It had been a month since we returned from San Francisco. Clara was opening up to me but so much resentment still remained. I hadn't heard from Jeff and I didn't expect to. I didn't blame him for what happened that weekend. Really, it was all me and it was what I needed. I wished I felt regret for doing that to Anna, but I didn't. To me, being honest with myself was better than constructing an excuse. I had wanted to be with him. I was traumatized and the one thing my relationship with had always Jeff provided me was that kind of comfort.

One afternoon I was putting laundry away and I saw Clara sitting cross-legged on her bed, listening to music and drawing. She looked like the old Clara. Her long hair was held back loosely in a ponytail. She still wore bohemian styles but she didn't look so tattered. As far as I could tell she wasn't getting high. She was home most nights and although she seemed to be good psychologically, I wondered if a part of her had gone to San Francisco with Diane because it was a natural, normal thing for an 18-year-old girl to do. The rest of it or the timing may have been bad. Maybe that's why she'd gotten into trouble. I couldn't get this thought out of my head as I went into each of the boys rooms and put their clothes in their drawers. As I ironed our clothes, the thought kept coming to me. I realized I had to talk with Clara. I had also known I needed to give her her mother's box of things. It seemed at that moment, it was time to do both. I turned off the iron and walked upstairs. I retrieved the small jewelry box from the top shelf of my closet and placed it in the cardboard box of keepsakes that was still there in the back of the closet. I was going to carry them into her room, but I thought I'd better ask her first. I didn't want to drop it on her and have all that emotion overwhelm her again. I stopped in front of Clara's room and knocked on the door.

"Mom?' she called from inside.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes."

I walked into her room and she had that familiar look of subtle anger towards me. It had been hard the first week after San Francisco, she had continued to tell me that she hated me. There hadn't been any kind of break through that changed things between us. It just slowly settling back towards cordial; our relationship became as close to normal as I thought it would get for a while. I didn't really understand why but I had to give her the room to come to terms with her past.

"What did you want?" she looked up at me, expressionless. Maybe a little impatient.

"Can I talk with you for a moment?"

"About what?"

"Clara. Please let me talk with you for a few minutes."

"Ok," she lowered her voice and I felt like she looked so vulnerable.

I walked in further. "Can I sit on the edge of the bed here?"

She nodded. I knew for certain once I was all the way in the room that she'd outgrown this life. She needed me to trust her, to help her. I knew that she there was no way she could stay happy living like this.

"I talked to Gail Ward." I said to her.

"Oh yeah."

I nodded. "She said Diane's staying in San Francisco for the Fall. She's applying to Berkeley."

"Good for her."

"It's a very good school."

"Good for her." She raised her eyebrows and took a deep, impatient breath.

"I was thinking you should go back."

"Back?"

"I mean if you want to. Back to San Francisco. I didn't mention it to Gail but I'm sure you could stay with Diane again."

Her voice softened and she looked up at me. "You and daddy would trust me?"

"I always trusted you Clara. What happened wasn't your fault."

She started to cry and wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm not sure. I don't know, everything that happened. I'm afraid."

"Did you like being there—other than the end?"

She sat for a moment and stared out into her room. For an instant I saw her as I had the first time we met back when she was only five years old. She had been so in command of things. She had everyone under her control, even Jeff. The boys always fell into line around her. She had been so pretty, with her little round face and her wavy red hair. No matter how much I had tried to keep it neat, the way Jeff wanted it, tendrils would fly out or her braid would loosen.

She gave me a little smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked shyly. She blushed.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just remembering when I first met you. Do you remember telling me you were going to marry daddy?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"You did. There was a boy in your nursery school who asked you to marry him when you grew up. You were very upset about it. You had climbed on to my bench while I was putting my make up on. I had was sitting at that vanity we had."

"I remember that. I loved sitting with you while you got ready to go out."

"I loved it too. You would sit beside me and fix my hair." I smiled at her. "One day you were beside yourself over this boy's proposal. When I asked you why you said 'because I'm going to marry daddy when I grow up.'"

She let out a deep breath. "Maybe I would want to go back. Diane's cousin is nice and you know what a trustworthy person Diane is.

"Yes. I do." I said although I still didn't trust Diane. She was too wholesome. Of course I didn't say that. "This time, you'll stay in touch with us. We'll make sure you have enough money. Do you think you'd want to apply to college there? Maybe if you went back I could go with you and we could look at Berkeley together?"

She raised her eyebrows "I think I'd rather go by myself. I can go look at Berkeley with Diane."

"Of course you can. Maybe I can help with applications?"

"If I need it. Or dad can."

"He'd like to help you."

She brightened and looked around the room. "When could I go?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "When would you want to?"

"Next week?" she asked, she couldn't contain her excitement.

