I stayed up all after Charlie's graduation party. I washed and dried all the dishes, cleaned up after the guests, took out the garbage. I brought all of the folding chairs back downstairs. While in the basement I looked around for the box of pictures of Margaret, Jeff and the children. It smelled earthy and musty. I put the folding chairs by the utility sink where they were kept. Then I walked to the shelf where I stored all of our storage boxes. There were many still packed up from the move after the divorce. I had to retrieve a flashlight from the built in workbench, a long wood table with a vice grip and shelves with little drawers above it. They were still marked in pencil; ¼ inch screws roofing nails; joint fastener. The realtor had told me that the man who'd lived in the house before us built boats and furniture as a hobby. He had built the work bench. I had no use for it except to store outdoor tools, a simple tool kit and the like.

I walked back over to the shelves and aimed the light at the boxes. They mostly contained things I'd brought back from my homes in Sellwood and Bend. My mother's linens, dishes, her mother's crystal. Then there were the things I saved from living with Mary. All the maternity clothes we'd sewn together. The layette for Charlie. Thinking of those days made me start to cry. I touched the writing on one of the boxes, Charlie's Baby Clothes. It was so long ago and I remembered how hard those years were after being sent to the hospital. I thought of the Jeff I knew back then, a man with no conscience. Charlie was right. What was wrong with me? It was all him. I kept crying and all the images of the afternoon I'd been taken to the hospital came back to me. Why had Jeff orchestrated that? How could anyone send someone they loved to an asylum? He was doing it as revenge because I didn't want to be with him any more. The items in the box were in a time capsule. I knew if I opened it and went through the clothes, they would smell like the starch we used on the laundry. They would hold the scent of Mary's lavender soap. I shined the light on the next shelf up. There it was. The box of photographs and items from Jeff's marriage to Margaret. It made me angry at myself to see it. What right did I have to bury the childrens' memories of life before me? Their life with their mother? I took a deep breath and let it out. I put the flashlight on the shelf so I could retrieve the box. Then, I stopped myself. I wanted to look through it, examine the photographs and other contents for evidence of what Clara had told me. I stopped. I didn't want Clara to come in with me looking at her photographs. Of course, I would give them to her and Jeffery once I had a chance to examine them. I'd let them put pictures of their mother on our shelves. I'd let them take whatever they wanted. For a moment, I forgave myself. I told myself that I'd kept them down in the dank basement because I wanted to save the mementos until the children were old enough, but I realized that wasn't why they were down there at all. It was all part of the big secret we all kept about the truths beneath of our lives. I didn't know completely what that was, but I knew Jeff had information I needed to understand the sediment at the bottom of all of the violence and the reasons our family was so broken. I walked back to the workbench and put the flashlight away. I'd retrieve the box in the morning.

I decided to stay up all night so I could intercept Clara before she left the house. She'd left very early the day before. I walked up to the main level and then to the second floor. I opened Clara's door and peeked into the dark room. I could hear her breaths; they sounded regular. I could see the shape of her body silhouetted in the dark room. I went back downstairs. At first I drank gin and tonics and smoked cigarettes. I tried writing poems. Mostly, I just let the alcohol loosen my emotions. I revisited the events of the week. I lamented the choices I'd made with my children. I didn't know what to do about Clara. I thought of how she'd called me a whore. A sick feeling came over me as I thought about the early days with Jeff. I was young --only 23-- but the thought that I'd carried on like that. Laughing with another woman's husband, making love, sharing intimicaies while she was at home, so unhappy about it. So miserable and alone with her young child that she would eventually kill herself.

Kill herself. The words ran over and over in my mind. They were haunting. I had unearthed something or I was about to. I could feel it's energy and like a nightmare it was behind the shadows and I was trying to run but my legs were heavy and couldn't carry me away from it fast enough. It was gaining on me. I shook my head and took a sip of my drink. I was going crazy. Partly it was not sleeping, partly it was the gin and tonic. What I wanted to know was how could our family have such a dark secret? And what about Julia and Neil? What right did they have to participate in it? It was so horrible that it left a gnawing inside of me. A growing self hatred.

