CHAPTER I
It was still and cool on the deserted stretch of California beach where Donna Harris sat alone. The waning moon turned the calm water to silver, and frothy little waves lapped the sand almost silently. A whisper of breeze was warming up the July day to follow. Donna had been sitting at the water's edge for a long time. An ordinary-looking woman approaching her mid-fifties. She sat motionless, the night calm around her.
Finally she rose and walked to the water's edge. The little waves sucked at her feet as they ran back out to sea, begging her to follow. I should say something appropriate, she told herself. Like a eulogy. If I were having a proper funeral, who would be there to speak for me, she thought bitterly. At least this way I can speak for myself.
She stood motionless for a long time. She supposed this was the coward's way out. But how could she go back to that hopeless existence? No, this was better. And now she knew exactly what her epitaph should be: "Not that I died, but that I never lived." She repeated it aloud. Then she walked, fully clothed, into the sea.
She did not see the man, bearded, barefoot and in shorts. He had been working all night and was out for a jog before sunrise. He arrived just in time to see Donna swimming steadily out to sea. In her preoccupation she failed to hear his shout. When it appeared that she had no intention of turning back, he plunged into the water and swam out after her with powerful strokes.
She was not a strong swimmer, and soon her pace was flagging. It was her intention to swim out as far as she could and, when her strength was gone, to let the water's take her. By the time the stranger reached her, she was near exhaustion.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled.
She looked around. She had not been aware of him, and her face showed fury at his intervention. With one last burst of energy she raced ahead, but he quickly overtook her and grasped her under the chin from behind. She fought like a wildcat, screaming and spouting obscenities. But she was too tired to struggle long, and soon he was dragging her back to safety.
For some minutes they both lay panting on the sand. As soon as he could catch his breath, the man thundered at her, "You damn fool woman. If you have to kill yourself, do it in a decent manner. Leave your body to science."
"Damn you," she cried, "is that all you think I am, a body?" She pounded him furiously about the head and shoulders. "I hate you, I hate you. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
He shook her roughly. "Shut up," he roared. "If you're that set on killing yourself, go on, I won't stop you."
She glared at him in fury. Then her face crumpled and she wept, great choking sobs. But this time it was despair and not fury that was tearing her apart.
He sat there helpless, a big hulk of a man of about sixty. He could find no words of comfort. When her sobs finally showed signs of subsiding, he said "Look, we've got to get out of these wet clothes. My place is just up there. Come along and have a shot of whiskey or some coffee while we dry your things."
His face showed surprise when she rose immediately and followed him, as if he had expected her to object. Steps led up to a terrace on which his house stood. A heavy wooden door opened into a long living room, comfortably furnished. Books were everywhere. The place looked clean and tidy. To the right was a kitchen and a dining area.
The man got a robe for her from a large bedroom in the rear, and opened the bathroom door for her. "Take off those wet clothes and get into this," he said.
As he started back to the living room, she said, "What's your name?"
"Jason Farrell. Who are you?"
"Donna Harris."
"Well, Donna Harris, I don't know about you but I'm chilled to the bone. I'll start a fire. When you've changed come and warm yourself."
She was back by the time he got the fire going. He poured whiskey into two glasses and handed one to her, but she said, "I'm sorry. I don't think I'd better drink this."
"Why not? You a teetotaler?"
"No, it's just that I haven't eaten for forty-eight hours."
"My God, woman, you trying to kill your. . .?" He broke off in consternation and stared at her. A little twitch appeared at one corner of her mouth. He threw back his head and started to laugh. After a moment she joined him. Their laughter grew and grew, healing, cleansing, forming a bridge of communication between them.
"Oh, my," he said finally, "what a klutz I am."
"It's okay" she told him.
"Well, at least I'm not so klutzy I don't know how to cook. I'll rustle up some breakfast."
He was already taking food from the fridge. Soon the combined smells of coffee and bacon filled the room. Donna didn't think she could ever take food again.
"Can you eat some bacon and eggs?" Jason asked.
"Perhaps some milk and a piece of toast." she said. Jason filled a glass with milk and started the toast while his eggs were frying. "It's ready" he said in a moment. Donna moved to the table and sat down. She took a sip of milk and nibbled at her toast. She was surprised to notice she had eaten all her toast. He passed her another slice. "Do you live here alone?" she said finally.