"Why don't you call dad and ask him?"

Her smile faded. "Can't you call him first? Let him know what we've talked about? You can convince him first. Then I'll talk with him."

I nodded, "Yes. I can do that. Maybe in the meantime you should call Diane and make arrangements."

She nodded. We both grew quiet. I reached for her hand and she let me hold it. "Clara, it's going to take a while for you to forgive me. It should take time. It's very tragic. It's very sad."

"OK." She nodded.

"It doesn't change how I feel about you. Nothing ever will." I felt myself start to tear up. "and, I'll miss you when you go back to California. I love having you here."

"I am really upset. But I love you too."

"I know you do. But, what I did wasn't fair to you."

"I appreciate you letting me have time to think about it."

I started to get up.

"Mom, I appreciate you trusting me and letting me move away. You have always given me what I need to be happy. You have."

I stood and leaned over and kissed her forehead. For a moment, I thought I should leave it there. She and I were finding a way to make peace, but as much as I wanted to bury the box again, I knew I couldn't.

"Clara."

She looked at me. My eyes fixed on her for a long moment.

"What is it?"

I started to cry but I regained my composure. "I have something to give you, but I'm afraid that when I do, after you've seen it then you won't be able to love me anymore. I don't mean to make you feel guilty but I'm afraid of losing you. I feel like I've already lost a big part of what we had."

She stood up and when she did I could see that she was as tall as I was. She was her own person, a woman. "What do you have?"

"It's a box of your mother's things. If you don't want it now I can keep it for you. It's all yours. Jeffery doesn't want it. I know you will. You're so—she was your mother."

She stared at me. "What's in the box?"

"It's everything. Letters and her diaries. All of her beautiful jewelry."

"Why didn't you give it to me before?"

"I didn't know about it or I didn't know all that was stored away. Miriam packed it up when we moved. I'd never seen most of the things before except for a few of the photographs and the jewelry."

"Where is it?"
"I can bring it in here. I have it in my room."

"Yes, I'd like it."

I bit my lip. "Clara—she wrote about my affair with your dad. You'll see how much I hurt her."

"That's already out in the open. I already know what you did."

"Ok." I whispered. I started to walk out of the room.

"Mom wait." She came over to me. And put her arms around me. "I know how much you love me. I really do. I always have. I'm not going to hate you if I got through that box."

I started to cry and put my hands over my eyes.

"I know you took care of us. It's just—I just don't know if it would have happened if—" She looked up at me. A part of me wished she would blame her father too. But, she didn't. A part of me wished she knew that her mother was very mentally ill. That if she had grown up with her, she may not have survived. Margaret very well could have killed her. It wasn't my place to say that. Although, in that moment, it dawned on me that I would be giving Clara evidence of her mother's lack of affection or love towards her. I had forgotten that she had written disturbing things about Clara too.

"Maybe we should wait. Get you settled in San Francisco first. I don't want you to have to deal with all of this."

She grew angry with me. "Why do you play these games with me?"

"I'm not. I just don't want to hurt you and just as I was standing here I remembered that there were things in those diaries that might be upsetting. That's all." I remembered Jeff saying I didn't have tact. That I didn't think through things. But, what was I supposed to do? The family lies were the cause of Clara's emotional problems in the first place.

"All right. I'm just trying to protect you. I have to get used to the idea that you're a capable woman. You are strong and smart. I'm sorry." I walked out before I left myself start crying again.

Later that day I was trying to get back into reading and preparing for the Fall term to start. I was going back to teaching and since things were settling down rapidly with Clara I'd also started back up with some of the groups I had been involved in with Joan and the rest of my friends. Things felt almost the same as they had before Jeff came over that night to meet Clara. A euphoric relief came over me. I had navigated a very difficult situation. It seemed in the eight years that Jeff and I had been divorced, I had created a calm life for myself and my children. I knew it was just coincidence or synchronicity as Jung would say, but when Jeff came back into my life things became intense and emotional. I wouldn't say things fell apart, I knew the truth had always been there, beneath our lives. I couldn't have named it but I'd always felt it. Even giving Margaret's things to Clara was hard for me in a way I hadn't expected. I felt like I was losing control over keeping the family together. If I hid the secrets, then I could dispense the truth and protect my children.

I also knew that Jeff would return to his life and that he wanted things to remain as he liked them; with Anna, with his wealthy lifestyle. I didn't blame him. I really did know that sleeping with him while he was married to Anna just proved that I was the same as I had been when I'd hurt Margaret. Both times, there was a quelling of my anger. I didn't like to admit it but a part of sleeping with Jeff felt like justice. I couldn't explain it and I didn't understand why I was that way. In the end, I accepted that my actions proved Jeff and I really were cut from the same stone. I didn't think I would do that to any another man's marriage. Maybe it was alchemical; when he and I were together immorality and violence was the result.