I started on coffee once the sun began to rise. The house took on a pale orange hue. When I looked out the window I saw how the houses and parked cars were picking up the light too. They were becoming visible in the rising sun. At around 6:00 I got dressed and then resumed my position on the couch, smoking and drinking coffee. I heard some movement upstairs. I waited. About ten minutes later, Clara appeared fully dressed walking down the stairs.

"Mom? What are you doing?" her voice was hoarse and quiet.

"I want to talk to you." I said. "Come sit with me. Do you want me to make you a coffee or something to eat?"

She walked towards me and stopped a few feet away. I remained sitting on the couch. She shook her head and her eyes inspected me. I couldn't tell if she was angry, sad or hung over.

"Are you all right?" I asked her.

She kept her eyes on me and shook her head. She didn't avert her gaze. Her eyes filled but she didn't cry.

"Come sit with me. I know you're angry with me and confused," I confessed. "I don't blame you."

'It's not your problem."

"It is my problem. I love you. You are clearly having problems. You've told me some things that I think we need to—we need to solve these things as a family. With daddy too."

She scoffed, "would you please stop this?"

I felt my heart sink. Why was it so hard to talk to my daughter?

"Sit here, Clara. Just for a moment."

She walked around and sat on the couch with me. She didn't lean back and relax. She sat straight up, obviously uncomfortable in my presence. She wasn't the girl I'd known for these thirteen years. Even when she was in high school she'd lean next to me, letting her arm touch mine. She'd let me run my hands over her hair or put my arm around her.

"I don't want to scare you away," I whispered.

She bit her lip and squinted her eyes at me for a moment. She lifted her hand to her mouth and bit at her thumbnail. "Mom. It probably isn't your fault."

I nodded. "I do stupid things sometimes. I really do."

"It's not your problem."

"No. but I want to share your problem with you. I can see how much you're hurting. I want to ask you about the things you told me. I want to know what happened. I love you. I want us to work this out."

"About my mother?"

I nodded. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

She had a distant look and for a moment she was my daughter again. "I didn't remember until now. I wanted to ask daddy. I wanted to see if what I remembered was true."

"I think it is." I said, "I think the way you told me—"

"But you have no way of knowing anything about it," her tone was cold again. "I don't know what you expect me to say to you!"

"Well, all right. You're angry with me, but I love you. I really do. I didn't know any of this."

"Just because you didn't know what having an affair with daddy would do, doesn't make you innocent."

I started to cry. I felt so terrible. "I wouldn't have darling, if I had any idea. I was stupid. I only a little older than you and I had a lot of problems. I didn't know." I looked up at her.

She was looking down on me. "You want to share my problem?" she asked.

"Yes. I do. I want to help you."

"All right mom. My mother took me into the bathroom with her. She told me she was going to give me a bath. I didn't want to because it was too early. We hadn't even eaten dinner. She undressed and got into the tub and I waited on the floor beside her. She told me to come give her a kiss. I kissed her and then I looked and the water was full of blood. And it kept turning darker and darker. She closed her eyes. When I started screaming, daddy came in and got me." She was shaking and had a vacant look on her face, it was one I'd never seen before. I reached for her and she woke as if from a dream. "Don't you dare touch me!"

I pulled away. I too was shaking.

She stood and rushed out of the house. I ran out after her, but she was so fast that I couldn't catch up.

When I got back to inside, I called Jeff's phone number. It was Sunday morning, still early. He was likely at home. I dialed the number and sat down on the chair by the telephone table.

"The Lambert Residence." Hearing the voice of his domestic help sent a sharp stab of contempt through me. I hated him in that moment.

"Hello, this is—" I didn't know what to call myself. My name was still lambert. I couldn't say "this is Mrs. Lambert." Instead, I said, "this is Eve Lambert, Jeff's ex-wife. May I speak with him please?"

"Just a moment, I'll go see if they're up."

They're.

A moment later I heard Anna's voice on the phone, "Eve. How are you? How's Clara? We were so worried."

"She's not doing very well. May I speak with Jeff?"

She hesitated. "Um Eve." There were a few seconds of silence.

"Please Anna, this is urgent."

"Let me go see if he's dressed, all right? I won't be a minute."

