Charlie and Jeffery were up first for breakfast. I was dressed and ready to go into the city although I didn't have to teach until later in the day. I wanted to meet Joan and talk with her about the previous night. I still had the desire to find Jeff and confront him. I was in one of those moods where I could feel the anger pumping though my blood despite my strong desire to keep up the pretense of normal. Both Charlie and Jeffery had a section of the paper. I watched them as I drank my coffee, so proud of them both. Jeffery had one more year of high school and from a baby he'd always been mild tempered and thoughtful. He was handsome but didn't have the rigid masculinity of his father. After being with Jeff so long, I came to believe that male strength belonged to men like Jeff alone. That it was derived from arrogance as well as charm. I thought it was innate. But, seeing a different kind of masculinity in Jeffery, I realized it could be something different. That a young man could project masculinity that but still be authentic and honest. And kind.

Charlie shared Jeff's outward strength, a sort of dominance. Charlie was nothing like Jeff in terms of seeing himself as privileged. He leaned towards the traditional view of women which bothered me somewhat; Charlie's attitude and actions stopped at chivalry where as Jeff's centered on control over women. Charlie also had a spark that would ignite if justice or honor were at stake. It suited him. He'd always been somewhat curious and defiant, particularly after we'd moved to Chicago. Along with a shared self-possession, Charlie bore a remarkable resemblance to his father; he had same light brown hair, deep blue eyes and the same physique. However Charlie seemed to deliberately contradict Jeff's sensibilities, lifestyle and attitude. It was very apparent that they disliked each other. I always thought it was because Jeff and I were married when Charlie was four. As a young child Charlie had me to himself and he never adjusted to Jeff assuming the role of husband and father. Charlie was also there the night at the lake when I'd tried to leave Jeff. Charlie had been in the backseat of the car and witnessed the same homicidal Jeff that I had. Through the windshield a revolver pointed at my face. Like the other two, he'd seen the effects of his father's physical abuse. Although I was sure they hadn't ever witnessed it directly, thanks to the nanny who ushered them out of the room before every incident. I supposed you could almost say he was considerate in that way; he'd called the house staff in and asked them to remove the children before the violence commenced. Although the other side of that was the eerie sense I'd had that he did have some restraint and his treatment of me was somewhat within his control. The children must have heard the yelling, my screams. They certainly saw the bruises afterwards. I took a deep breath and let it out.

"What is it mom?" Jeffry answered. I smiled at him.

I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm tired."

"Did something happen last night?" Jeffery asked.

"Why would you think that?"

"Something seems weird is all." Jeffery looked back down at the paper.

"No. Nothing happened."

Charlie looked up at me, put the paper down and just stared at me.

"What is it?"

"Clara told me what happened."

I felt my voice falter. Why did I feel like the child? It was Charlie, the way he was asking me.

"And what was that Charlie? What did your sister tell you?"
He rested his arms on the table, slowly put his hands together. He looked like the lawyer he was going to be. He stared at me for a long moment.

"What did she tell you Charlie?

Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"Would you stop acting like a damned detective."

"I'm not acting like a detective. You tell Jeffrey if you want. I don't want to be the one to tell him."

"I don't know what you're referring to."

Jeffrey's eyes switched between Charlie and me. Charlie stood up and picked up his dishes. He walked over to the sink and started rinsing them. I felt frozen. I felt like I was on trial. Jeffrey was still watching me, waiting to be filled in.

"Charlie stop for a moment." I said.

He turned off the water and placed his dish in the drying rack. He lifted a kitchen towel and wiped his hands on it, then put it back on the hook.
"It's your life mom."

"Yes. It is. And if you're talking about your father coming over...Is that what you're talking about?" I saw in my periphery that Jeffery had looked up again. I imagined his face, confused and I knew he would likely somehow try to find a compassionate way to see things. I was sure Jeffery would find a way to see another side to it.

Charlie raised his eyebrows and nodded.

I shook my head. "You're only 17 Charlie and I'm your mother. I've known your father a long time. A long time. Years before you were born." I knew I was going on too much. I felt like a schoolgirl caught kissing a boy.

"It's not my business." He started to walk back towards the table.

I took his arm. "No. It's not any of your business."

"I just want to know if this is going to be a regular thing. I'd rather not have the guy hanging around here." Charlie fixed his eyes on me. His tone full of contempt.
"Don't speak to me that way." I raised my eyebrows. "You're acting like you don't have any respect for either one of your parents."

