“I was goin’ to tell him you had decided to go home for a while.”
“I don’t think that will work, Leo. He’s friends with Mr. Wollard, remember? He’ll know I didn’t return.”
We both stood there looking at each other.
“I don’t like lying to him, but I can’t see myself telling the truth about this. I’m not sure of it, and I’m not sure I won’t be ashamed if and when I go through with it. And they do want me to keep my participation secret. That’s very important to Samantha.”
“Okay. Leave it to me,” he said. “I won’t reveal anythin’, but I’ll get him to be understandin’.”
“Oh, and Marge, and oh, I forgot all about Jon Morales.”
“Who?”
I looked at the time. “I’ll take care of that,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Right.” He hugged me and left.
How would I tell my parents, if ever? I wondered. In the meantime, what would I say if they called here and never heard back from me for almost a year? I had to come up with some explanation. I was never good at deception. It was always easier to simply not say anything. That, at least, didn’t feel like lying. But how could I do that now? At the moment, I saw no other way than to make up some story, perhaps tell them I had a job in a regional theater in Massachusetts.
Was there such a thing as a good lie? Julia used to try to convince me there was, especially if it was to avoid riling up our father. “Words have consequences,” she said in her slightly arrogant teacher’s voice, even before she became one. “If you can avoid them and not really hurt someone, why not choose the words that prevent trouble? After all, we’re only trying to keep Daddy from becoming upset. He could have a heart attack,” she’d warn. In the end, although I didn’t utter the words, I went along with them, telling myself I was still mostly innocent.
First things first, I thought. I found Jon’s number and called.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked. “Free tonight?”
“No. I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you, Jon. I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? Why? To where?”
“I’m returning to England for a while,” I said. “I have to see my family.”
I paused to see if my voice had betrayed my falsity. I really did not want to hurt him. If he thought I was making up something just to avoid him…
“Oh. Sure. I told you I just saw mine. But you’ll call me when you return, right?” he asked. He sounded convinced, but I still felt guilty.
“Yes,” I said.
I’ll call you, I thought, but when I return, I might be so different from the girl you knew that you’ll be the one to find excuses to avoid any relationship.
“Well, have a good, safe trip.”
“Thank you.”
“Send me a postcard if you think of it. I don’t think anyone’s written me from England.”
I heard my buzzer sound.
“Someone’s at the door. I think it’s my car service. ’Bye, Jon,” I said quickly, avoiding any promises. I hung up the phone and pushed the call-box button. “Yes?”
“It’s Parker Thompson, Dr. Davenport’s driver.”
“I’ll be right down,” I said. I picked up my suitcase, looked about the apartment a moment, and then took a deep breath and stepped out.
Leo waited at the door. There would never be enough good-byes for him, apparently. I could see the concern in his face. It troubled him. For days afterward, he was going to ask himself the same question. Had he made the right decision when he suggested me? I squeezed his arm gently.
“I’ll be all right,” I whispered. “If not, I’ll come back immediately.”
Parker Thompson, an African American man of about thirty, tall, with shoulders that filled out his black jacket, took my suitcase.
I walked out after him. He opened the rear door, and I paused. I paused long enough for Samantha to slide over and smile at me. Then I got in. She reached over to take my hand.
“It will all be fine,” she said. I was probably wearing my nervousness like a Halloween mask.
Dr. Davenport was up front. He didn’t turn back to look at me. I couldn’t say from the short time we talked if he was really for this or not. Did he deep down resent his wife for forcing it to happen? Or did he agree because he didn’t want his wife losing her figure? Or was he so much the scientist and so