It old took a moment before I heard the clank of the phone being picked up again. It was Anna's voice again, "Eve. He's not available. He asked me to take a message for him. I'm sorry."

I wanted to yell at her, tell her how ridiculous that sounded. Obviously I was calling with an urgent situation. I'd said that. And, that was one of a handful of times I'd called their home.

"A message?" I repeated. "Anna, I don't want to be unkind to you, but I'm very frustrated by this situation. It's important. It's urgent. I need to talk to Jeff not leave a message."

"Eve..." I could hear that there wasn't going to be any recourse. "I'm sorry. I know how important this is. You know how Jeff is. He's not going to come to the phone."

"All right. Thank you Anna."

I knew the boys wouldn't be up for a couple of hours on a Sunday morning. I refilled my coffee and took a few sips. It was one of those moments of lucidity about Jeff. He really didn't care about anyone, just himself. If he were being kind or helpful, it was manipulation. How could he have seen Clara like that at Charlie's party and not speak to me on the phone when I said it was about her and that it was urgent? What was so wrong with me that I couldn't accept the evidence against Jeff's character? Of course, I did accept it but why did I always feel I had to handle him gently, let him down easily?

I thought of the box of Margaret's things. I placed my coffee dup on the kitchen counter and walked down the basement stairs. I reached for the string with the little. Once I located it, I pulled down and the dusty space filled with yellow light. I walked to the worktable and found the flashlight where I'd left it the night before. I turned on the light and walked towards the back of the basement where the boxes were. I put the flash light down and reached up to the top shelf and pulled down the box of Margaret's things. I set the box down, retrieved the flashlight and carried them both into the work area of the basement. I put the flashlight away and then pulled on the string connected to the light. The room went black and I managed to pick up the box and carry it upstairs in the dark.

I wondered if I should start going through it in the living room. I thought better of it. It was unlikely Clara would return but she could. Besides, I figured it was likely I'd get lost in thought and reverie and hours could slip by that way. Instead, I carried the box, my coffee and a pack of cigarettes upstairs to my room.

I put it on the bed and stared at it. It had so much energy I thought it was going to explode. This hidden thing, buried like a corpse in our basement. Here it was, in the light of day. It was their mother in the form of her photographs, letters and mementos. 'My God,' I thought. 'she was a person.' I didn't know why but that realization sent my heart into jagged pieces. Of course she had been a person, but never really a being with value. Not someone with dreams and ideas. Not a mother. To Jeff she had been a terrible shrew and mad woman. To me, at first she was nothing. During my affair with Jeff, I had blocked her out completely. I did the same for their child. I blocked Clara out too while they were married. Then, after I moved to Chicago to be with Jeff and the children she was transformed into a ghost, an apparition. She'd never lived in my mind until that moment. I was afraid. I looked at my own cursive on the box. Margaret's Things. Even that struck me as callous.

I lit a cigarette and sat on the bed next to the cardboard box. I took several drags just staring at it. It almost felt as though it could have a voice, that I would hear her and it wouldn't be a haunting, but it would be my own curse tapping me on the shoulder.

I jumped when I heard a knock on the door. I picked up the box and moved it behind a chair. I walked over and opened the door. It was Charlie.

"Oh you startled me, darling. What is it?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I was reading." He looked in the room and I realized there was no book on the bed or the table.

"Oh. I'm taking Jeffery to shoot some baskets. Then we'll get a burger later."

"That's fine. Do you want me to make you some breakfast?"

"Are you really all right? You look tired and shaky."

"No. Well, yes I'm all right. I didn't really sleep. I was waiting for Clara."

"Yeah, where did she go?" he asked. Even the conversation with my son had a haunted feel. I realized he was right. I was tired. I was shaky. Too much alcohol, coffee, cigarettes. I hadn't eaten. Then, there was the altercation with Clara. My unbearable worry. My call to Jeff. I let out a deep breath. It seemed that in the matter of a week, everything I had was crumbling under the weight of a massive lie. It felt like a curse. Like having sex with Jeff cursed my family and my life. My mind was going crazy.

"What did you ask me Darling?"

"Where did she go? Clara?"