"You got that half right." He pulled his arm away and walked into the dining room. I could see him pick up his books from the bench near the doorway. "If you want a ride, Jeffery. Let's go!"

Jeffery jumped up and gathered his dishes. I took them from him and kissed him on the cheek, "It's all right. I'll do it darling."

"Charlie." I walked into the front room and stopped them before they left. "Where's Clara?"
"She left already."

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know. Work?"

"But the record store isn't even open."

"I don't know—" At that the two left the house. I heard their car pull out of the driveway. I sat in silence for a moment. I let out a deep breath. I told myself that it was all normal, but I knew it wasn't. I walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver. I started to dial Jeff's number in the studio. I held the receiver in my hand, I could hear the faint sound of the dial tone. I hung up. Instead, I called Joan.

I was sitting on a bench in a sunny patch in Millennium park, waiting for Joan. It was such a beautiful day. June was almost half over. The air was warm and the sun bright. It already felt like summer. The thought of Charlie leaving for college in a month lingered and I felt a longing for those earlier days with the children. I was so close to being alone in my life. It made me wistful, thinking how things had been eight years before. Taking the children to the beach. Sitting all day with Joan, drinking gin and tonics. I couldn't help but smile when I thought of Joan. It seems I'd always known Joan. I wished my life had been blessed with her sooner. I felt that all of my experiences should have included Joan. I saw her on the sidewalk approaching me. I stood up and held my hand like a visor and waved to her with the other.
"Do you want to get coffee?" she asked, as she got closer. She handed me a pile of folders.

"What are these?"

"It's the Women for Peace pamphlets for the vigil next weekend."

I put them down next to my bag. When she got close enough she kissed me on the cheek.

"What happened?"

"Do you want to talk here?" I asked her. "Do you have to get back?"

"I took the morning off." She lit a cigarette and sat down.

"You look great. " I said.

"What happened?" she handed me the pack. I took one out and lit it. I took a deep drag and let it out. I looked over to the tall buildings across the street, and above them at the deep blue sky. There was hardly a cloud just a gauzy trace behind one of the skyscrapers.

I looked at her and half smiled.

"I saw you just yesterday didn't I? at the meeting. You seemed fine at 4:00." She smiled at me. "What happened since then?" She lifted her large dark sunglasses and looked at me before replacing them.

I took a drag. "It's fucking terrible." I said.

She grew serious. "Well what is it?"

I shook my head. "Jeff came to the house last night."

"Why?"

"He said Clara wanted him to take her somewhere."

"He's never even been over there, has he?"

I stretched my legs and adjusted my skirt. I let the sun warm my legs. "Never. But there he was. I was correcting papers. I asked him to come in. He told me he was there for Clara." I shook my head. "I'll just get to it. I slept with him."

A smiled crossed her lips and then she looked down.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know why I'm smiling. I don't know if its good or bad. I guess I'm just nervous."

"I don't even know why I did. It didn't take three drinks to get me in bed with him. It's just all too much." I shook my head and flicked my ask a couple of times out of habit. "Things are over with Matt and then there Jeff was. His marriage working out just fine. His life as he wanted it. And mine—" I shook my head. "I don't know."

"Well, what now?"

"Nothing with him. We had an argument. We always do. He says these things when he's—I guess I was going to say 'when he's seducing me'—he didn't have to seduce me. Any time I've been him, last night was no exception. He told me I was the only woman he loved. He's really one of these womanizer types. Really."

Joan looked at me and nodded. She bit her nail then said, "From what you've said over the years, it sounds like it."

I nodded. "You've seen him."

"Yes. But I've never talked to him." She took off her sunglasses and put them on her lap; she looked at me. Her eyes were deep brown and she always wore false lashes. Although she was my age, she resembled Natalie Wood, perfect eyebrows and long dark hair. She was very pretty but never used her looks to be alluring. In fact, she seemed indifferent about whether men other than Ted were attracted to her. She was funny and even silly, but when necessary she was serious and strong. That morning was warm and she was dressed in turquoise Capri pants and a white blouse, belted at the hip. With her hair back in a headband and her large sunglasses, she could have been a model. Yet, she could summons a presence about her that transcended her feminine role. She and I had talked so much over the past seven years, I felt like I knew everything about her. I knew that deep down she loved being a wife and mother but also felt gipped by what society said that meant. She felt it degraded the love that a wife or mother feels. She also questioned why working outside of the home was such a controversy for middle class women. I knew that she'd grown up in a small town in Michigan and hated high school. She felt like she hadn't fit in and kept to herself. I knew that before she moved to Chicago she had been raped by the man who owned the movie theater she'd worked in her senior year in high school. She was a good writer and most of her stories took a humorous, yet caustic take on being a wife and mother. She loved reading Virginia Wolf, Sylvia Plath, all Edward Albee plays. She was the closest friend I'd ever had.