I had a stack of books in front of me. I started organizing the thesis of the course for Fall term. I wanted to change things. I had come to see how much things were changing, how much upheaval we all faced during these times. I jotted a few ideas, trying to put together a curriculum for my English class. I re-read my notes:

(1) Have the students to annotate their beliefs and experiences with contemporary literary ideas.

(2) Historical / cultural watersheds will it change the course of American history and culture?

(3) Intersection of civil rights, women's rights. ( Include film, folk and rock and roll?)

(4) Differences between last generation and this one? Role of women.

(5) Possible readings (augment with political texts?):

A raisin in the sun

The bell jar

Who's afraid of Virginia wolf

Snapshots of a daughter-in-law (note: a thinking woman sleeps with monster)

The feminine mystique

I stopped writing and looked out the window. I let my thoughts meander as I took in the quaint middle class life I'd created for myself. My white colonial with an ample yard, flower beds. There were similar houses across the street, next door. All of us privileged and comfortable—living on the outskirts of Chicago. I looked around my home. I had recreated what I'd grown up with. Nice, domestic furnishings. It was a comfortable, average life for myself and my children.

I realized I was really two women. I knew this dichotomy was because I was teetering in the middle of two disparate generations. I still held ideas about myself that I knew Clara would never share. She would go to San Francisco at 18. At that age, I was preparing to marry Nick, my first husband. And, Nick. I couldn't even imagine what he would be like now, although I could conceive of myself if I'd remained his wife. I would have been complacent and happy.

Then, there was the other side of me: a single mother, a teacher, an activist. Deep down, I couldn't fully embrace myself as an independent woman. There was evidence for this claim; I knew the truth that was lurking around my thoughts, right there in the dark side of identity was my relationship with Jeff. There was no way to reconcile it so I buried it. If anything, I was a hypocrite. Why did I keep returning to such a violent man? And, if I were being honest with myself, such a misogynist? Of course it wasn't simple and I felt a terrible shame acknowledging these truths with my teaching notes right there in front of me. If I had grown up with feminist ideals, if I hadn't been the victim of so many outdated rules about women then maybe I could have lived by the values I encouraged my students to examine. Maybe I would have embraced the life I was helping Clara enter into. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I picked up The Bell Jar. I pushed it to the side and crossed it off my list of texts. Then I wrote it down again on the bottom of the list and pushed it back with the other books. It didn't completely resonate with me—it didn't at all. I liked Plath's poetry but not her novel. Maybe it was her privileged lifestyle and her take on mental illness that left me uneasy. A part of me believed that if it weren't for society, fewer women would be crazy. The women I'd seen in the asylum certainly had been driven to madness. I had no doubt that they were perfectly sane when they were first committed to the institution. Or maybe it was Plath's pedigree, wealth had always been a thorn in my side. I didn't really understand why. I had an inheritance. I always had Jeff's money, but there I was again: hiding. Seemingly living a pious life, when really I wasn't that at all. I had to ask myself if all women shared these incongruences or was it just me?

My mind reasoned that I'd changed. Back when Jeff and I first met, I was aware of my own power. If there were a next time, I wouldn't isolate myself socially or geographically and fall under the spell of fairy tale love. Even if Jeff and I were to try again –which I sincerely doubted we would—I would enter into things slowly. He'd already admitted his propensity to possessiveness and jealousy. I had my own life; my own home, a career, friends. It was different. My mind also countered this logic. Perhaps, it would be futile. Power erodes in relationships like our.

I re-read my notes. I knew that I would have a completely new understanding once I heard the students' interpretations. It always changed me, allowed me to forgive myself a little. I was again inspired by creating my syllabus, imagining the debates and discussions over equality in the context of centuries of subordination. I had to untangle myself from the ideology.

The telephone rang and interrupted my thoughts. When I answered I heard Jeff's voice. It had been a little over a month since our trip to San Francisco. I felt fear over the possibility that the choice was surfacing. I also felt dread over the likelihood that he wouldn't really want to try again in a completely new way. Either way I wanted the conversation to be over with as soon as possible.

"Eve? It's Jeff."

"Oh, I was meaning to call you."

"I wanted to see how Clara was doing?"

"That's why I wanted to call you too. She's doing very well. She seems—she's different, but seems very good."

"That's good. I was worried about her."

"She's still upset with me."

He didn't respond.

I sensed he didn't want to get too emotional. "But, she wanted me to call you because she and I had a conversation yesterday. I suggested or—well we talked about her going back to California."

"Why did you suggest that?"

"Do you think it's a bad idea?"

"Not necessarily, it just comes as a surprise after what we all went through."

