Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

'Yes. I went back. To a loveless marriage. But I'd made a vow, a commitment. I tell you, Catholic guilt is something to behold. But the real reason I went back was Charlie. I couldn't stand to be apart from Charlie'.

'I'm sure he needs you very much'.

'And I him. Without Charlie, I don't think I would have made it through the last couple of years'.

He suddenly shook his head, with annoyance.

'Sorry, sorry - that sounds melodramatic'.

'Are you all right?'

'Never better', he said, taking a nervous drag on his cigarette.

'You look a little... wan'.

'No. I look like shit'.

'You're not well, are you?'

His fingers closed around the coffee cup again. He continued to avoid looking at me.

'I wasn't well. A bad bout of hepatitis. Word of advice: never eat cherrystones at City Island'.

'It was just hepatitis?' I asked, trying not to sound overtly sceptical.

Another fast drag of his cigarette.

'Do I look that bad?'

'Well...'

'Don't answer that. But yeah - hepatitis can really kick the crap out of you'.

'You've been off work?'

'For six months'.

'Good God...'

'Steele and Sherwood have been pretty understanding. Full pay for the first three months, half pay since then. It's meant things have been a little tight, especially with the beautiful Kate now in our lives. But we've managed'.

'Are things now better between you and Dorothy?'

'Kate's made a difference. It's given us something to talk about. Other than Charlie, that is'.

'There must have been some sort of thaw between the two of you before then', I said, nodding towards the baby carriage.

'Not really. Just a night when we both had four Scotches too many, and Dorothy momentarily forgot that, at heart, she didn't like me'.

'I hope Kate makes you both very...'

He cut me off. His tone was suddenly harsh.

'Yeah, thanks for the Hallmark Cards sentiment'.

'I mean that, Jack. I don't wish you any ill'.

'You sure?'

'I never did'.

'But you didn't forgive me either'.

'You're right. For a long time, I found it very hard to forgive what you'd done'.

'And now?'

'The past is the past'.

'I can't undo what happened'.

'I know'.

He reached over to where my right hand was resting on the table. He covered it with his own. As soon as he touched me, I felt something akin to a small electrical charge course up my arm... the same charge I'd felt on that first night in 1945. After a moment, I moved my left hand on top of his.

'I'm so sorry', he said.

'It's okay', I said.

'No', he said quietly, 'it will never be okay'.

I suddenly heard myself say, 'I forgive you'.

Silence. We said nothing for a very long time. Then Kate began to stir - some quiet burbling sounds quickly escalating into a full-scale lament. Jack stood up and hunted around the baby carriage until he found the pacifier she had spit out. As soon as it was back between her lips, she ejected it again and continued crying.

'She's in the market for a bottle, I'm afraid', Jack said. 'I'd better get home'.

'Okay', I said.

He sat down quickly again opposite me.

'Can I see you again?' he asked.

'I don't know'.

'I understand...'

'There's no one else'.

'That's not what I was implying'.

'It's just... well... I guess I don't know what I think right now'.

'No rush', he said. 'Anyway, I have to go out of town for a week or so. It's a business thing. Up in Boston. Some account Steele and Sherwood wants me to handle when I go back to work next month'.

'Are you well enough to travel?'

'I look worse than I am'.

Kate's crying now escalated.

'You'd better go', I said.

He squeezed my hand one last time.

'I'll call you from Boston', he said.

'Okay', I said. 'Call me'.

He stood up. He rearranged the blanket around Kate. He turned towards me again. I stood up. Suddenly he pulled me towards him - and kissed me. I met his kiss. And held it. It only lasted a moment. When he ended it, he whispered:

'Goodbye'.

Then he put both hands on the baby carriage and pushed it forward.

I sat down in the booth. I crossed my arms on the table. I laid my head atop them. I sat that way for a very long time.

For the next week, the shock lingered. I did my work. I saw movies. I saw friends. I kept replaying that kiss in my head. I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't know anything anymore.

He said he would call. He didn't call. But he did write. A short card, with a Boston postmark. It was scribbled in a shaky hand.

I'm still here. It should be over soon.

I love you.

Jack

I read that card over and over, trying to decipher its underlying meaning. Eventually I decided there was no underlying meaning. He was still in Boston. Whatever he was doing would end shortly. He loved me.

And I still loved him.

But I expected nothing. Because - as I had learned - if you expect nothing, then anything is a surprise.

Another week went by. No calls. No cards. I remained calm. On Monday morning, April fifteenth, I was running out the door, en route to a press screening of some film. I was late, the traffic on Broadway was grim, so I decided to skip the bus and grab the subway downtown. I walked briskly to the 79th Street station, buying a New York Times from the newsie who was always out in front. I climbed aboard the downtown train. I did my usual quick scan of the paper. When I reached the Obituary page, I noticed that the lead death of the day was a Hartford insurance executive who once worked with my father. I quickly read his obituary, and was about to move on to the opposite page when my gaze stumbled on a short listing amidst the page-wide columns of Deaths:

MALONE, John Joseph, age 33, at Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston, on April 14th. Husband of Dorothy, father of Charles and Katherine. Formerly of Steele and Sherwood Public Relations Inc., New York. Will be much mourned by family and friends. Funeral Mass, Wednesday, April 17th, Holy Trinity Church, West 82nd Street, Manhattan. House private. No flowers please.

I only read it once. Then I lowered the paper on to my lap. I stared ahead of me. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I didn't notice the passage of time. Until a man in a uniform came over to me and said, 'You okay, lady?'

I now realized that the train had stopped. The carriage was empty.

'Where are we?' I managed to ask.

'The end of the line'.

Fifteen

TWO DAYS LATER, I went to the funeral. The church - Holy Trinity - wasn't large, but it still seemed cavernous. There were only twenty or so mourners in attendance. They all sat in the front two pews - directly facing the casket. It was surrounded by four lit candles, and draped in an American flag - because, as befitting any veteran of the Armed Forces, Jack was entitled to a funeral with full military honors. Two soldiers in dress uniform stood at attention on either side of the coffin. The service began with the tolling of a bell. A priest and two altar boys marched down the aisle. One of the boys held a smoking censer of incense. The other carried a large gold cross. The priest - a short, greying man with a hard face - walked around the coffin, sprinkling it with holy water. Then he mounted the pulpit and began the Latin Mass. His voice was tough, no-nonsense. Like the man he was burying, the priest was a Brooklyn boy. I kept wondering if he had ever heard Jack's confession.

A baby began to cry in the front row. It was Kate. She was being held by her mother. Dorothy's face was drawn and tired. Next to her sat Charlie - in a blazer and a pair of flannel pants. He was the image of his father. So much so that I found it hard to look at him.

The priest moved briskly through the Latin prayers of the Mass. Whenever he reverted back to English and spoke about 'our dear departed brother, Jack', I felt my eyes sting. There were a few muffled sobs - largely from Meg, who sat on the other side of Charlie, her arm around his shoulders. I didn't recognize any of the other mourners. I sat in the back row of the church, far away from the assembled crowd. I mixed in with a few local parishioners who had wandered in to say prayers, or simply seek shelter from the wet April day.