"You remember him, don't you?"

"Of course," She blew out a drag and looked up at the cloud of smoke. She flicked her ash and turned to me, "I agree. He's handsome. Almost looks like Paul Newman. A lot like him."

For some reason that made me feel embarrassed, "Really? Do you think so?"

She pursed her lips and nodded her head. "I do. I can't wait until Saturday so I can get a really good look at him, but I'm almost positive he looks like Paul Newman. More conservative though."

I nodded. "His wife looks identical to Audrey Hepburn."

"I can't see Paul Newman with Audrey Hepburn. Cary Grant, yes but not Paul Newman."

"I don't know why I would do such a thing. It was just the one night."

"Do you want it to be more?"

"No." I turned away. "He has two sides."

She nodded. "I know he does." Joan was so empathetic. I could tell that she felt what I was feeling. A mix of regret, longing, and sadness. And, If I had been honest with myself, guilt. He was married.

She grew quiet and lifted her sunglasses, pushed them back on top of her head. "I'm sorry I went on like that about how handsome he is. I was—I don't know why I acted like that."

"It's all right. I wish it were like that."

She put her hand on mine. "Well, I'm glad you called me."

"What I just told you is only part of it."

She nodded and her eyes met mine. She waited.

"We had a fight. I can't remember what he was saying." I stopped and stared into nothing trying to remember. I looked at her, "Jeff and I are—we're good friends. Sometimes I can talk to him the way I talk with you. But, if I so much as even suggest he'd done anything wrong. He won't even admit all the times he'd hit me."

"Oh Eve." Joan reached for my hand.

"I don't know why, but I felt so hurt by his marriage. I hadn't even realized I was jealous of her—Anna, his wife. Anyway we got into a big fight. He started saying that I could never be a wife like her."

"he's stuck in the last century."

"The thing is I know how he really feels about me. I know if I called him tomorrow and said I wanted to get back together, he would."

"I'm sure he would."

"That's the problem. He's violent. I really don't care that he said that about Anna. It was all part of the fight. The more we went on the more childish it became."

"Is that how it ended? The fight?"

I shook my head. "No. then Clara walked in."

"God. In the middle of it?"

I snuffed my cigarette out on the cement steps. "She was high. She was on drugs. I didn't know it at first, but she walked in and I don't even remember what she said, but she was furious."

Joan was staring intently at me, her eyes squinted a little. She took another cigarette out of the pack and lit it from the last one. She snuffed out the first one. I laughed.

"What?"

"You make me laugh. That's all. I asked him to help me with her. To go talk with her. She had asked him to come over in the first place. He has this way. It's this side to him where he can be so condescending. He moved past me as if I was a peasant begging him for money. He walked right out of the house."

I thought of the moment I walked into Clara's room. How high on drugs she was. I thought of her pretty hair all tangled and wild. I put my face in my hands and cried. Joan rubbed my back. "I don't know why to say, but I'm sorry that happened. It's all right."

"It's not that." I said I pulled my hand away and wiped my eyes.

"Is it Clara?"

"Yeah," I was still trying to regain my composure. "Oh God, Joan she was so high on drugs. I wiped under my eye to clean any mascara that had smeared from my tears.

"Here" Joan said handing me her sunglasses. I took them from her and when I put them on, the shift from the bright light was comforting.

I let out a deep breath. "I've been so worried about her. She's 18 and she is working in a record store with no plans to do anything. She said she was going to take courses at the university and she never attended them. She's been acting strange lately and now I know why. I mean she must have been doing them for a while. It's not just grass. She was—I think it may be LSD."

"A lot of kids are—"

"Then she told me something. I don't know whether to believe it or what to do."

Joan kept her attention on me. She held out the pack of cigarettes and I took one. She struck a match and I leaned forward and lit it. As she shook it out Joan asked, "what did she tell you?"

