Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [91]
Mary took my hand and said, “He’s a late-life father, Dyan. He’s going off the rails being overprotective, but I think his intentions are good.” I believed that, too. In his own way, he thought he was defending his family. I never thought for a second that Cary had another motive than ensuring Jennifer’s safety when he gave Bangs away. It was just that the loss of my pet had remained an open wound.
During Jennifer’s first few months, relations between Cary and me were chilly but polite. In fact, more than one person complimented me on how courteous we were with each other. And we were courteous, because common courtesy was the only thing that seemed to make life under the same roof possible.
When she first saw me in Acapulco, Darlene had taken one look at me and I could tell she knew something wasn’t right.
“Have things changed since you and Hal got married?” I asked when the two of us had gone water-skiing together, one of my favorite activities.
“Only for the better,” she replied. “You?”
“I’m still head over heels, but I don’t think he is,” I told her. “Maybe I’m not as much fun since I’ve had Jennifer.”
“That’s not it. Do you think there’s another woman?”
“No, but that would at least make all of this easier to understand. I’m clueless, Darlene. Clueless.”
“He does seem different,” Darlene remarked.
“How so?”
“Just kind of like he’s not all here. He’s nice and everything, but it’s like he’s in Acapulco but his mind is in Timbuktu.”
Being with Cary had become like tiptoeing through a minefield. I never knew what was going to set him off. I’d gotten so nervous around him, I’d started smoking again, a habit I’d only briefly taken up in college. Only in secret, of course. But one night when we were having dinner back aboard the S.S. Oriana, he smelled tobacco on my breath and asked to see my purse. I refused, but he took it from me and found the cigarettes.
“Of all the disgusting things,” he complained. “And you’re doing it behind my back.” He twisted the cigarette packages in his hands. I truly felt like I’d been caught committing a felony. He was right, of course. How could I jeopardize our baby’s health and my own by indulging in such a filthy habit? But then I remembered that Cary himself had been a heavy smoker; he knew it was hard to quit. Why couldn’t he be a little more sympathetic?
I lifted my glass of water and noticed my hands were shaking. I got up from the table and went to the ladies’ room, where, without giving it a second thought, I stuck my finger down my throat and purged the meal. When I was done, I felt strangely purified. It was a good feeling, and, I thought, it had the extra advantage of calorie control. Cary liked me thin and I intended to stay that way.
One night as the S.S. Oriana churned across the Atlantic, I lay in a state half between dreaming and waking. I slowly became aware of a presence hovering over me. I opened my eyes just partially. It was Cary, standing by the bed, looking at me. I wasn’t completely awake, so it was unsettling. He stood there in his pajamas, illuminated only by the feeble moonlight that slipped in through the porthole.
“Dyan,” he whispered. I drew a breath. I had no idea what time it was. My eyes were heavy with sleep and I could barely keep them open. “Dyan,” he whispered again.
“Is everything all right, Cary?”
“Dyan, I’m truly sorry. I’ve really been awful to you, and there’s no excuse for it.” I sighed sleepily. His words were soothing but somehow haunting at the same time. “I don’t know what’s been wrong with me, but I’m going to be a better husband to you, Dyan. I promise I will.” He bent over and kissed my forehead. I fell back to sleep. In the morning, the episode came back to me like a dream a few minutes after I woke up. I wondered for a moment if it was a dream but assured myself it was real.
The rest of the cruise was pleasantly uneventful. Cary remained subdued, but for those several days, he