Three Women by Marge Piercy Page B

and the girls every year, yes, sometimes with Rosella and the twins, and Beverly visited maybe once every five years. That was about it. But what she tried to keep in mind was that a hostess was far more polite to a guest than a mother to her daughter, and she needed to muster all her tact and resources to handle having Elena back home. She felt an intense usually subliminal fear for Elena, always, that she would get into some desperate trouble, that something violent would happen to her. For Rachel, her fears had always been more mundane. Don’t catch cold. Don’t strain your eyes. Are you sure you can handle six classes? But there was no limit to her anxiety for Elena.
    The redwood protest case has been postponed again, this time by the prosecution, so I am free to fly out. I have appointments with the people I have to see Monday and Tuesday. It sounds as if having an office there might happen, but I won’t know till I talk to supporters face-to-face and see if I can be effective in the Northeast. I’ll be flying in Friday night, hoping that we can spend Sunday together. Let meknow if that’s possible. How are your schedule and other commitments?
    Suzanne hit “return” on her E-mail program and sat there, trying to figure out what to say. Panic told her to type that she was going to be out of town, out of state, out of the country. She was planning to drop dead on Friday night. The memorial service had already been arranged. Jake was not invited.
    What does it matter, she told herself, if he’s disappointed in me. So what? So we will or will not continue corresponding. Maybe I’ll be disappointed in him. Of course I’ll be disappointed in him; how could I not be? What good can come of this? She could not think what to say and she ended up getting off the computer altogether, as if even being on a potential link with Jake was too dangerous to handle.
    Elena was still in bed. Suzanne ran upstairs to Marta. “He does want to see me! He wants to spend Sunday with me. What am I going to do?”
    â€œI guess you’re going to spend at least part of Sunday with him.” Marta smirked. “So what could be so bad? Even if it’s a disaster, you can eat out for a month on the story. It’s romantic, Suzanne. Meeting a man on the Internet is so trendy and fin de siècle. I’m rotten with envy.”
    â€œIf you truly are, dearest one, you can meet him in my place. He doesn’t know what I look like.”
    â€œHmm.” Marta pretended to consider, head cocked. “But Jim and I have to go to New York this weekend.” Her son, Adam, was at NYU. “He’s showing the film he made. I have to go see it. I was thinking of asking Beverly if we could sleep on her couch. I don’t want to drop a thousand for a stupid weekend. If we have a free place to stay, we can fly instead of driving and worrying myself sick about the car.” Marta had a new Jeep Cherokee she did not look forward to parking in Manhattan.
    â€œAsk her. Beverly likes you. In fact I think she likes you better than me.”
    â€œWell, my mother always liked you better than me. We should have traded mothers twenty-five years ago and made everybody happy.”
    â€œWhat a wonderful idea.” Suzanne sat up. “Elena could get into that. Suppose when you went away to college, you exchanged parents. Everybody by lot draws somebody else’s. Or a computer could make matches. So much less angst. I think I’m onto a great piece of social engineering.”
    â€œYou’ve changed the subject from Jake. Jacob Kallen, eco-terrorist.”
    â€œHe is not, counsel. He is an eco-activist.”
    â€œJacob, who wrestled an angel, or god, or whatever.” Marta played with her long braid the color of weathered shingles. “Think he might want to wrestle you?”
    â€œDon’t be obscene, Marta. This is an absurd tête-á-tête I backed into. The truth