"Yes. After my marriage broke up I had this place built. It's small but easy to keep," he said.
"It's very nice," she said.
"I don't do any entertaining. Just a friend now and then. It's private here and near the beach. Suits me perfectly."
They finished their meal in silence. Finally he pushed back his plate and said, "You want to talk about it?"
She shook her head.
"You ought to talk about it. Keeping it all pent up is no good."
She was still for so long he thought she wasn't going to speak. Then she said, "I just got tired of living. No, that's wrong. I wasn't really living. It was my non-life I was going to end."
She paused again, marshalling her thoughts. "I guess I'm one of those people who are born victims," she said finally. "Oh, I understand about victims. Nobody can make you a victim without your cooperation. But I didn't seem to have any real choice."
"My mother was so dependent. My father did most of her thinking for her, and when he was gone . . ." She looked at him apologetically. "I'm having a hard time starting," she said.
"Just start anywhere. Ramble. I've got lots of time." he said.
"My family was already complete when I was born," she said.
"I had an older brother, My parents doted on him. He was handsome and likable and clever, and they lived for him. I was expected to do the same. Nobody cared about me. When I got old enough I did most of the housework and helped my Mother wait on my father and brother. I spent my life trying to get into that closed circle. Then I started waiting for the day when I would graduate from high school and leave home. When that day finally came, I got a job and an apartment. You would have thought I had betrayed the flag, or something. How ungrateful I was for all they had done for me. How could I think of leaving home, now that I was big enough to be real help to my mother, who was so frail. And, finally, they told me if I persisted in this selfish course they'd just as soon never see me again."
"My God," said Jason. "Do people like that still exist?"
"They made me feel so guilty. So selfish. But in time I gained a little confidence. I became good at my job. I made friends. I found a boyfriend. We were starting to talk of marriage when my world fell apart."
"What happened?"
"My brother was five years older than I. In 1941 he was drafted and eventually sent overseas to active combat and was killed. When the telegram came, my father had a heart attack and died. My mother never recovered from this double blow. She clung to me. She made it clear she expected me to come home and take care of her. What else could I do? She really was frail, and so dependent. I thought it would be for only awhile, but she saw to it that the chains were never broken. My boyfriend got tired of waiting. He finally married someone else."
"Mother became adept at manipulating me. Even though I saw through most of her schemes. I just couldn't reject her, so I stayed with her. On her terms, of course. I had no life of my own. My only friends were her friends. I had contacts at the office, but I was never free to visit them or they to visit me. If I showed signs of rebellion, she would have one of her "attacks." Oh, I didn't really believe in her attacks, but I went along with them for otherwise she could make things so unpleasant. The only way I could survive was to shut my mind to everything and just endure." She paused, her face full of pain and regret.
"Go on," he said gently.
"My mother died about two years ago. Would you believe that finally finding myself free frightened me? I would now have to think for myself. Make a new life for myself. Where to start? It was weeks before I began to like my new freedom. Then I shed fifteen pounds, had my hair restyled, got a new wardrobe, a new job. All at once I felt I had to hurry and start living before my time ran out. I was forty years old."
My new job was with an architectural firm. My boss was attractive, man in his forties. He was fun to work with. He joked and laughed and paid me compliments. I found this very exciting. And of course the inevitable happened. I fell in love with him."
Jason refilled her coffee cup in silence.
"When I realized what happened," Donna continued, "I was stunned, Noah was married. Neither of us was the kind for a backstreet affair. I tried to hide how I felt about him, but soon I was sure he felt the same about me. I should have resigned at once, but I couldn't stand to leave."
"Maybe I was an interfering fool," he said. "I have to admit you got shortchanged."
"You're a lot of help. I was beginning to feel better after getting all that off my chest."
He laughed. "You'd better get some rest. You look beat. Take my bed and I'll bunk out here on the couch. I was up all night, too."
"I can't do that."
"Don't give me any argument," he said, pulling her to her feet and leading the way to the bedroom. "You're in luck. Today was laundry day. I changed the sheets this morning. Here's a pajama top, never worn."
He found a cover for himself and left her alone. Gratefully, she got into the pajama top and crawled into bed. She was physically and emotionally spent. Almost at once she drifted into sleep.