5

Ralph was informed abruptly of his new status when he came for Sunny the next day and found Page glaring at him over an afternoon beer like a caveman.

Ben and June Rotheli were deeply concerned, but it was Sunny’s decision and they stayed out of the fracas. Even so, had they guessed how fast the wedding was coming up, they would have objected sooner.

They had to be grateful, at least, that Sunny had informed them of the time and place. “I suppose that’s really something, these days,” Ben said.

“And I’ve always dreamed of a white wedding for her,” June lamented.

Sunny tried to reassure them through several long nights of family argument. “Dad’s been telling all my boyfriends for the last three years he’d pay them a thousand bucks to elope with me,” she smiled. “So he wouldn’t have to finance a big wedding.”

But not even Sunny wanted it done quite so fast. They were to be married in Wheaton, the DuPage county seat, just as soon as the blood tests were dry and the license legal. She was too much in love to resist, but she was too sensible not to worry. It amazed her when her father, Ben, unexpectedly announced to his wife, “What the hell, June. We got married in a hurry, too. And it worked out.” Sunny threw her arms around him gratefully while June raised martyred eyes to the ceiling.

Ben sounded confident, but he was wondering at himself. In the few short days he had known Page he had begun to like him, respect him far more than the run of Sunny’s beaux. Why? Because he loved Sunny so whole-heartedly? Because he got along with Chuckie? Because he was friendly and honest? Sure, all that. But something else, Ben thought. Maybe he reminds me a little of myself at that age. Maybe that’s it. There’s a bit of egotist in all of us. We can’t help liking the people who like us, who are interested in the same things, who might even resemble us.

June had to surrender. Everybody was on Sunny’s side, even Chuckie, and the wedding came off as planned. Sunny wore a pale gold dress that matched her hair, and Page found himself actually tremulous at the sight of her.

“Why couldn’t your family come?” she asked him unhappily as they were driving to Wheaton. “I wanted to meet them so badly. There won’t be anyone there but us and my family.”

“I know. They sent you their love and all,” he said uncomfortably.

“And all,” she echoed with resentment.

“Mother is sick,” he told her.

“How sick?”

“Housebound. And Dad’s out of town. Couldn’t make it back.”

“For your wedding?” she said. “His only son?”

“Don’t make a fuss, honey. This is our wedding day,” he said. Moments later, stopping for a red light, he bent to kiss her, but she wouldn’t give him her lips.

“You’ll smudge me,” she said, prim and miffed.

But he was too happy to complain. “Sunny, sweetheart,” he said. “My almost wife.” The line of cars began to honk behind them and he stepped hard on the gas. The sudden acceleration made her laugh and dispelled for a minute her secret doubts and fears.

* * *

The ceremony was quick and simple. June cried and Ben Rotheli, watching from behind the couple, felt a strange aching loneliness for the son he had lost so long ago: his first child, Roger. He couldn’t have explained it, having known the child a mere three weeks. It had been hard for him to shift his hopes to Chuckie; hard on Chuckie too, feeling so much expected of him. Ben tried not to let it show.

Now, looking at the broad back and blond hair of his new son-in-law, Ben felt a swell of affection. Perhaps, in a way, Page could take Roger’s place. Roger would have been about this age, and Ben wanted to know Page much better, wanted him to like him. And so he indulged in a pride and fondness that were rather special.

* * *

Page was blissfully happy. He had been two years making up his mind to this marriage and he had no misgivings. For Sunny, there were minutes of quiet fear when she realized how little she actually knew of Page, how much she was relying on their mutual love.

But they were short minutes, swallowed up in the sheer joy of being married to the one man she had always loved and wanted above all others.

They took a small furnished apartment in Chicago. It was cramped and plain, but they loved it. They went to the movies, bought modernistic ashtrays, soaped each other and made love in the shower. It was all wonderful, all so normal: pure sunshine and fun with no clouds of calamity visible on the horizon.

The only thing that bothered Sunny was the mystery of Page’s parents.

“I guess they disapprove of me, hm?” she said once, needling him.

“How could they when they don’t even know you?” he said.

“Do they know of me?”

“Certainly. They know I’m married.”

“You said they lived here in town. Can’t we drop in on them?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“Would they kick me out?” she asked.

“It isn’t that, honey. It’s just—”

“Just that they hate you? Or me, or us, or something.”