"It's really horrible." I took a drag and flicked the cigarette a few times even though there wasn't an ash yet. "she was so crazy, Joan. I don't know what to believe. She was crying and saying she's just like her mother. I thought she meant me...because of what I did with Jeff. But she was talking about Margaret."

"What did she say?"

"She said she must take after her mother. Then she told me that Margaret killed herself. Clara said she was with her."

Joan looked worried. She shook her head. "Do you think she was hallucinating. Maybe it was the drugs."

I raised my shoulders. I don't know.

"What did Jeff say about her?"

"Just like I told you. He said she had an abortion. That she died from an abortion. He had told me he didn't even know she was pregnant. But, then as Clara was talking to me, everything did seem wrong about the story. Don't you think it's strange that there has never been any mention of her family? Her parents—at least. They are the children's grandparents."

Joan nodded. "Yeah that's strange. In all this time we've known each other, it never crossed my mind once. It just seemed to me like you were their mother. Once you married Jeff they were yours. But, you're right. But that doesn't mean she committed suicide."

"No." We both sat silently for a moment. I noticed how busy the city was. There were car horns, and busses and clamor from a construction site nearby. I unconsciously watched a man and woman talking outside of the front of a large bilding. He had his hand on the door but not opening it, just continuing their conversation. I turned back to her. "What do you think I should do? I was going to call Jeff, but that whole thing is a mess now and I have Charlie's graduation party on Saturday. I don't want him to skip it because of this. It's hard enough to get the two of them in a room together these days."

She was biting her lip, nodding. She looked like she was about to say something then stopped. "I don't know."

"I guess I could talk to Clara again tonight. She was very, very high last night when she told me. I doubt she will even remember. And, if she doesn't remember telling me I don't want to upset her."

"but, it makes sense. I think you have to talk with her again. Particularly, if she is saying she wants to hurt herself."

"Yes Joan. That's the part I didn't say. That was the biggest thing. Was she telling me she wants to hurt herself?"

"It sounds like that. In which case, you should tell Jeff."

I shook my head. "he's never been there for any of the children's problems."

"Well, maybe wait to talk with him. Maybe you're right, the party is in a few days. Just leave things with him alone. Talk with Clara—that's just my opinion. I don't want to influence you one way or another."

"No. I think that's what I should do. He doesn't want to talk to me right now." I handed Joan her sunglasses back and ran my finger under my eye, making sure my make up was not smeared. "Is it ok?" I asked her. She removed a handkerchief from her purse and wiped under one of my eyes.

"You look pretty." She said.

"Do you know that I haven't talked to him for more than five minutes in over seven years?"

"Well maybe that's why."

"What is?"

"Maybe you just can't be around each other without having strong feelings."

We were quiet for a moment. Then, she said "So I'll see what I think on Saturday." She shrugged her shoulders. "I got to go."

We both stood up and she put an arm around me. She kissed my cheek. "Call me if you need me. I'll come over any time. Or even just to talk to me."

"I already call you every five minutes."

"well then, call me every two minutes."

I walked away into the busy city. I felt myself starting to cry again. It was mostly Clara. I didn't know what I would do if she were in danger. I didn't understand how her life had taken this turn. She was the one who always did so well in school, she was a beautiful artist. She was always so outspoken and confident. But, it seemed that the boys were the ones moving towards success. There was no doubt that Charlie would do exactly what he wanted with his life. In his way, Jeffery would too. Both of them would finish college and go on to have good jobs and a family. I no longer knew what was going to happen to Clara.

I was afraid to go to work that evening. I was teaching my literature course at the junior college. The classes were in the evening because we were part of the highschool. My class was from 6:00 to 8:00. I was worried about what Clara would be doing during that time. Would she be out doing drugs. My mind jumped around all sorts of scenarios as I drove to school. In one of the worse cases, I imagined her passed out in a car. I imagined her with boys and being unable to comprehend her circumstances. I pictured her walking through traffic. Any idea of her being out alone in the city, scared or high sent me into a panic. Of course the absolute worst case was unimaginable to me, but it was right there. She had already introduced it into the realm of possibilities. My head was aching as I pulled into the parking lot. It was an early summer night and I saw a couple of groups of students talking in small groups. I recognized a couple of them from my class. I sat in the car for a moment, rolled up the windows and let it grow warm. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what Margaret's face looked like. I just remember a frail looking, ghostly woman. In the pictures with Jeff, he seemed strong. In the pictures he was his youthful playboy looking self. I'd always asked myself, 'what was a man like that doing with a woman like her.' A terrible thing to wonder. I opened my eyes and let out a breath before walking to the classroom. I needed to find the box of pictures. I needed to examine them and see if she looked like a woman who would kill herself.

