The pump room at the Ambassador was Jeff's favorite place. It had started to fall into disrepair, a slow decay but it had always been the most extravagant and grand restaurant and it retained much of  that 1950s glamour. We walked in past the walls of 8x10 framed photographs of all the stars and other famous people who had dined there. When Jeff and I first married he had always been appalled that I wanted to spend a moment studying the black and white photographs of celebrities that covered the wall of the entry. He had wanted us to enter as one of the elite, not spectators. Having dined there so many times over the past 20 years, I grew familiar with the photographs including those of Frank Sinatra, Elizabeth Taylor, Jimmy Stewart, among others.

He was in his element. He lit a cigarette and kept his eyes on me. He smiled. "You look so beautiful."

I smiled at him. "Thank you."

"I have an idea for some paintings." He flicked his ash in the square glass ashtray. I picked up the pack and removed a cigarette. He clicked his lighter and brought it towards me and held the flame until I lit my cigarette.

I blew out the smoke. "Really? Tell me about it."

"Likely you'll balk at first."

I rolled my eyes, half teasing "will I?"

"No. It's not anything to do with other women."

"I didn't say it was."

"It's you. That's what you may object to."

I smiled. It always made me feel exceptional to be selected by Jeff as his subject. I had many times over the years and especially when we first fell in love. The feelings he'd expressed towards me felt akin to worship. I'd grown up in the 1930 and 40s with strict rules about decorum and propriety. My experiences had been so limited by my family's working class lives in Portland. Then, came Jeff, an artist who seemed to focus solely on me. When he'd touch my body or remove my clothes I'd always felt as if I wouldn't be able to stand the anticipation and also the fear. I didn't know what it really had meant to do those things with him. I did them willingly, I'd pose under the dim light, sometimes on my bed with sheets and blankets formed in smooth textures, his hands shaping them around my body. Sometimes, I'd sit on the wood floor, leaning against the plaster wall, it was mostly the light he was studying, the way the yellow cast shadows on my naked skin. He'd take my hair down and powder my cheeks. He'd apply my lipstick and then ask me to stay in a pose while he sketched me, the shadowed shapes across my arms, my stomach. I'd keep my eyes on him, but he was somewhere else so immersed in his artistic vision.

I looked down and fiddled with the lighter in front of me on the table, I picked it up and felt the weight of the brass in my hand. I put it back down again, took a drag and looked at him.

"I have an idea for a series and I want you to model for me."

I felt self conscious. I was old. "That's sweet, darling." I said. I was sincere. I smiled at him.

"Why not?"

I shrugged.

"I want you to."

"OK." I whispered and looked at him.

"I want you to pose for me in the water. At the beach."

"Are you crazy? It's freezing."

"Not here. When we go to Mexico. I want you to go out with me in the night and pose. "

I didn't know why but a fear passed through me. Something about the water. Posing in the water.

I continued my line of protest. "Besides, you can't bring all your brushes. You can't do oils in mexico."

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"The paintings won't be dry."

"There's still a way to get them back. I can get them back."

"What would I do? Would I just stand there?"

"What's gotten into you? Have you ever just stood there? Of course not. I am envisioning you on the shore—"

"Nude?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"In some, you'll be sitting just waist deep in others...floating."

I'd been losing my mind since Christmas. Certain images, ideas, memories kept assaulting me. I felt the moment I got my footing I'd be pulled back under. It was causing a tension in my life; whenever I was around Jeff or spoke with the kids on the phone a searing anxiety filled me and caused me to almost panic. It happened again when he described his idea for the paintings. Floating. The image of if only left me feeling haunted. My naked body buoyant, wet hair partly submerged. To me it was an image of drowning. I shuddered. I took a sip of my martini.

"All right. Of course. If that's what you want."

"That is what I want."

It was drowning. That was the thought over and over. Drowning. It was of course because of the night at the lake. Him so close to me, his eyes full of hatred. He had pulled me close to the shore. "I'm going to drown you Eve."

"Eve?"

I jumped.

"What is going on with you tonight?" He sounded more impatient than concerned. In that moment I wanted to tell him about Margaret's diary. I wanted to ask him why she'd be afraid of him. I was looking into his deep blue eyes. The smoke from his cigarette rose above him, up towards the crystal chandelier over our table, then up higher to the other ones above the room. Did I even love him? Certainly I did. To me, in that moment, the smoke was his soul, the little of it that still existed. It was dissipating and I was trying very hard to believe the things I told myself about him. I was also trying to stay sane.

"Honestly Eve?" he pressed.

"Nothing."

He nodded and snuffed out his cigarette. He waved his hand to call the waiter and order more drinks.

"I'm sorry." I said softly.

"It's all right."

The waiter approached the table and as he did, I tried to focus on calming my nerves. I had another sip of my martini. I heard Jeff say "Yes. We'll both have another."

Once the waiter left, Jeff took my hand. "I thought you'd want to too. If you don't..."

"I think I'm self conscious. I'm old now. It's not the same."

He examined me. It was a weak excuse I knew it. I didn't really have apprehensions about making love to him or modeling for him. Even my age didn't increase my inhibitions with him. It was something else. Something dark.