"It really hit me. She's not a child anymore and keeping her here, trying to protect her. Well, it's just like you said, she has to grow up. I have to let her." I waited for a response, but he didn't say anything so I continued trying to convince him on Clara's behalf. "Diane Ward is still there. She'll be living at that apartment at least through Fall. I–so I thought Clara may want to go back to California. This time she'd stay in touch with us. I suggested she apply to Berkeley or another college."

'That's a good idea."

"I offered to go and tour the school with her or help her with applications. She didn't like that idea at all. She wants to talk to you about colleges. Have you help her."

"I'd be happy to."

I felt a little deflated. I had been the one who had invested so much in Clara. Why did she want Jeff to help her the rest of the way? I was jealous. I shouldn't have been. "So, you think it's a good idea? Going back?"

"Yeah. If you do."

"I do." I felt excited for her. "she wants to go next week. I spoke with Gail Ward and told Clara that if you agreed she could call Diane and make arrangements."

"I'll talk to her," he said. "But, yes. I think she should if that's what she wants."

After that, there was an awkward pause in our conversation. What could we transition to next, I wondered. I broke the silence, "Ok, well I'm in the middle of planning classes for next term."

"Eve—" he interrupted. I recognized the tone in his voice. He was apologetic. I dreaded what he was going to say next. Why couldn't he bury it like I could?

"I'm sorry I didn't call you after our—that night at the hotel."

"Oh my Gosh," I said but immediately regretted it. It was a stupid phrase, I knew it as soon as it came out of my mouth. But that didn't stop me from continuing with that affect, "Really. I just wanted to help Clara. I was so upset. I didn't know-- and I can tell you I wouldn't have—I honestly don't want you to feel—"

"Eve?"

I stopped going on with false explanations, "I'm sorry. I guess I feel a little embarrassed." I finally admitted.

"I should have called you sooner." He said.

I didn't have a response. I just waited for him to continue.

"Are you still there?" he asked.

"I'm here. Honestly, Jeff, this conversation makes me uncomfortable. I'm not upset but I don't want to talk about it."

"Anna and I separated."

A different kind of fear rose up in me. "Oh."

"Did you mean what you said?" He asked.

Oh God, here it was again. Could things have changed enough in eight years for me to trust him? No one else would think I should. I rolled my eyes as I imagined Carmen, my old friend from Oregon. She was so judgmental and protective. Why was it her voice I summoned? It was as though, she was a ghost from my past life, haunting me with an old set of values. What about what Charlie had said to me many times in the past, "I know what he's capable of." I knew what Jeff was capable of too, but he wasn't the only one. I was capable of the same trespasses.

"Eve? Are you still there?"

"I'm here."

"I was wondering if you would let me take you out somewhere next week?"

In all our time together. Breaking up and getting back together we'd never taken things slowly. We'd never had an innocuous date or spent time together without the cyclone of intensity, without the deluge of sexual passion and then the anger.
"Where would we go?" Again, I didn't know why I asked that. I was stalling because I wasn't ready to say yes.

"I don't know. Where would you like to go?"

"We could go to the drive-in theater."

He laughed, "That's where you want to go?"

I felt so self-conscious. I didn't know why I wanted to do such an adolescent thing. Maybe because when I used to take the kids when they were young; the idea of having him with me had seemed romantic. I didn't know why it was the first thing that came to me when he asked where we should go.

"I don't know." I said, "Never mind. I don't know why I said that. You choose."

"No. I think the drive-in sounds good. Saturday?"

I bit my lip. The odds were not in my favor, but rather than hiding from it, maybe I needed to see it to the end. It wouldn't be the end of me, I knew that. Certain chains had been cut loose. It was dangerous but I wasn't imprisoned as I once had been. I thought back on all of it. I had been shackled without knowing it. In Sellwood, a young woman waiting to become a wife; in Bend never realizing that it took a stroke of a pen to have me locked away; and when I'd moved to Chicago and of my own volition handed Jeff all of my money and then my identity. So, what was it that drew me back to him? I didn't think it was his seduction. Maybe it was our friendship, as unlikely as that sounded. Maybe it was knowing he was the father of my children. Maybe I believed it –somewhere deep inside me—when he said I was the only woman he would ever love.

"Eve," his voice broke through my thoughts. "I understand if you don't want to. Really it's all right."

"I do want to." I bit my lip and held the receiver. Once I noticed, it felt heavy in my hand. "Honestly, I want to."

"All right, so I'll pick you up on Saturday."

"OK." I said, "I guess I'll see you then."

 I hung the phone up gently. I stood there and noticed my quiet home. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. I knew things were going to change and I wished for myself that it would all be good. Not perfect, but that things wouldn't turn out bad.

THE END