Play Dead

Laura felt ensnared by Judy’s words. She was trapped in nineteen sixty with no possible escape but to read on. Laura wanted to go back and warn Judy to stay away from Sinclair Baskin. She wanted to reach right through the pages and shake Judy to her senses.

March 18, 1960

I have never been so happy, never known such happiness existed. Losing James has ended up being a blessing in disguise. Mary and James are happy and now I’m ecstatic! Could life be better? I doubt it. I am so filled with feelings of love that I am sure I will burst. I want to shout from the top of tall buildings, “I love you, Sinclair!” He has started talking about divorce even though the idea of hurting his two sons is tearing him apart. Stan is only ten years old. David just a few months. But we are meant to be together and soon we will be. I must have patience. . . .

More love notes followed. Pages and pages of sonnets that brought tears to Laura’s eyes. She read about the softball game where the photograph had been taken, about walks in the day and lovemaking in the night. The diary was like some bizarre novel whose characters were all too real. Laura watched Judy merrily skip down a path filled with hidden mines. She called out a warning, but Judy would not hear her. Right now it was March 1960. Young Judy cared not for what was to come. The world was bright and sunny, and no one could tell her otherwise. Laura wanted to lock her in, to somehow suspend her aunt’s memory in March 1960. But the diary had to move on. When Laura turned the page, it was April. March 1960 was gone forever.

April 3, 1960

We’re going to visit my family today. I don’t expect them to be thrilled for me. I doubt they will understand. But how can they deny the glow in my face? How can they be upset when they see how happy we are? They will have to accept us. They will want to accept us. Of course, my parents are going to be upset about his being married, but love conquers all, right? I’ll let you know how it goes when we get back.

Later:Something changed today. I don’t know what. Everything went well with my family—as well as could be expected. My parents were upset but managed to remain fairly polite. Mary got along very nicely with Sinclair, as did James. In truth, my family reacted just as I suspected they would. So why this dark feeling inside? It’s Sinclair. He was different today. Oh, he still looked at me with love. He still kissed me good night and told me that he loved me. But something was . . . off. He was distracted, not completely there. Of course that’s understandable. Today was a stressful day for him, too. But still, there was something wrong. Something in the air . . .

“Listen to that something,” Laura said out loud, calling through time itself to patch wounds that still bled. “Get away from him.”

“She was young,” Gloria said. “She was in love.”

“He was a married man, Gloria.”

Gloria smiled sadly. “If you had learned David was married, would it have changed anything?”

“Of course it would—”

“Really? Be honest with yourself, Laura.”

Laura tried to push the allegation to the side and read on, but it remained there, swaying occasionally but never fully leaving.

April 17, 1960

My life is coming to an end. The sun no longer rises. The flowers no longer bloom. Something has taken away my Sinclair. More than that, something has begun to destroy him. I approached him today in the hopes he would confide in me. He has been acting strangely for two weeks now, ever since our visit to my parents’ house. I asked him what was wrong.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “There are problems.”

“Problems?” I asked.

He nodded. “I think we have to end this.”

My heart disintegrated then, right in his stuffy, book-congested office, right in front of the works of Keats and Browning and Shakespeare and Dante.

I think we have to end this.

Seven words. Seven words destroyed my life. I of all people should not be amazed by that. Words, I know, can be all-powerful tools. That is all well and good on an analytical front, but the heart is an object that knows merely emotion and feeling. First James was taken away from me and now I am losing Sinclair.

“What do you mean?” I asked stupidly.

Sinclair was very upset. He was chain-smoking. His hair was all over the place. He had not shaved in a week. His eyes were bloodshot. “It’s over,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want you to come around here anymore. I have a wife, kids.”

“That bastard,” Laura said.

“Keep reading.”

For the next month or so, Judy delved into her depression. Nothing she tried could make her forget Sinclair Baskin. What could have changed him? Judy wondered. Could she have been so wrong about his feelings for her? Could Sinclair have been lying to her this whole time? She thought not. Young Judy kept blaming something else. Something “alien,” she said, had twisted his perception. Eventually, Sinclair would see the light. She would just have to wait. Sinclair would come back to her if she remained patient. Judy settled into a comfortable unhappiness, secure in the knowledge that one day she and Sinclair would be together for all eternity. Love would, in the end, conquer all.

Then something happened in late May that altered her outlook—something that made Judy react in a way that changed their lives forever:May 27, 1960

My whole body is still numb. Even picking up this pen to write to you is an arduous, unfeeling task. I cannot comment on what happened today. I can only replay the events as they happened.

This morning, Mary called me in a panic. “Can I come over? I really need to talk to you.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

I spent the hour straightening up my closet of a dorm room and taking some notes for my new short story. At exactly ten a.m. Mary knocked on the door. When she entered, I was struck anew by her beauty. I had lived with her all my life but her stunning looks still held me in awe. I knew that her beauty was a dangerous weapon. I just had no idea that it could also be lethal.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said, her eyes tainted with fear.

“That’s wonderful,” I naively replied. “Gloria will have a little baby brother or sister.”

“You don’t understand. The baby . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s not James’s.”

I gasped. “What? How can that be?”

She began to cry. Oh what a devastating weapon even her tears were. “I’m having an affair.”