He lit another cigarette. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me what you're doing at school. What are you teaching?" he took a drag and then blew it out.

"Don't change the subject," I said. "I do want to. You caught me off guard that's all."

He nodded. He kept a questioning gaze on me. "No. Honestly, I'm curious about your work."

I shook my head and looked down.

"Here we are!" said the waiter. I looked up and while one waiter was placing another round of martinis in front of us. Another waiter walked by holding up long spears with flaming steak and vegetables skewered to them.

I realized that her words were echoing. They were in the distance but with me nonetheless. What are you doing? Then she wrote that Jeff had said, I'm just figuring this out... My eyes traveled to his hand holding the martini glass. His aristocratic, country club posture. He was acting delighted as the waiter pulled a cart up close to our table and began preparing a steak dinner to serve up to us. It was a welcomed reprieve from our conversation and my discomfort. The waiter had a formal manner and in his burgundy jacket and dark black pants, it made me feel as if we were on stage and this were all a play. It didn't take him long to prepare our steak Diane and he lifted both plates at the same time and placed them in front of us on the table.

The waiter smiled, "enjoy"

I looked down at my meal. It was prepared and presented perfectly. I picked up my knife and began cutting into the steak. It was so tender that the knife felt smooth as it cut through the tender meat.

"I'd like to know." Jeff said. When I looked up at him he smiled, he took a bite of food then swallowed before continuing. "Really. I'm just curious."

"What did you just ask me? I'm sorry I wasn't listening About my English class?"

"That too, but I asked you if you could go back in time. To one particular day or event—what day would you choose?"

"I don't know why--I didn't hear you say that. That's quite a lot to miss."

"Eve. Relax."

I could see he was trying to make the night fun. He wanted our usual flirtation and conversation. Ordinarily, I would have already told him all about my classes, I would have entertained his inspirations for his new series. I would have been flattered and nervous when he'd suggested I model. I would have been completely engaged with him. But that night, with my thoughts thrashing around, swirling and causing a physical despair. Sitting across from him I felt small and broken as if I were losing my grasp on sanity. Really, I would come to know later, it was all rising to the surface. It was the truth slipping into my consciousness and I was so overwhelmed all I could do was barely hang on. I tried to snap myself out of it.

"I couldn't pick one experience to relive." I took another sip of my drink. I wasn't very hungry so I was eating slowly.

He nodded. "Not even for a game? You couldn't pick one day?"

I shook my head. I thought about it. "No I'd need more than one day. Too many good things have happened." I smiled at him.

He smiled back at me. "All right then, three experiences to relive." He cut another piece of steak and popped it into his mouth.

I put my fork down. I was very earnest about the whole conjecture. Why I didn't know. I looked at him. I wanted to cry and tell him I loved him. I wanted to tell him how afraid I was in that moment and I wanted him to be my friend and husband. I didn't want to be moving in the direction I was going.

"Yes. Three. Go ahead." He motioned with his hand for me to continue.

"I would go back to the day I gave birth to Charlie."

He was smiling at me. Amused. "If you could go back in time, you'd relive labor?"

I nodded. "Yes. I would. Or at least, I would relive the first time I held him and studied his tiny eyes. Yes."

"That's very lovely." He seemed half sincere. "Honestly, it is. I wish I'd been there." Everything was causing a painful electrical current to shook through me. It was sitting there inside me hissing. This fear was irrational but I couldn't quell it.

"I wish you had too." I said.

"And the second?"

I cut into my steak and stopped. I looked at him, "the day I met Clara and Jeffery. I remember it so well." Thinking of all three children together and especially the two I would adopt, caused joy to rise up in me. I looked at him. If not for him, I'd never have met them. They wouldn't be my children. I couldn't fathom it. "They were so cute that first day I came to your apartment in Chicago."

He was nodding his head. I could tell it made him happy to remember that day.

"I was all dressed up to go to the courthouse with you, do you remember?"

"Yes. You were so pretty."

"Then Clara and Jeffery climbed up onto the bed with me and immediately wanted my love and attention." I felt myself start to tear up. I wiped my eyes with my napkin.

"You're sentimental Eve."

Neither of us said anything for a moment. I looked up at him, "If I had a third day, you know which one I'd go back to?"

"Which one?"

"Do you remember the day I went to your studio when you were at the Portland Art museum?"

"I don't know if I do. What happened?"

"We hadn't been seeing each other very long, but we'd had a fight. We broke up or just stopped speaking for a few days." I stopped and tried to remember. I couldn't retrieve the details of the fight, but I had been so overwrought with anguish over what seemed like the end of our affair. I had wanted to talk to him and tell him how I felt about him. Then --I had decided in that way a young twenty-four-year old does— that I would be stoic and strong. That I would let him go and move on with my life, heartbroken for the sake of his happiness. I'd decided to go to see him at his studio at the Portland Art Museum. I was going to tell him I understood and that he should stay with his wife. That was best. Really, my intentions had been to lure him back.

I smiled.

"What are you thinking?"