“They love me, they’re very proud of me. But my life with them is over, now. I’m yours, not theirs. They’ve had me for the past thirty years. The hell with them.”

Sunny was shocked at the way he spoke, but she was afraid to press him further on the subject.

* * *

Page and Sunny spent only one month in Chicago, for Page was being transferred to the Tribune’s New York office. They spent most of their spare time packing and visiting the Rothelis. But finally, a few days before their departure, Sunny demanded, “Let me meet your parents, Page.” She felt it was then or never.

He looked up from the fried egg he had been tranquilly enjoying, his breakfast obviously ruined. “No,” he said, and forked half a yolk into his mouth.

“I’m their daughter-in-law, and I want to know them. They’re my family now, too.”

He put down his fork and they argued, briefly but fiercely. Sunny forced the issue. “All right!” Page shouted. “They’re just a pair of kindly gray-haired squares and you’ll be bored to tears. But if we don’t go, you’ll imagine all sorts of horror stories.”

“Now you’re being reasonable, darling,” she beamed. But when he sulked at her she added, “Is it a feud between you, or something?”

“No,” he said. “We’ve just drifted apart. I feel badly about it. I’m not what they thought I’d be when I grew up.”

“What did they think you’d be?”

“The President. What else?” He gave her a rueful grin.

They went over on a Sunday afternoon three days later. Page was nervous and Sunny, taking her cue from him, started chewing her nails. She began to realize how much she wanted the Pringles to like her, the way her parents liked Page.

She followed Page into one of the modern glass-faced buildings on the Outer Drive, north of the Loop, and took the elevator up. A maid showed them into the Pringles’ spacious living room, which had a marble fireplace and a huge picture window looking out on Lake Michigan. Sunny had pictured a pair of gloomy hermits living in faded Victorian gingerbread and speaking in whispers.

Instead, a vigorous, tall man, aging but with straight back and strong shoulders, came into the room, smiling, and held out his hand to her.

“You must be Sunny,” he said as, speechless, she gave him her hand to shake. “I’m Page’s father. I’ve been asking him to bring you over ever since the wedding. I’m so pleased to meet you at last.”

Nonplussed, Sunny could barely say, “Thank you.”

Mr. Pringle mixed them cocktails, speaking easily as he did so. “You must have been a lovely bride,” he told Sunny, serving her a martini. “I’m sorry we had to miss it.”

“We missed you, Mr. Pringle,” Sunny said faintly.

Page had not spoken a word, not even a greeting, since they had entered the apartment.

“Of course,” Mr. Pringle said. “But Page didn’t let us know in time. I was in Canada on business when he wired me ... the day of the wedding.” His eyes were on his son, who looked away.

“I see,” Sunny said softly, taking refuge in a sip of her drink. Anger, resentment, and curiosity all boiled within her. It was as if Page were deliberately trying to alienate them all.

Fifteen minutes later they went in to meet Mrs. Pringle, who was propped up in bed, dressed in a pink mandarin bed jacket. She was a handsome woman in her sixties, a perfect match for her husband, to judge by appearances.

She held out a gracious hand to Sunny. “My dear, how lovely to meet you at last. I must say, you’re just as beautiful as Page said you were.”

Charmed and astonished, Sunny stammered her thanks and sat down at the bedside. She was utterly unsure of herself by now. But Mrs. Pringle did most of the talking while Page stood at attention at the foot of her bed, remote and cool.

“You will forgive us for not attending the wedding?” Mrs. Pringle pleaded. She was rather formal, but in an anxious way that tried to please, as if Page had warned her Sunny was a difficult person. “I rarely leave this bed any more,” she apologized.

“I understand,” Sunny said warmly. “Page told us you were ill.”

“I see as much of life as I can from here,” Mrs. Pringle smiled. “Not much, but enough to occupy me. I don’t mind being alone half as much as most people would. You see, before we got Page, I was quite a loner, by choice.”

“Before you ... got Page?” Sunny repeated, confused.

“Yes. I guess it’s all in your nature. Some like solitude, some don’t. Page was a great joy to us, though. He was just tiny when we got him. He never knew any other family.”

Sunny’s mouth opened slightly. “He—didn’t tell me,” she whispered. She had to force herself not to turn and stare at him.