"She was upset. She was up early and I tried to talk with her. She just left."
"Where is she going every morning?"

"Charlie you know more than I do. I'm trying to help her but she doesn't want me to. She won't tell me anything."

'Ok."

"Do you want me to make you some breakfast before you go?" I offered.

"No. We already ate." My mind was playing tricks on me. Hadn't I just been downstairs? They weren't eating then. Or had I been upstairs with the box longer than I thought.

Charlie leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, "go get some sleep mom. You're worrying me."

After he left the room, I stood by the window and waited to see them walk out of the house and into Charlie's old beat up dodge. He'd bought it with money he had earned as a lifeguard in the summer and working in a hardware store during the school year. His father had offered to buy him a brand new one and Charlie had practically scoffed. When I saw them pull out of the driveway I returned to the box, picked it up and placed it back on the bed. Very carefully, I opened the cardboard flaps. I had placed all the items neatly in the box with packing paper separating it into sections. I had no recollection of packing up her things. It was inconsequential to me. I remembered collecting them when we moved to our house in the country at the beginning of my marriage to Jeff. I'd found them in various places in the apartment where Jeff and Margaret had lived, the first place I lived after Jeff and I were married. I found the photographs in different drawers, letters in the guest room, I'd found jewelry which I'd told Jeff to put away in a safe deposit somewhere for the children. He'd never gotten around it so I packed them in a wooden box and put them in with the rest of her things.

I removed a stack wrapped in white tissue paper. I placed it on the bed and opened the paper to see photographs. There were maybe twenty in that stack. These were of Margaret and Jeff's wedding. I remembered finding that small collection pretty soon after I'd married Jeff. They depicted a beautiful wedding scene, but just as I'd remembered Margaret looked very unhappy. I examined her more closely. She was thin and although the photograph was black and white I could tell she was pale. She was tanding next to Jeff who looked so healthy; her skin appeared sallow and she had dark shadows under her eyes. Her face had delicate features, in fact she was very petite. Her body looked more like a young adolescent girl than a woman's. I knew she was young when she married Jeff. I think he said she was twenty. He would have been 30 at that time. I examined her more thoroughly, the white linen dress and her veil pulled back exposing her face. They looked like complete opposites. She had her hand on Jeff's arm. The wedding ring looked too big for her, but what was more compelling was how her thin wrist seemed to keep her hand from fully resting on his arm. As if one were carefully testing a surface to see if it was hot. I let out a breath. I reached into the box and removed another stack of pictures wrapped in paper. I opened the paper and this stack was mostly of Margaret and Clara. Clara was a baby but I still recognized her beautiful features. A wave of longing overtook me. How much I wished I had been Clara's mother then, I wish I could have known the baby Clara. Clara was about a year old. She was dressed in very elegant baby clothes. They appeared to be silk, with lace around the arms and hem. Although it was black and white, I could tell that Clara had red hair even as a baby. There was a mass of curls that stuck out around a little bonnet. But, it was Margaret's face I was curious to see. She had a similar ghostly look as she did in her wedding pictures. Margaret was holding Clara but not looking at her. Clara was looking at her mother, one tiny hand starting to reach towards her. Margaret was dressed in what looked like a dark, neutral colored dress. Its fit was conservative, a skirt with a few pleats. The neckline was high, and she wore an equally nondescript scarf. Her hair was shorter, combed back with a slight wave but otherwise lacking any expression of style. She wore black shoes that laced up. I couldn't help but compare her to myself back then. When Jeff and I first met, I wore colorful clothes, they were stylish but not glamorous. At home, I wore housedresses, but even those had a neckline and showed some cleavage. I'd always put my hair up in what I thought was like the film stars used to wear. Victory rolls or waves. Margaret and I were probably around the same age. As the affair wore on, I began to dress in ways that accentuated my femininity. On Jeff's suggestion, I had my hair cut shorter had a wave that framed my face just like some of the movie stars of the time. Every time I added to my appearance, I had been aware of how Jeff noticed. I'd worked hard to make myself beautiful, to be what he wanted.

