was the sudden break with time and place. The diaries returned me to the hospital mostly but also to the abuse. Those recollections were not rooted in time. They had detached, broken off from my existence and having done that they had their own velocity, strength and inertia. I was a casualty of the trauma, but the trauma itself had its own existence.

I stood before the bed and looked at the items Id laid out: the photo albums, a box of letters (just seeing them caused a yearning inside of me), my jewelry (all gifts from Jeff) and on the other side the brown, leather bound journal. I stared for a moment unable to make the decision to get started. I decided I needed a drink first. It was only 3:00 but no one would be home. It would be easier and better if I had a couple of drinks while reading.

I walked back downstairs and into the front room. The room was nearly dark with the sun going down so early that time of year and the storm picking up outside. I walked to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a scotch. I started back upstairs and then decided to make sure the doors were locked. I walked through the kitchen and with the light on I felt conspicuous. Like someone outside could see my every move. I knew it was the paranoia caused by even considering reading the diary. My mind crossed over Charlie's doubt about Anna. It was true. I suppose it could have meant that he was with Anna when she was still a teenager. If she had been 18 that would have fit the timeline. I realized I didn't know how they'd ever met. Of course I didn't. That was because until two days ago I'd thought he met her while we were preparing for a divorce. I reached over and locked the back door. The panes of glass on the top half of the door gave me pause. If someone wanted to break in they could easily pop one of the little glass panes. I realized that was what I'd thought that night at the lake. I was catapulted back to moment I'd realized that Jeff was standing on the little steps that led out to the lake. There had been just a French door between him and me. The wind had howled and I could feel it through the glass as he stared at me. I had known that the door wouldn't stop him. That was why I opened it. No. It was because he'd said "Eve. You don't want me to break the glass and come in and scare Charlie. Come out here and talk to me."

I shuddered. I was back in the kitchen. I was afraid to turn around because I was so afraid someone was standing there. I was holding my scotch and I swallowed down a large gulp. I was frightening myself. When my eye caught the sparkle of my new ring, I returned to time and place. I walked back towards the front room and turned off the kitchen light as I left. I checked the front door. It was locked too. I had never been afraid in that house before. It was true. That woman was haunting me. She was making me crazy. It was the power of the past. It was over. I should have called one of my friends, met them for dinner. I could have been preparing for classes the next day. I started up the stairs but turned back around and walked over to the liquor cabinet. I picked up the bottle of scotch and brought it upstairs with me.

I didn't care about the photo albums or Jeff's letters. The jewelry meant nothing in that moment. Still, I wore the ring he'd just give me. That felt like all the protection I needed. I swallowed down a sip of scotch and closed my eyes as it burned my throat. How had I come to start drinking scotch? Somehow I had. I opened the leather journal. I started near the beginning. I moved back and leaned against the headboard. I could see through the window that it was dark and the snow was still falling in light flurries. The little dots twisted and swayed in the yellow glow of the street lamp across the street. I allowed myself to indulge a little, admit what a voyeur I was. It was as much a mystery novel to me as it was the secrets my husband had kept from me. I opened the diary and read.

We went back to Dr. Crayton today. He sits tall in a lab coat, a common palm in the corner of the room. I asked myself what the palm could possible offer the poor subjects such as myself.

"What's the intention of the palm tree?" I aked him. Dr. Crayton with the gray eyes, light brown beard. Trimmed perfectly neat. I asked him if his wife had done the job.

"I'm not marrid." Mrs. Lambert.

"you don't have to tell me," I told him, "I know who's married and not."

The two of them talked, knitted a long conversation that went all the way across the room. Knit pearl. That sort of thing.

The doctor says there's an operation. I really should be housed. Receive appropriate care.

Driving back I ask him. "why don't you give me appropriate care."

"You don't know what you're asking me, you stupid girl."

"Stupid. I'll have you know I hold an advanced biology degree from Harvard University."

"No you don't."

"Why don't you just kill me then."

His face was so expressionless. I thought it would be a good idea to recreate it.

"It's not legal for a man to koill his wife. It's not that simple."

I considered it. "Is it really so difficult to put your hands around a girl's neck and— "

"Jesus. Stop talking."

When we got home I went straight to my bedroom. He came in and I told him to keep the shades drawn. The darkness was a thick velvet. You can breath through velvet I discovered. He moved next to me and found a way on top of me. I knew better than to argue with a killer.

I stopped and poured another scotch. I was already feeling the alcohol and it wasn't even dinnertime. I took in a breath and let it out. Really, it didn't bother me so much that he'd sleep with her after the way he treated her. I imagined he would take advantage any woman he was left alone with. That's all he thought of most women. It did bother me that when he seduced me I believed it was because he was especially in love with me. It was hard to accept that those were just words and that he found pleasure in watching a woman surrender to him. I felt angry at him. My first thought was that he wasn't young any more. He wouldn't have women behaving around him like that much longer. He depended on the belief that I would always succumb to him. Maybe I would have.

