“I know about this,” Jenna stressed, then added, “I’ve seen this among some of my regular patients. You need to get out immediately—you’re in real danger. After that, the two of you can get help.”

Carolyn turned on Jenna with something very much like hatred in her eyes. “I’m not a patient at the free clinic. And I don’t need help. What I need is for my husband to be the man I married.”

The sense of déjà vu was almost sickening. How many times had Jenna— Amira—thought the same words about Ali?

Carolyn would say no more. By her standards, she had gone too far. For a week, when Jenna phoned, the maid answered and said that Mrs. Chandler was out. Then one night, Carolyn called. She talked about trivia. It was clear that she wanted to pretend nothing had happened. When Jenna tried to broach the subject of Cameron, Carolyn said with brittle finality, “Everything’s fine.” The message was unmistakable: Don’t mention it again.

After that, Jenna and Carolyn did the old things together, going to the theater, to soccer games, for tea and cappuccino at the Village Greenery, but it was never quite the same. Jenna kept hoping for an opening, some way by which she could lend Carolyn her experience and her expertise, but Carolyn would never let it happen. At least—as far as Jenna could tell—Cameron had not attacked her physically again.

Jenna had her work. Carolyn had tennis and fundraisers.

Gradually, the two friends became more distant. Gradually, they became hardly friends at all.

30. Incident In Toronto

Incident in Toronto

Ancient Chains had made Jenna a minor celebrity in academic circles, especially among feminist scholars. One result was a steady stream of invitations to conferences and symposia. She always turned them down. Even though the media generally ignored the small, insular world of academia, any public exposure seemed risky to her. But when she was asked to sit on a panel discussing “Women, History, and Therapy” at a convention in Toronto, she decided to accept. The topic was important, and the city was, after all, in another country.

After her years in Boston, she found Toronto remarkably clean and orderly, its citizens polite and quiet, and the whole experience rather dull. If the city lacked the dirt and danger of its American counterparts, it also seemed to lack their capacity for the serendipitous encounter with something new and excellent. The restaurants where Jenna and her colleagues dined were all tasteful in their decor and commendable in their cuisine, but hardly memorable. The university reminded her less of Harvard than of the pictures Malik had sent home from the manicured grounds of Victoria College. And why did the Canadian professor who seemed to be making a pass retreat so meekly at the first sign of her habitual reserve?