“Oh!” Mrs. Pringle paused a moment, plainly afraid of offending her son. But the fat was in the fire. She had taken it for granted that Page would have told his wife so fundamental a fact about himself. “Well, George and I always wanted a boy,” she said restrainedly. “That’s the nice thing about adopting, you can choose your favorite.” She laughed, a small flustered sound, and Sunny pitied her.

It was no crime to be adopted. What earthly reason did Page have for keeping it secret?

“He was a very good baby,” Mrs. Pringle said nostalgically. “I wish we could have gotten another. I would have liked a brother for Page. Are you an only child, Sunny?”

“No. My brother Chuckie is eleven now. And my parents had another son, before I was born, but I never knew him. He died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, we intended to adopt another before my health gave way. But after that we couldn’t, so we’ve had to concentrate everything on Page. I hope we haven’t spoiled him for you.”

“I like him the way he is,” she said. But her anger sparkled on the surface of her words.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon for New York,” Mrs. Pringle added. “Will you write to us, Sunny? Page never will.”

“With pleasure, Mrs. Pringle.” Sunny could hardly keep her eyes off Page now, and he stared sullenly out the bedroom window.

* * *

A half-hour later Sunny rode down in the elevator with her silent husband, and not until they were in the car and on their way home did she say, “All right, Page. I love you and I’m your loyal wife. But I don’t like being lied to.”

He knew the storm was coming and he wanted to keep calm, explain things temperately to her. He lighted two cigarettes, passing one to Sunny. “I just can’t get along with them,” he said. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Well, Sunny, damn it, in the first place, I’ve always been sort of ashamed of being adopted.”

“You’re nuts!” she said. “That attitude went out when Freud came in. Some of the nicest people I know—”

“Sure, sure.”

“—are actually proud of it.”

“Will you let me tell you!” he said, suddenly so upset that she shut her mouth and began to worry about his driving.

“You see, with most parents who adopt kids, it’s different. They tell them about it, even before the kid understands what it means. He grows up knowing everything. It’s nothing new, it doesn’t scare him, and he comes to comprehend it gradually.

“But with me they waited till I was twelve years old, an only child, brought up in a formal household, stiffly disciplined, afraid of his mother and father. And then I found out the truth by accident. Otherwise they never would have told me.” He spoke resentfully and made her feel he might be at least partly justified.

“How did it happen?” she asked.

“The family doctor let it out. The adoption had been arranged through him instead of an agency because it was faster, and my parents trusted him. So he knew about it from the start. Doc Blue....

“Well, I went in in the fall for a school check-up when I was twelve. I’ve never known if he let it slip on purpose, I think he did. I think he thought I had a right to know, and my Dad hadn’t told me.” Page slowed up for a red light.

“He measured my height,” Page said, speaking uncomfortably. “I asked him if he thought I’d be as tall as my father.... He’s six-two. And Doc Blue just grabbed the opportunity. He said, ‘You can’t always tell, Page ... unless you know a boy’s ancestry.’

“I started to fill him in on the Pringles. I was up to my ears with my illustrious forebears. But the doc interrupted. He said, ‘I know your Dad is proud of his family, but you ask him about it ... where you fit in. I don’t think he’s told you everything.’”

“He stuck his neck out, didn’t he?” Sunny said.

“Yeah. But Dad had promised him at the time he adopted me that he’d tell me the truth. So Doc Blue felt he had a duty to speak up. He thought I should know.

“I went home and asked Dad ... and he told me, all right. And told Doc Blue to go to hell. He’s never forgiven him, not to this day. Hates his guts, though I have the feeling Mother would have relented after a few years.” Page laughed unpleasantly. “You can’t mention Doc Blue’s name in front of Dad. Poor Mother. Blue was always her favorite, and I know she misses him. But she wouldn’t dare go near him without Dad’s approval, and she’ll never get that.”

“Your father didn’t seem like such a tyrant.”

“He is, though. The kind women love to be dominated by,” Page said candidly. “It wouldn’t show so much to you. He’s sixty-seven and you’re only twenty. But when he was young he never had to chase the girls. They chased him.”

Page spoke with secret admiration and Sunny sensed that in spite of his resentment, he still had a lot of unadmitted love for the man. “But he was absolutely faithful to Mother, and his principles and his family heritage. Family meant more to him than Mother or me or his life. Than anything!” Page took a corner on squealing wheels.

“Your father loves you, darling, he’s proud of you,” Sunny said. “It shows in his face. And your mother, too. They said some fine things about you, and they weren’t acting. You must have known that all these years.”

