about it. I couldn’t not, not this time. She was silent for a time, and then she sighed, and got up and walked to her window and looked out at the new green that shawled the Mountain.
“I’m only going to make one speech, Cat, and then I’m not going to mention it again. You can do with it what you choose. If you need to terminate because of it, so be it. Will you listen?”
She did not look back at me.
“I’ll listen,” I said.
“OK. I think this whole thing—the fear, Joe’s peculiar reaction to your handling of that fear, and your extremely peculiar reaction to his reaction—is all about control. Control.
Up here you can control your world…and what a world you’ve made. It’s orderly, it’s serene, it’s beautiful. Very few people on earth can live like you and Joe do, and almost no one can do it except in places like this. In the Domain. The famous Domain. You control your world, and you control Joe, and he controls you. And it’s all in the name of some kind of…specialness. Who in their right mind would want to give up being wonderful, special? Not Joe. Not you. I know you had an awful shock when you were a kid, and you had a few bad years with your grandparents. But look at the life you’ve lived since you got into the whole Trinity thing.
I don’t think it’s safety you’re so afraid of losing, I think it’s this specialness. Up here you’re not just a housewife, you’re a Domainian. Joe is not just an English professor, he’s head of the English Department in the Domain. On the Mountain.
You think he wants you to go running down to the flatland and leaving Eden
48 / ANNE RIVERS SIDDONS
whenever you want to? Hell, no; he’d have to go with you or lose you, and he doesn’t want to do either. Go on, Cat.
Go by yourself, then. Hole up in the Ritz and read wonderful books and eat gorgeous food and swim and shop and drink champagne and watch TV, and see what the real world is like. If you can call the Ritz Carlton the real world, of course.
If you don’t go now, I don’t think you ever will.”
It was a long speech for Corinne, and her square figure was taut with the passion of it. But she never did turn and face me. I literally could think of no words and stood silent.
“What if Lacey did, for some reason, want to come home?”
I said in a small voice, knowing as I spoke how ridiculous I sounded.
“Cat, Lacey isn’t going to come home again,” Corinne said.
“You know that, don’t you? You worked hard enough to see that she didn’t have to, and you succeeded. You know she isn’t going to come home. Joe knows.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I know she isn’t.”
And I turned and walked out of Corinne’s office.
I did not go back. When I called to tell her I wanted to terminate, she said only, “Well, it’s probably time. You’ve done good work, and you can take it from here. We still friends?”
“Always,” I said, meaning it. “Always. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”
“Then send money,” she said, laughing, and I laughed too and hung up. I felt light and limp with relief. All was well between Corinne and me. All was as it used to be. I could still be her friend and have her at our parties, and Joe would still laugh with her at faculty meetings and at the club. And spring had come, the ineffably beautiful HILL TOWNS / 49
green spring on the Mountain. All the Domain bloomed with it.
I did not go to the Ritz Carlton in Atlanta. I let the sweet swirl of social activities that catches us up in spring wash over me and planned for the day in June when Lacey would come home for her short summer break, before going back for the first quarter of her senior year at Berkeley. Come home and then go away again. Corinne was right. Lacey was not ever coming back for good to the Mountain. I had indeed seen to that.
When she was born, her eyes were not the indigo of the newborn but so clear and light a blue they looked almost silver, washed in a sheen of
“I’m only going to make one speech, Cat, and then I’m not going to mention it again. You can do with it what you choose. If you need to terminate because of it, so be it. Will you listen?”
She did not look back at me.
“I’ll listen,” I said.
“OK. I think this whole thing—the fear, Joe’s peculiar reaction to your handling of that fear, and your extremely peculiar reaction to his reaction—is all about control. Control.
Up here you can control your world…and what a world you’ve made. It’s orderly, it’s serene, it’s beautiful. Very few people on earth can live like you and Joe do, and almost no one can do it except in places like this. In the Domain. The famous Domain. You control your world, and you control Joe, and he controls you. And it’s all in the name of some kind of…specialness. Who in their right mind would want to give up being wonderful, special? Not Joe. Not you. I know you had an awful shock when you were a kid, and you had a few bad years with your grandparents. But look at the life you’ve lived since you got into the whole Trinity thing.
I don’t think it’s safety you’re so afraid of losing, I think it’s this specialness. Up here you’re not just a housewife, you’re a Domainian. Joe is not just an English professor, he’s head of the English Department in the Domain. On the Mountain.
You think he wants you to go running down to the flatland and leaving Eden
48 / ANNE RIVERS SIDDONS
whenever you want to? Hell, no; he’d have to go with you or lose you, and he doesn’t want to do either. Go on, Cat.
Go by yourself, then. Hole up in the Ritz and read wonderful books and eat gorgeous food and swim and shop and drink champagne and watch TV, and see what the real world is like. If you can call the Ritz Carlton the real world, of course.
If you don’t go now, I don’t think you ever will.”
It was a long speech for Corinne, and her square figure was taut with the passion of it. But she never did turn and face me. I literally could think of no words and stood silent.
“What if Lacey did, for some reason, want to come home?”
I said in a small voice, knowing as I spoke how ridiculous I sounded.
“Cat, Lacey isn’t going to come home again,” Corinne said.
“You know that, don’t you? You worked hard enough to see that she didn’t have to, and you succeeded. You know she isn’t going to come home. Joe knows.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I know she isn’t.”
And I turned and walked out of Corinne’s office.
I did not go back. When I called to tell her I wanted to terminate, she said only, “Well, it’s probably time. You’ve done good work, and you can take it from here. We still friends?”
“Always,” I said, meaning it. “Always. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”
“Then send money,” she said, laughing, and I laughed too and hung up. I felt light and limp with relief. All was well between Corinne and me. All was as it used to be. I could still be her friend and have her at our parties, and Joe would still laugh with her at faculty meetings and at the club. And spring had come, the ineffably beautiful HILL TOWNS / 49
green spring on the Mountain. All the Domain bloomed with it.
I did not go to the Ritz Carlton in Atlanta. I let the sweet swirl of social activities that catches us up in spring wash over me and planned for the day in June when Lacey would come home for her short summer break, before going back for the first quarter of her senior year at Berkeley. Come home and then go away again. Corinne was right. Lacey was not ever coming back for good to the Mountain. I had indeed seen to that.
When she was born, her eyes were not the indigo of the newborn but so clear and light a blue they looked almost silver, washed in a sheen of
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