When I got home after teaching that night, the house was quiet. I took off my coat and put my things down on the bench in the foyer and walked quietly towards the bedrooms. Charlie and Jeffery's doors were closed. I saw that there was a light on in Clara's room. Her door was opened a few inches. I walked slowly towards her room and gently rapped on the door. I opened it slowly. "Clara?"

When I entered I could see that she was sober. She looked like her old self. She was sitting up in bed drawing. She looked up at me and I felt my heart sink. She looked so sad. She had dark circles and her face was pale. Her blue eyes looked dull. She didn't look high but she looked so despondent and sad.

"May I come in?"

She shrugged her shoulders and stared at me.

"I'm sorry about last night." I said as I sat down on the side of the bed.

"It's your life." She whispered. Her voice was hoarse. I wondered if she'd been crying.

"I know. But, still I'm sorry. That wasn't a very good example."

She gave me a half smile, "I don't really care, you know."

"OK."

"It's disturbing. But I don't care." It almost came out as a joke and I found it humorous but when I looked at her she wasn't smiling. She was dead serious.

"I can see how you feel that way."

"Why do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Why do you have to be the one who is so Goddamned understanding?"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes it is. You act like this saint."

I'm sure I flinched. She sounded like Jeff.

Then under her breath she said, "but you're not such a good person."

"What did you say, Clara?"

She looked up at me, her eyes were full of rage. "You sleep with women's husbands."

I felt myself grow flush, I filled with shame. I felt tears come to my eyes. "I don't."

"Mom. You just did last night."

"All right. But it was your father. We were together for a long time."

She turned her head to the side and just glared at me. "You were with him when he was married to my mother. Should we all—or at least should Jeffery and I – continue to pretend that's not the truth? Dad was a terrible husband. He was. But you were a whore."

I felt as though she'd slapped me across the face. I stood up. "What did you just say to me, Clara?" I started to walk out of the room, but I remembered why I'd entered in the first place. I wanted to make sure she was safe. She was clearly upset and I could understand that this would come out sometime, maybe even when she was a teenager. Of course it would. What child would blanketly accept a woman as their mother who very apparently had been their father's mistress?

I turned back to her. "I came in here to see if you were all right. You were very—I know you were doing drugs Clara. Last night you were very high."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. Shook her head.

I was so angry at her I wanted to shake her. "Will you tell me if you're all right? Then I'll go."

"Daddy was with you when my mother died." She didn't sound as strong to me. She seemed to have slipped back into that littler girl.

I shook my head slowly. "Clara that's not true."

Tears started to well up in her eyes.

"I stopped seeing daddy when I was pregnant with Charlie. That was years before your mother died."

She wiped her eyes. I wanted to hold her in my arms but I knew she wouldn't stand for it. "How did you end up marrying him? Why would you come here right after she died?"

I looked around the room then back at her. I held on to the wooden footboard and leaned into it. "We were in contact."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I can't tell you everything Clara. It's between daddy and me. But, I wasn't seeing him. I wasn't with him. I had my own house hours from where your mother and dad lived."

She didn't say anything. She ran her hands through her long wavy red hair. She looked so tired to me.

"I promise we can talk about it more, but I want assurance that you're all right. Clara last night you told me—I think you told me that you wanted to hurt yourself."

Her eyes flashed a sharp glance at me. "I didn't say that!"

I moved cautiously. "Clara you told me that you were like your mother."

She eyed me suspiciously. "I don't remember saying that."

I took a deep breath. "Then you told me—Do you remember telling me about how—when your mother died. When you were a little girl?"

Her eyes filled with tears and her lip started to tremble. All I could feel was hatred for myself. I felt that I was responsible for what had happened to her as a child. No matter what the truth was. I deserved blame. She nodded her head slowly and she took on that same dazed expression that she had the night before. Her eyes became vacant, her skin turned flush and otherwise, she kept perfectly still. She nodded numble. I moved to the bed and sat next to her. I touched her face. "Darling, tell me what happened."

She started to tremble and then she started sobbing. She reached for me and I held her in my arms. She was clinging to me so frantically. "Shhh" I whispered, "you don't have to if you don't want to." I felt it was seeping into me too whatever this horror was, I felt myself becoming frozen in time. Terror overtook me.