I held the glass against my lips but didn't take a sip. I sat in the silence of my empty house. Really, nothing was happening. I tried to count the number of revolutions my life had gone through. How many lives had I started and finished? I wondered what I would be like if none of those things had happened. I reached for a cigarette when the phone rang. I put the journal down on the bed and walked into the hallway. I picked up the heavy green receiver. I looked at the clock, it was 5:30.

"Hello?"

"It's Jeff."

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at the hotel."

"Will you hold on so I can get a cigarette?"

"Yeah."

I ran back into the bedroom and picked up the pack and the lighter. I went back and returned to the call. "Why are you calling me so much today?" I lit the cigarette. "You never call me when you're away."

"Yes I do."

I inhaled a drag and blew it out, "No. Really. You don't." I sat on the bench at the telephone table and fiddled with the cellophane wrapper. "Honestly."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. Not much has changed since the last time we talked." I looked at the ring he'd given me. "I'm still wearing your ring."

He laughed. "That's good."

"I like it. I really do."

"How are you? Are you feeling all right? Better?" I heard him light a cigarette and take a drink of something.

"Are you having scotch?" I asked.

"I am."

"I am too." I said.

"I thought I detected a lightness in your tone."

"I didn't say I was drunk."

He swallowed again, "I didn't say you were."

"What are you doing tonight? What time is it there?" I flicked an ash.

"It's early here. It's only 3:30."

"I forgot you get two extra hours. Are you going out somewhere?"

"I might go listen to music later. Or not. Not much is likely going on a Sunday night. Are you going back to work tomorrow?"

"Yes-well unless the snow starts keeps up. I hope it doesn't. I want to go back. We've missed so much school this year already."

Neither of us said anything for a moment. I let out a deep breath.

"Eve. Are things ok?"

"I'm ok." I said.

"No. I mean. Are things going to be OK with us?"

"Why are you so worried? I don't remember you ever acting like this. Calling me all the time, asking me if we're OK. You're completely --out of character."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Is it making you feel crazy thinking about Margaret?"

"Of course it does." I could hear him taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Why don't you tell me what happened then-whatever it is--"

"I want to. I want to tell you in person." His voice started to falter. "I don't want you reading those diaries."

"What could be so bad?"

"I don't know. A lot."

"You already told me she'd tried to hurt Clara. I know she killed herself. Do you think it was your fault? Maybe walking into the bathroom and seeing her like that was just too—"

"OK Eve. Stop it!" his voice was firm.

"All right." I took a drag and blew the smoke and waved it away.

"Of course it upsets me, Eve. You wouldn't like it if I found a box of diaries from your first husband and read them behind your back."

"I wouldn't worry it would ruin our marriage. Why have you kept things from me?"

"I've told you about Margaret."

"You never told me about Anna--"

"What did you want me to tell you about Anna?"

"I don't know. Charlie thought it was strange that Anna would have been so young--"

"Are you fucking joking, Eve?"

I felt my heart stop. I heard the anger. "What?"

"Did you tell Charlie?"

I felt guilty. "Just about the diary. I just told him about Anna."

"Stop lying. Eve. Stop it."

"What am I lying about? Charlie's my son. He wanted to know why I was so upset."

"Why would he think you were upset?"

"Peggy and I had a conversation the other day and I mentioned I was feeling upset. They all knew how crazy I was at Christmas."

"I wish you wouldn't tell Charlie things like that. It's not fair to him and it's not fair to me."

"Well I don't see it that way."

I heard him sigh. "He's always been your child anyway."

"I have to go."

"Why?"

"I don't want to hear you start about Charlie. Besides, I'm in the middle of preparing for class tomorrow."

"With a bottle of scotch?"

"Who said I had a bottle of scotch? I haven't had but one drink."

"Honestly, why do you lie so often?"

"I don't."

"You haven't had just one drink. I can tell from the sound of your voice, you're probably on your third."

"Probably on your third. You make it sound like you're married to an alcoholic. I rarely drink and when I do it's one or two."

"I'm saying tonight. Right now. You've been drinking." I heard him light another cigarette, take a drag and blow it out. "If I had to guess, I'd say you're sitting up in bed with a bottle of scotch and those Goddamned diaries."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Well you don't know me at all." I lit another cigarette to.

"I don't, huh?"

"I wish you were here with me." I said.

"Me too...Do you want me to come home?"

"Of course not." I traced the hallway rug with my toe. "No. I realized I don't even know what you're doing a talk on."

"You know. It's a retrospective at the museum."

'I didn't. I'm sorry."

"Eve. I've talked to you about the paintings I had shipped."

I started to cry. "I'm sorry. I don't remember."

"It's all right. Do you want me to come home?"

"I wish we weren't fighting."
"We're not."

"I think we are."

"I think we're always fighting." His tone turned humorous, "Our marriage has been one big fight."

I dried my eyes. "I'm sorry I forgot. It's really something."

"I'm at the St. Francis. Do you want to write the number down?"

"No. I can call information." I paused for a minute then I said, "I'm glad you called me so much today."

"You're sweet. I always call you this much."