"Don't you remember? I took the streetcar downtown. We'd had a fight. I don't remember what about. I was so crazy about you. I remember when I walked into your studio you stopped what you were doing. You came over to me and kissed me."

He was watching me as I spoke.

"Then, we got in your car. It was my first time in it, as a matter of fact. And you took me out to the east side to bring me home. But then you asked if I wanted to stop and talk. We went under the Burnside bridge. I'd never been there before and we walked under the bridge down to the banks of the river. You put your coat on the ground for me to sit on. It was private somehow down there and under the bridge we could hear the cars overhead but we couldn't see them and they couldn't see us. It was a warm day and I remember we made love there. I was so in love with you."

"That's sweet, Eve." He said.

"I think that's the day Charlie was conceived."

He shook his head, "no that would have been a long time before."

"Somehow that's how I have it in my mind. I remember that day. Maybe it was because of how strongly I felt about you."I felt self-conscious. "What about you?"

"Me? Which day would I return to?"

I nodded. He squinted at me and waited a minute as if he were thinking.

"Never mind." I said. "If it's that hard."

"No. It isn't hard at all." He smiled. "Do you remember when we first moved to that house we lived in the first time we were married?"

"Of course. Our old house."

"Do you remember the day the clutch went out on my convertible? I had to walk two miles to a service station It was sweltering hot."

I nodded. "I don't think so."

"I'd go back to that day."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I was just kidding."

I let out a breath. "How's your dinner?"

He took my hand. "Really. Honestly. I would take any afternoon with you in your garden back when we first met. A summer day with you. Talking to you, sketching the gardens. Making love to you. What I wouldn't give for one of those days to relive."

I bit my lip and started to cry. I picked up my napkin and dabbed my eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

"It's just sweet of you to say." I looked at him, composed again. I smiled. "Should I grant you two more experiences to return to?"

He shook his head. "No. I just needed the one."

"None with the children?"

He shook his head and kept his eyes on me.

After we went to bed I woke in the middle of the night. I had been having a horrible nightmare and when I opened my eyes, Jeff was beside me, awake. Watching me. He touched my cheek. I pulled away and let out a cry. "What are you doing?"

"Shh. Shh." He gently pulled me towards him, back down to my place in the bed. "you were having a bad dream. It's all right."

"Why were you watching me?" I asked. I felt like I couldn't get air.

"What do you mean?"

"And you were touching my face while I was sleeping."

"I wasn't'. Shh. Eve. You just had a bad dream."

Somehow I came to. I was still half in my dream. "I'm sorry." I whispered. I sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. I reached to the bedside table and picked up the pack of cigarettes.

Jeff sat up next to me. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" he kissed my cheek and moved my hair back.

"No. I don't want to. I'll just have a cigarette. Do you want me to go in the front room so you can sleep?"

"No. I just want you to get some rest."

I lit the cigarette and stared at the glowing orange tip. The images from the nightmare were coming back to me. They weren't dreams they were the scenes from the night at the lake.

I turned to Jeff, "I was dreaming about the night at the lake."

"It's all right now. That was a long time ago."

"You were chasing me down to the shore. It was freezing outside. You were going to drown me."

"I couldn't have hurt you Eve."

"No. But," my hands were shaking as I brought the cigarette to my lips. I felt freezing cold. I pulled the cover up around my waist. "But you did hurt me. You were going to kill me."

I looked at him, he was still full of compassion. No evidence of his other side. Of the rage. It had been a long time since I'd seen that part of him. I closed my eyes for a minute and tried to remember the last time he was violent. I let out a breath. He reached over and touched my hand. "it was a long time ago. Things were crazy then Eve. We both did crazy things."

I opened my eyes and stared at the window across the room. I said softly, methodically, "You were pulling me down into the water. You told me how you were going to do it and make it look like I'd killed myself—"

He pulled away, "Eve. That's crazy. I didn't do or say any such thing."

"You did. You told me that it was going to look like Virginia Wolf's suicide."

"Eve. You've had a nightmare. What you're saying isn't real. It's not true. I want you to stop."

I was still shaking. I put my cigarette out. I was afraid that if I slid back down under the covers he would try to make love to me. I didn't want to because what I'd said to him was true. Those things had happened.

I slid back down and got back under the covers too. He didn't try to become intimate with me. I didn't turn to see him but I knew he was still awake, likely staring up at the ceiling. I felt my heart pounding and when I tried to close my eyes, the images would return each time with a little more detail, a little more information.

After a few minutes he said, "Eve. I would never hurt you like that. I love you. I couldn't live with out you."

I realized it as I lay awake that night. Margaret's ghost was haunting my marriage. She wouldn't be happy until she'd ripped it all apart. I knew that this apparition wanted him to pay, and I was only an after thought. It was the evil paranoia of those sorts of nightmares, but knowing those diaries were in the basement was terrifying me. I couldn't sleep imagining that I'd unleashed an evil force. As hard as I tried that night to clear my mind of those sorts of thoughts, it was useless. She was there and her words were echoing in my brain. My fear and sadness should have been for her but it wasn't. it was for myself.