She seemed sad to me. As I looked through the second stack, all of her and Clara, I didn't see one where she was laughing with the baby or suggested she was in any way maternal. In fact, she appeared rigid and uncomfortable just as she had in the wedding pictures. It was as if she were saying, finish the picture so I can run and hide. From her husband. From her baby. There were more pictures and as I thumbed through them, I took note that there were not many of Jeff at all. It didn't surprise me. Even in our marriage—one that I was sure was more passionate and definitely more emotionally charged—he hadn't been around very much. Just like with Margaret, he was having affairs or working late. He had maintained two lives with me just as it appeared he had with Margaret. I wondered if when they were intimate he said the same sorts of things to her? I wondered the same about Anna. A part of me-a secret part—needed to keep believing that he had only wanted me. That I was the only one for him and if I ever said the word, he'd come back to me. I wanted to believe that I was that exceptional goddess that he would forever obsess over.

I was selfish. I was childish. I admonished myself. Those were my thoughts as I looked at pictures of Margaret as his wife.

Looking at the photographs I felt as if I'd gotten nowhere. There was no evidence of anything to do with Clara's story. So she was unhappy. I'd known that all along. Really, why should she have been happy? Her husband was having at least one affair. I knew how apparent it was when Jeff was infatuated with someone else. It must have been horrible for her to know he was just several blocks away, in my house, intimate with me while she was left alone with a young baby.

My mind was absolutely crazy. I had pushed myself too far. I was too tired, too distraught. I lit another cigarette. This time I removed a stack of envelopes from the box. I hadn't ever remembered letters. I didn't recall finding them or packing them and that seemed very curious to me. That would have been something I would have been immensely curious about. I put the letters on the bed. I pillaged around the box some more; there was a leather bound daybook. If I had known about it, I would have been intrigued by that too, but then I realized it hadn't been me who'd packed the box. I only written the label on it. It was our housekeeper at the time, Miriam, she'd put all Margaret's things in there. I lifted the letters and most of them were to an address in California "Mrs. Thomas Alder." It was mailed from Portland Oregon to an address in Petaluma California. I didn't know where that was. My heart raced. It was dated 1947. At that time, Jeff and I were fully in love, spending almost every free moment together. He'd visit during the day. But also, by then, we'd gotten to the point where it wasn't uncommon to spend a weekend together, driving out to the beach or to the mountains.

I slipped the stationary out of the envelope. It was fine onion skin and her handwriting was a pretty, rounded cursive. I read the letter.

Mother,

I don't regret moving to Oregon at all. It is really lovely here. Although I can't say that about the weather. We've made a nice little family for ourselves here. Clara is growing every minute. Jeff and I are very, very happy. I know how you felt about the circumstances and know you don't want me to go on about it, but I want you to know that it really has worked out the way you and father always wanted. I do have a respectable life and am very happy finding a man such as Jeff. He's very doting, on Clara too. We spend weekends together, sometimes at the beach here in Oregon. Oh mother, the beaches here are nothing like ours in California. They are rocky and you can't even dip your toe in the water. It's freezing cold. Mostly we take drives and after Clara falls asleep in the back seat, we talk about the future. We want many more children. I can say that I've also been very spoiled by him. Something I know you wanted for me. I have a nanny and a housekeeper which gives me time to manage our social life. Of course, being a professor's wife, I have to host dinners and attend different engagements, but like you mother I keep my home loving and warm. I'm so happy as a wife and mother. Won't you let us come visit you? Haven't you forgiven me? Honestly, I would like to show you that your worries were for nothing. It may not have been exactly how we planned. Of course, I understood why you and father couldn't come all the way out to Chicago for the wedding. I don't know why I agreed to having it there. I wish I had thought it through. I was just trying to be a good wife and do as Jeff wanted. His family has a large estate there and they insisted on putting it all together. But, now that we're settled. And Portland isn't so far from California. Won't you come visit? Or may I come and visit you? Please talk to father. I want you to meet Clara.

Mother. I also want you to know that my mind is very clear now. I haven't had an episode in a very long time. Marriage and perhaps even the wet, damp weather here agrees with me. I'm sorry, I'm going on like this. I miss you terribly and am so lonely without a mother to confide in.

