Chapter 12

This trauma took its toll on us. We had mood swings—happy then despondent, relieved then regretful. Diana was nagged by guilt. She had defended so many people, but self defense didn't seem right to her if it meant hurting someone else. She was a pacifist tormented by the classic dilemma: If someone attacks you, should you fight back?

I felt that the only thing worse than what we had done would be not to have done it. I was very glad to be free of Jacquot's threat.

I wanted to keep the photos as souvenirs, but mom insisted on burning them.

Her friend Allen was assigned to be Jacquot's Public Defender. "Do you know this guy from somewhere?" Allen asked her. "He's making some pretty wild accusations about you."

"Never seen him before," she told him. "I think he's just another psycho."

"So there's no chance he's Tommy's father?"

"Pu-lease, Allen ... really. Your man is crazy."

"Seems that way," Allen agreed. "Too bad we can't use that as a defense."

Mom and I had to testify at his trial that he'd threatened me and chased us on his motorcycle. I've never seen so much hatred pour out of two eyes as from Jacquot's hard brittle blues. His face twitched constantly, and his hoarse voice stuttered when he spoke. Finally something snapped inside him and went off the deep end, screaming that mom and I were incestuous lovers and he was my father. It took four bailiffs, one for each thrashing limb, to carry him from the courtroom.

We got a blistering letter from him in Attica saying he'd get even with us no matter what. Diana wrote him back saying this and any further threats would be referred to the district attorney for additional prosecution. That seemed to shut him up.

Diana arranged with the prison authorities that they would notify her if he ever came up before a parole board, so we could prepare ourselves for his release.

I was worried he might order a hit from prison, but mom said only rich cons can do that, Jacquot couldn't afford to kill us.

As the stress gradually wore off, we became more determined than ever to stay together. We had paid a price of suffering for this relationship, and now we had to make it last. We knew the world might try again to smash our love, but we were resolved to defend it.

I became intrigued with the idea of marrying Diana. Who were all those governments and churches to tell us what we couldn't do? We had a right to some traditions too. I went to a custom jeweler and spent the last of my saved-up money on two gold bands, each mounted with a smooth cabochon ruby—gold for fidelity and ruby for passion.

Although I couldn't afford a separate engagement ring, I decided to be a bit old fashioned about proposing. As she was sitting on the couch reading one evening, I got down on my knees before her. She looked at me puzzled. "You have really beautiful hands," I told her and took them in mine. She smiled at the compliment, even blushed a little. "What I would like most of all would be if you would give me your hand. In marriage."

Mom's face softened, sad with the impossibility. "I would like that too ... very much. It'd be so wonderful. But..."

"We can do it for ourselves," I said. "We didn't need anybody's approval. We can write our own vows ... have our own private ceremony. It would be for us."

"You really want," she asked almost shyly, "to marry me?"

"I want very much to marry you. It would be beautiful ... our own wedding. And it would mean something ... for later too. We'd know we were really a couple."

She sobbed with emotion, wanting this but seeing all the problems. "But I'm eighteen years older than you. At some point"—she forced the words out painfully—"you're going to want a girl your own age."

I squeezed her hand to show my sincerity. "I don't want a girl. I want you."

"But when you're thirty, I'll be forty-eight. When you're forty-eight"—she paused to calculate—"I'll be sixty-six."

"Those are just numbers. We'll still be you and me. We'll still be together. That's the important thing."

"Wait till I get all wrinkled." She turned her face away. "You won't want me."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked almost angrily.

Diana shook her head and squeezed my hand back. "No."

"Lots of times the man is eighteen years older than the woman. They do OK. So can we. It even makes more sense with the age difference the other way. Women usually live longer than men ... so it'll come out more even. We can both kick the bucket at about the same time."

"You dear man. You really love me, don't you?"

"I really do. And to sweeten the deal, if you say yes, you get this." I took her ring out and slipped it onto her finger.

Mom stared at it astounded. "Where did you get that?"

"I had it made. You like it?"

She held it up so the ruby caught the light. "It's beautiful. So simple ... and sensual. You are a schemer! You knew I couldn't say no to that."

"I hope not."

"Tom!" She flashed her hand around delightedly.

"I've got one for me too." I showed her mine. "They're a mated pair."

She took it and held it up to hers. Happy tears spilled from her eyes. "You win, as usual. Your desire is so strong ... resisting you is silly." She kissed me passionately. "But what kind of ceremony could we have?"