He threw his cigarette out the window and his face was pale and tense. “Sure they love me. They’re stuck with me. But the day I discovered I wasn’t a born Pringle I spoiled it for them. As long as nobody knew but them, they could damn near convince themselves I was really their flesh and blood. But once I was in on the secret—once I questioned my identity, my Pringle ancestors—the illusion was wrecked.

“I had to be arrogantly sure of myself, a Pringle to my finger-tips. How else could Dad turn me into a carbon of himself? And that’s what he wanted a son for.”

“My father loves Chuckie a little that way,” Sunny said.

“A little. I know, I saw it. But not like Dad loved me. I was an obsession. Besides, Chuckie is Ben’s own child. He sired him and he loves him for himself. Not because he’ll give some kids the name Rotheli some day.

“I tell you, Sunny, my parents spent many bitter years blaming each other for not being able to have their own child. For having to settle on some stranger’s issue to carry on their name. For sending me to Doc Blue when he turned out to be a black-hearted traitor.”

“But they were so—”

“So charming, so nice! I know, God, I know. They’re even nice to me! Their borrowed bastard, who exploded their selfish little daydream by finding out he had alien blood in his veins.”

Sunny listened to him with an aching heart. “Did a family name really mean all that to them?” she asked. “Couldn’t they go on loving you after you knew? They certainly love you now.”

“I don’t know. I’ve made things pretty hard for them,” Page said. “I hated the whole mess, I hated my ignorance. I hated being a nobody without a name or a family.”

“They were your family. You should have been grateful.”

“They were my room and board. I was their immortality. It wasn’t a fair trade,” he retorted.

“Page, did it ever occur to you how they must have yearned for a child, how they must have adored you when they got you? Maybe their motives weren’t the purest, but nobody’s are. If they hurt you, you’ve gotten back at them. Can’t you call it quits?”

“I was only a name to them. Their name.”

“You’re more than that now. Surely even you can see that.” She turned to face him as he pulled the car into their carport and turned off the motor. “Darling, I’d hate to think, if I ever wronged you somehow, that you’d hold it against me the way you have against them. It scares me.”

“You could never hurt me like that, sweetheart.”

“By mistake, by accident, I might,” she whispered.

“They took my childhood away from me. My name.” His voice was hard.

“What is your real name?”

“I don’t know.” His face was sad.

“Do they know?”

He sighed. “No. Doc Blue wouldn’t tell them. They gave him several thousand bucks and a promise never to contact my real parents. He gave the money to my real parents, and me to the Pringles. I was bought and sold for hard cash, Sunny. And my own name got lost in the shuffle.”

“The Pringles couldn’t take your name away from you if they never had it to give,” Sunny said. “They only had one name to give you—their own.”

“It hurts me to use it,” he said. “I’m a man without a past or a heritage. I wish I had a real name to give you, Sunny. A real father to know and love.”

“You have, if you weren’t so blind stubborn!” she cried.

“Anybody could have brought me up. I’d make just as good a Smith as a Pringle.”

Sunny crushed her cigarette. “If Doctor Blue knows your name,” she said thoughtfully, “why don’t you get it from him?”

“I’ve been trying to since the day he let the cat out of the bag,” Page said, his hands limp on the rim of the steering wheel. “I’ve begged him, offered him money, threatened him. Even broken into his office and gone through his papers. And been caught at it. He’s immovable, a sickeningly honorable old son of a gun.”

“You know, you’re more fanatical on the subject of family than the Pringles,” Sunny said. “Maybe they cured themselves by giving you the disease.”

“Well, they exposed me to it long enough,” he said.

“You’re a grown man, Page!” she said. “Make your own name now, your own place in the sun.” She was full of pity and love, and disappointment in him. “A name is just a label, darling. It doesn’t matter half as much as the man himself.”

“A name is a history, a home, everything,” he said unhappily.

“Maybe your real parents were sad, ugly people who couldn’t have done half the things for you that the Pringles—”

“To hell with the Pringles! I’d rather love my own flesh and blood, no matter who, than grow up a stranger in borrowed luxury. And I’ve been a stranger there since I was twelve, Sunny.”

“You’ve made yourself a stranger,” she exclaimed. “You big dumb nut. Page, I’m actually ashamed of you!”

He slammed his fists against the wheel and the horn barked accidentally, startling her.