Your loving daughter,

Margaret

I sat frozen. The whole thing was a lie. I wasn't just trying to build myself up in my mind as better than her. The things she claimed weren't even logistically possible, and he wasn't a good husband to her. The way she spoke of her marriage. Everyone, not just Jeff, had told me she didn't want anything to do with him. That she never went out with his friends. When I'd moved to Chicago everyone –the friends we spent time with often—most of them had never even met Margaret. As it was all sinking in another realization struck me. Her mother hadn't accepted the letter. Why else would Margaret have had it in her possession? I looked back at the envelope and there written in a square cursive were the words 'return to sender.' I felt as though I couldn't read any more. I wanted to but I was so overwhelmed and couldn't make sense of what I'd unearthed. I put it all back into the box. I was about to close it but instead I removed the wooden box where we'd kept her jewelry. I had the crazy idea that maybe it would make Clara feel better to have something that her mother wore. I wasn't sure if I would do it at that time or not. I opened the wooden box and the inside was lined with a deep red velvet. The box was half full with expensive jewelry. There was a diamond bracelet, several pairs of diamond earrings. Rings with sapphire and emeralds. Pearls. I noticed an especially large diamond. When I looked more closely into the box, I realized it was her wedding ring. Right near it was a platinum band. I picked up the set and placed it on one of my fingers. It hardly fit even part way. Her fingers must have been so thin. The rings were stunning. And the practical part of me asked why weren't these kept in a safe? In fact, I realized that I needed to have Jeff put them away for the children. They weren't mine and I didn't like having them in my possession. And then I was struck with another morbid, macabre thought. Why wasn't she buried with her wedding rings? But, then I thought perhaps people didn't do that. Maybe they saved them for posterity. I didn't have my mother's ring. I think she had been buried with hers. I tried to remember what had happened to Mary's. I kept Margaret's jewelry box out and closed up the larger box. I put the cardboard box of keepsakes in the back of my closet. I wasn't sure what to do with the jewelry. I placed it on the top shelf of my closet. Maybe I would give it to Anna and ask her to take care of their safekeeping.

The next day I realized that I needed to talk to Jeff about Clara and what she'd told me. I didn't really care about 'you how Jeff is' as Anna had described his selfishness. I was certain he didn't want to talk to me and I didn't particularly want to talk to him, but I was going to for our daughter. I gave calling another try. When I called in the evening I got the same response from Anna, a little wearier. When I left a message at the Art Institute, he never returned my call. I decided I would drive over to his studio and insist he speak with me. I knew he wouldn't like it. The one time I'd showed up unexpected at his studio when we were married, I had walked in on him having sex with one of his young female students. The self obsessed person that he was just told me to leave, not to show up at his work again unannounced. That was the beginning of our descent into violence and hatred. Really, it was the end of our marriage.

I drove over to the studio, parked and walked into the building. I knew the receptionist at the information desk but I acted like I didn't recognize her. It had been many years since I'd spoken with her and I didn't need to be polite. I wasn't Jeff's wife any more. I walked down the long hallway and passed classrooms and studios. Halfway down the hall I recognized Ed coming out of a room. The last time I saw him was at his wedding years before. Not too long before that we'd had an affair.

"I don't believe it!" Ed had a grin on his face. His eyes lit up. "It can't be true. Eve, darling!" he reached for me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "How long has it been?"

"A long time." I smiled at him but not affectionately, "How are you? And Elizabeth?"

"I don't suppose Jeff would have told you. We have two children. Two girls. Isabelle and Kate."

"That's wonderful news. I'll bet they're beautiful."

"Are you here to see Jeff? We're just about to go for lunch. Why don't you join us?"

"I'm sure you know I wouldn't be here for a social call."

His expression changed. Less cordial, More serious. "Oh, I didn't—"

"No. It's all right. There's something important I need to speak with him about. That's why I'm here."

He nodded. "I'll be in my studio. Let him know I'll catch him tomorrow." He inspected me for a moment. "You look great, Eve. It's so nice to see you." He leaned towards me and kissed me again on the cheek.

"I have to go," I said. "Tell Elizabeth I said hello." I turned and walked towards Jeff's studio.

