Page 50 of One of Them

Y ou said what to my mother?” Drew’s voice was controlled, but he was clearly upset.

“Only that I was Jewish, and I didn’t want to go to church with her on Easter Sunday.” She felt defensive; this was a tone of voice Anne had never heard Drew use before, and certainly not with her.

Easter had come and gone, and she hadn’t seen or spoken to Evelyn since that last uncomfortable encounter.

Anne had also done her best to avoid Nancy.

She needed to see Drew first, to tell him her side of the story.

He had gotten back late last night; she was already asleep, so this was the first time they were seeing each other since his return.

She had counted on his understanding. But no, here they were early the next morning, in the Jardins du Luxembourg, passing through that long alley of perfectly aligned trees.

Though he wasn’t actually raising his voice, she could tell he wanted to.

“I thought we were going to wait to tell her,” he said.

“No, you wanted to wait.”

“But you agreed with me. Or you said you did.”

“I know. At the time it seemed all right. But it was different when we were actually together. I could see how she reacted to the idea that her son was going out with a Jewess.”

“Anne, she would never use that word.”

“Well, she thought it.” She glared at him.

He glared back. “The issue of my dating a Jewish girl isn’t her only problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anne, she knows you’ve been in my room, that we’ve slept together. In her mind, that damns you more than being Jewish.”

“How reassuring. Being Jewish is only slightly less damning than being a slut.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s what she thinks, isn’t it? And maybe you agree with her.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” He tried to take her hand, the hand on which she was wearing the silver ring he’d given her.

“Then why don’t you tell that to your mother?” She pulled away.

“It’s not so simple.”

“Why not? To me it seems like the simplest thing in the world. Tell her you love me. Respect me. And that whatever we did or didn’t do in your room isn’t any of her business. You’re a grown man. Why are you so worried about what she thinks?”

“You don’t understand.”

“No. I don’t.”

For the next few minutes, they walked in an uncomfortable silence.

Then Drew stopped and put the Leica to his face.

Usually she loved to watch him do this, loved to try to see what he saw.

Not today. In fact, she was irritated. Did he have to take a picture now?

She waited impatiently as he aimed the camera, pressed the shutter, then tilted the camera slightly, pressing it again.

Click, click, click. Finally, he stopped, and they could continue walking.

When they reached the wide, placid expanse of the Grand Bassin, Anne saw a model boat sailing serenely across the octagonal pond.

A young boy in short pants stood watching its progress; next to him was a man whose hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

Father and son? Anne thought of her own father, whose death had left her feeling so abandoned.

Her father hadn’t meant to abandon her. But Drew?

His father had known exactly what he was doing, and how it would hurt Drew and Nancy.

And thinking of that, Anne felt herself soften—toward Drew, and even toward his mother.

She imagined the shock Evelyn must have felt when she’d been deserted, the fear when she tried to imagine how she would raise her children on her own.

Anne hated this rift—surprising and painful—she’d felt with Drew.

But she also saw that she could bridge it; she just needed to find the words.

She turned to him, ready to back down, to say something conciliatory.

Drew was talking, though. She’d missed the first part of what he’d said and only heard, “... maybe we put things on hold for a while. Let her get used to the idea of our being together before we move ahead.”

“On hold?” Anne repeated. “What does that mean?”

“We can tell her we’ve decided not to rush into anything. And I have another idea.”

“What is it?”

“I think I can find a priest who would be willing to give you instruction, so you could go to confession.”

“Confession?” Anne bristled all over again. “Why would I do that?”

“Belief in the sacrament of confession runs deep for most Catholics. Well, for my mother anyway. If you confessed your sin—”

“Sin! What sin ?”

“Sleeping with me, of course.” He looked at her as if it were obvious.

“And what about you? Two people were involved in this so-called sin.”

“Oh, I’d go to confession too. We’d be absolved and could start fresh.”

“Absolved? Start fresh? Drew, I’m Jewish, remember?”

“I know that.” He sounded impatient. “It’s just awkward, that’s all. If you hadn’t left your underwear in my room—”

“I was sleeping in your room. Dressing and undressing there.”

“If I told her that we both went to confession and received absolution, it would go a long way.”

“Not for me. I’d only be doing it to please her.”

“Is that so terrible? She is my mother, after all,” he said, and then, his attention snagged by something he saw, he turned and raised the camera. Again.

“Do you have to be taking pictures now?” Anne said. Here they were, having their first fight, and he was taking pictures?

He spun around. “Yes, actually I do. I’m always going to take pictures,” he said.

“It’s who I am. If you don’t like it, then maybe you’re saying you don’t like me.

” He took a picture, then another. And still another.

Anne fumed but said nothing. Finally he took the camera from his face and added, “I don’t even understand why you’re making such a big deal of this.

You told me about that day at Chartres, how much you loved being inside the cathedral.

It sounded like you had a kind of religious experience. ”

“Maybe I did. But it wasn’t an explicitly Christian experience, at least not for me. And now that I’ve been to Palestine, I’m seeing things differently.” This was true. She couldn’t pinpoint the difference, but it was there.

They were still standing by the water’s edge, only the boat was no longer gliding along the surface of the water; the boy was gently shaking the drops from its sides. He and the man walked off, the boy carrying the boat in his arms as carefully as if it had been alive.

“You’re not going to give an inch, are you?” He looked at her as if she’d become someone else, someone he didn’t recognize. “My mother feels insulted.”

“She feels insulted? What about me?” Anne said.

“If you’d only try to see it from her point of view—”

“What about my point of view? I’m not a Catholic, and I’m not going to follow a Catholic blueprint just to please her.” Just then he turned away to snap another picture. Anne couldn’t control herself a minute longer. “Would you just stop that already? Just stop!”

He looked at her with obvious anger. “Really? You’re telling me not to take a photograph? When we ran into Delia at the gallery, she told me not to trust you. Maybe she was right.”

The comment was an affront, surprising and wounding.

But she wouldn’t let him see how it had affected her.

“Well, if you don’t trust me, maybe I shouldn’t be wearing this.

” She pulled at the ring on her finger; for a second it seemed to be stuck, but then she yanked it off and tossed it in his direction.

He looked stunned before scrambling to pick it up.

“That’s right. Take it back. Take it back and give it to someone else.

Someone your mother will like.” But this was a bluff; she wanted him to say No, that’s not what I want at all and give her back the ring.

He didn’t, so she turned and walked away quickly, hoping that he’d call after her.

But he didn’t do that either. Nor did she hear anything from him for the rest of the day, or the next day either.

But on the following morning, she found an envelope with her name on it in the wooden mail cubby downstairs.

She recognized the handwriting instantly and tore it open.

Dear Anne,

I’m sorry we fought, and sorry for the things I said.

But now that I’ve calmed down, I’m thinking maybe it’s for the best. Anger can be clarifying.

It showed us differences that we can’t seem to reconcile.

We said I love you to each other. But love doesn’t conquer all.

It can’t even get us over this hurdle; how about all the others that are bound to crop up?

I’ll be leaving Paris soon, and I think we shouldn’t have any contact for a while.

I’ve told Nancy what’s happened, and she’s going to move out of your room; there’s a single that opened up on another floor.

So maybe that’s for the best too. I hope you can finish out the semester and take in all that Paris has to offer.

Yours,

Drew

Anne read this several times. Why had she thought she loved him?

If he could write this, he wasn’t capable of love.

And he didn’t think they should have any contact for a while?

Well, she didn’t want any contact either, and not just “for a while.” How about no contact ever again?

That would suit her just fine. Now she was sorry she’d thrown that ring on the ground; she should have thrown it right in his face.