Claire McNab: Quokka Question

I hadn't meant to say them, but the words tumbled out. "If you bought me out, Ariana, you'd get rid of me. I'd get out of your life."

"Kylie, do you really think that's what I want?"

"I don't know what you want. That's the problem."

We both knew I wasn't referring to our jointly-owned company. We sat there, one on either side of her black desk, staring at each other. Ariana looked away first.

"All right," she said, "I'll tell you what you need to know, but not here. Let's go up to my place. We can sit down, enjoy a drink"-she gave a small, sardonic laugh-"and have a civilized conversation."

She went in her car: I went in mine. It was getting dark, and the curving road up into the Hollywood Hills seemed subtly ominous. It was leading to…what? I was cold with apprehension. Whatever she would tell me would make a difference; of that I was sure. The quality of that difference was the unknown factor.

Gussie greeted us with enthusiasm. German shepherds are such handsome, personable dogs. "You have presence, Gussie," I said to her. "It's an admirable characteristic." She smiled, obviously agreeing with me.

Ariana poured two glasses of red wine and gave me one. I took it to be polite. I didn't want anything to drink.

We sat opposite each other in her rose-colored lounge chairs, a low table between us. Beside us was a long plate glass window that provided a stunning view of Los Angeles at night, stretched out in patterns of light.

"Kylie, this is so hard. I'm not sure how to begin." She looked out a the city lights, so far below us. "What do you think I'm going to say?"

"I reckon you're going to tell me there's someone else."

Ariana gazed at me for a long, long moment. Then she said, "There is someone else."

I believed I'd prepared myself to hear something like this, but it was still a sickening jolt. "Who is it?"

"Does it matter?"

A pulse of anger sharpened my voice. "Of course it matters, Ariana. It matters a lot." When she didn't respond, I said, "She gave you that ring, didn't she?"

Ariana looked down at the heavy gold signet ring she always wore. "Yes."

"It's Natalie Ives, isn't it?"

Such raw pain filled her face that I was stunned. "Oh, Ariana," I said, "I'm so sorry…"

She let out her breath in a long sigh. "I'll tell you everything, Kylie. And then you'll…you'll understand how impossible it is for us-" She broke off and shook her head. "I haven't been fair to you."

"Be fair to me now. Let me in on the secret."

"Secret?" Her lips twisted. "Some secret."

My heart was thudding, not with passion but with fear. "Go on. Please."

Ariana took a sip of her drink, put it down, and after a deep breath, began. "I met Natalie when I was a rookie cop in the LAPD and she was an eminent English professor at UCLA. I was in my early twenties, Natalie was forty-one. I was dazzled by her wit, her knowledge, the sheer excitement of being with her. For my part, I adored her from the beginning but was amazed when Natalie fell in love with me."

She paused, looked at me for the first time since she'd mentioned Natalie's name. "Natalie wasn't in the closet, but I was. The macho atmosphere of the LAPD at the time was so hostile to gays that being out wasn't a realistic option. For simple self-preservation I kept our relationship secret at work. Your father was one of my closest friends. He too was concealing the fact he was gay."

I thought with a stab of grief how I'd never really known my father. Ariana had been closer to him than I'd ever been.

Ariana, her shoulders resolutely squared, continued in her clear, cool voice. "Natalie loved the water, so we pooled our resources-mine weren't great at that stage-and bought a little house near the beach in Santa Monica." A reminiscent smile lit her face. "We had so much fun renovating that little place. We painted walls; we raided yard sales; we planted a garden, even acquired a kitten."

"Priscilla?"

"Yes, Priscilla."

For a moment, Ariana seemed lost in memories. I said, "And then what happened?"

"Nothing happened, at least not for a long time. We were so happy together. Every day with Natalie was a delight. Career-wise, I advanced in the LAPD, and Natalie gained even more renown in academic circles. Our life was close to perfect. Then one day, Natalie was unexpectedly late. When she finally arrived she was confused and upset. She told me she'd got lost, driving home from UCLA, although she'd driven from Westwood to Santa Monica countless times and knew every route, every back street, every shortcut."

Ariana drew an uneven breath. "I can still remember how a chill of dread touched me, even as I reassured Natalie that this had happened because she was overworked and tired. Suddenly, little incidents over the past year I'd not remarked upon-things Natalie had forgotten to do, the times she mixed up people's names, the faint puzzled expression she sometimes wore-became terribly significant."

Ariana's expression was achingly sad. "A few days later I found Natalie crying brokenheartedly. She said that something was terribly wrong, that more and more a gray heaviness was clouding her mind." Ariana's eyes filled with tears. "Her fine, elegant mind."

I wanted to go over to her, to comfort her, but knew I couldn't. Instead, I said, "Alzheimer's disease?"

She nodded slowly. "The diagnosis was early-onset Alzheimer's. We told each other it'd be OK, but both of us knew we were lying. Natalie and I did the round of specialists. We tried every treatment they suggested, but it was clear the disease was inexorably advancing. Natalie was distraught when she realized what lay ahead for both of us. I remember her saying that she felt she was slowly dissolving, becoming less of herself every day."

I said nothing. What could I say? I tried to visualize what it must have been like for Ariana-for both of them-but I knew the reality had to be much worse than I could imagine.

Ariana got up and moved restlessly about the room. "Natalie couldn't bear for anyone to know what was happening to her. I promised her I'd keep it secret from everyone but a few close friends. She took early retirement and dropped out of academic circles altogether. I tried to arrange my workload to spend every possible moment with her. Soon it became obvious that being a cop and looking after Natalie were not compatible. I had irregular hours, was expected to be available on short notice, often at night. Natalie was becoming more dependent and needed a structured, fixed routine to help her cope."

"That's where my dad comes in?"

Ariana sat down opposite me again. "Your dad was wonderful. Colin and Ken, his partner, had often made up a foursome with Natalie and me. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, they were both so supportive. A few years earlier, your father had left the LAPD and started Kendall Investigative Services. He offered me a partnership, pointing out that I could schedule my time so Natalie would have that necessary routine in her life. It was a wrench to leave the force, but I'd do anything for her, and for a long time it worked out well. I employed a retired nurse to be her companion during the day, and I was there for Natalie every night."

Ariana fixed me with her blue, intense gaze. "I promised her I would always love her, always be there for her-would never leave her." She looked down at her hands. "I underestimated Alzheimer's and overestimated myself."

Where was Natalie now? Was she in some care facility? Or had she died? If it were me, I thought I'd rather cease to exist man face such inescapable deterioration of my mind, and eventually, my body.

"I kept her at home with me as long as I could. But it became impossible. It was obvious Natalie needed twenty-four hour professional care. It was the hardest thing I ever did, to put her away in an intensive-care home."