When I got there, I waited a moment at the door. For a brief instant I felt nervous, I held my hand inches away before I rapped on the door. When he opened it he was smiling. He said, "Jesus Ed you don't have to knock." When he saw me his expression and tone changed, "Eve what are you doing here?" he wasn't rude or condescending. He wasn't friendly either.

"I've been calling you." I said.

"I know. As far as I'm concerned we settled everything the other night."

"No we didn't. There's something important I need to talk with you about."

He didn't move from the doorway. I was sure he didn't want me to enter and also didn't want to join me in the hallway. "I'll call you later. We'll go for coffee."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to talk with me right now."

He tightened his jaw and examined me. "Well then come in. We'll talk."

"I don't want to talk here. What I have to say is too important."

He acted impatient, "well, where do you want to go, Eve?"

"Someplace private. A park or the shore. Away from people."

He rolled his eyes. "Honestly Eve, we can talk like civilized people here in the studio. Likely it will keep us civilized knowing that there are others nearby."

I didn't say anything. I felt myself spilling over with worry and anger. I shook my head. He was unbelievable. So selfish.

"All right. I'll drive us somewhere close. To the shore close by. Will that do?" he shook his head again as if I'd lost my mind.

I didn't say anything.

"I'll get my keys."

We walked together in silence down the long hall. It was warm out so neither of us wore a coat. He had his usual attire, dark pants and a white button down shirt. He had started wearing his hear a little longer but still short and conservative, it was parted on the side. I was wearing a skirt and sleeveless top. My pumps made a tapping sound on the floor with each step. When we got outside I followed him to his car in the parking lot behind the museum. He had a brand new Renault Carvelle convertible. Silver with a white leather interior. The top was up.

"New car?" I asked.

"What do you think of it?"

"I've never seen one like it."

"I had it shipped from England."

"No. I don't like it."

He turned and looked at me. He had put his aviator sunglasses on and I couldn't tell what his expression was. He didn't say anything. He walked to my side of opened the car door; once I was inside he shut it gently. He got in and started the engine. I was always amazed at how fancy the inside of his cars were. Shiny chrome with wood glove box. I rolled down the window.

I looked out the window as he drove. We didn't speak for a few minutes.

"You're the only woman I know who doesn't worry about her hair. Having the window open."

"I don't want to small talk with you." I said without turning to him.

"What's this about Eve? Clara? She's 18. I don't like her behavior any more than you do, but it's a phase. You have to let her grow up."

I turned to him, he looked at me for a second.

"Are you crazy?" I was calm and direct.

"Don't Eve --"

He drove on and then said, "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you when we get there."

We found a spot on the shore out of the way, where we could speak privately. I took off my shoes as we walked towards the water a little ways. I suddenly remembered the night at Ed's lake house, the night Jeff had gone crazy. He'd was going to kill me. I felt myself shudder. Why would I ask him to take me somewhere away from everyone else? A place so much like the lake? I looked at him; he didn't have a hint of violence.

We stood there and it seemed awkward, having the conversation while standing in the sand in front of Lake Michigan. It felt foolish. We should have gone to a coffee shop. He lit a cigarette and held the pack out for me. I took one and he covered the match with his hand and leaned towards me holding it as I lit mine.

"Jesus," he said, "this is right out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie."

"I'm sure you see it that way. Why wouldn't you? It's not so long ago that we were in an Alfred Hitchcock movie of our own. One where the husband goes crazy and tries to kill his wife."

He shook his head and turned towards the water. "Don't be a bitch, Eve. Why the hell did you have me bring you out here?"

"Clara is very upset. It's not just a phase. She remembered something and wanted to speak with you about it. That's why she asked you to come by the house last week."

"Oh yeah? What did she remember?"

I watched his expression for a moment. He must have realized something from the look on my face. It seemed that maybe he'd figured it out, that he knew what I was about to say. "She told me that Margaret committed suicide. She said she was in the room when it happened. She screamed and you came and carried her out."

He turned flush and his body grew rigid. "She told you that?"

I nodded. "I believe her."

"All right. So you believe her."

"It's true isn't it?"

He took a deep breath and let it out. He had fear in his eye. I could see that he felt a deep pain. "Fuck." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, "She did. Yes she did. Just as Clara told you." He looked down and threw his cigarette down angrily.

I shook my head. Despite his hurt I glared at him. "Why would you tell me she was pregnant? That she died form an abortion?"

"Maybe it was none of your business."

'It was my business. My daughter witnessed a terrible, terrible thing. I should have known. And I was your wife, why would you have lied to me about something so serious. All those years?"

He waited a moment before he answered. He looked vulnerable to me. "Because I loved you Eve. I didn't want you to think it was your fault. I didn't want you to blame yourself because of our affair. Because of Charlie."

I was so tired from worry and not sleeping. I was crazy. "You are such a God damned liar Jeff. You didn't want me to blame you! You didn't want to take responsibility for what you did to your wife. You killed her! Why would I blame myself?"

He shook his head. His face filled with the familiar rage. "What's wrong with you Eve? Why are you so Goddamned self-righteous all the time? Why do you say these things to me?"

"Screw you."

He walked towards me and I thought he was going to hit me. "Don't you dare hit me. Don't think you can ever hit me again. I'm not your wife. I'll have you arrested."

He was steely cold. "I'm not going to hit you Eve. I'm going to tell you the truth. You should get off your God damned high horse. You're the liar. You've been a liar since I met you. You carried on with a married man. You weren't an innocent victim. Jesus if I hear you say I seduced you—if I hear it one more time I'll be sick. You know how it was, just as well as I do." He moved even closer he was less than a foot away. He took my arm.

"Let go of me." I tried to pull my arm away.

"Not until I finish." I felt a bolt of fear run through me. I didn't realize he could still intimidate me so much. It had been a long time but I recognized his look. He spoke slowly between gritted teeth, "You and me. We're cut fro the same stone. Do you understand me? If things are as you say, if I killed Margaret. Then you did too. You were just as responsible for her death as I was. You caused the harm to our children just as I did. You killed her too Eve. You are just like me." He released my arm. "Let's go. I'm finished with you."

"I want to talk with you about this!"

He turned and started to walk away. "I'm done talking to you Eve. You're the biggest hypocrite I've ever met. I'm tired of playing into your saintly delusions."

I ran ahead and caught up with him. "How can you leave this conversation? How could you lie to me for ten years? How could you? I don't understand you."

He turned around and looked at me, "You don't have to understand me, Eve." He rushed ahead, "I'm going back to work."

I followed him back to the car.

Once inside, he didn't look at me at first. He slammed the car into gear and sped out of the parking area.

I raised my voice. "If anything happens to Clara – it's your fault. Don't you even care? Don't you want to try to help me? She implied she was going to hurt herself."

He shook his head. "Stop being so damned gullible with her."

"Do you think I would even be here if it weren't to help our daughter? I don't like this any more than you do."

He looked at me. "I believe that's true, but we --you and I-- can't solve any problems together. No matter what it is, you always draw the same conclusion. That I'm a bastard."

"I don't understand you, Jeff. I don't understand how not even a week ago, you came to my house and you treated me—you were loving and open. But this...this is who you really are. Do you hear yourself? Do you see the brick wall you put up whenever I talk to you about something you've done? This is not a small thing and you did it. You were married when we had the affair, you kept the secret from me, you didn't protect Clara...you. not me."

"I've already told you. It's too hard to be around you. You stir things up. You make things more emotional than they need to be. It makes me crazy. I go crazy around you Eve. Every Goddamned time I see you, I lose my mind."

"Are you suggesting I manipulate you? That this is my fault? Because it isn't."

"No. I'm suggesting that you bring out things in me that I'm not comfortable with. Why can't you accept that I don't want to talk about my ex-wife committing suicide? Even if I did want to discuss it with you—which I don't--you don't have any tact. Did you think about it for one second before just showing up and dropping it on me?"

I sat quietly. He didn't say anything else either. We got to the museum and after he opened my car door and saw that I was out, he walked briskly away from me, back towards the Art Institute building. I stood there and I realized I was completely in over my head. I knew that Clara was growing to hate me and she wouldn't accept any help from me. I put on my sunglasses. 

The day was growing hot.