Chapter 15
November
I didn’t know what to do with myself the first Friday in November. None of my clothes fit, my hair refused to curl, my mascara clumped. The air had the bite of snow and I couldn’t find my gloves. My car smelled like onions. The universe was conspiring against me, the holiday atmosphere in my office suffocating, my body rebelling and demanding to be fed on a day I didn’t want to go to lunch.
I went out anyway. There are some things not even willpower can control, and my hunger was making me nauseous and grouchy. I avoided the atrium and the park. That entire side of town, in fact. I went to the mall, meaning to grab a quick bite at a small sandwich café and maybe treat myself to retail therapy. Adam had banned Christmas from our house years ago, saying he hated the pomp and circumstance of celebrating a holiday he didn’t believe, but I had family and colleagues who still expected gifts.
The mall was crowded, not unexpectedly. I gave up the idea of trying to shop after buying only one gift, a picture frame for my mother. Jostled and bustled, I finally got in line at the café, placed my order, took my latte and looked for a place to sit. Spotting a table near the back, I headed for it. I wasn’t quite fast enough. A pair of lunching ladies had apparently decided not to frequent their usual hoity-toity habitats and were slumming in the sandwich shop. They got to the table first, their cloud of perfume heady and expensive. I wanted to sneeze but didn’t even have the chance to do that before I was bumped from behind by someone pushing out of his seat. My bag hit the ground.
Someone bent to pick it up before I had a chance. Our hands touched. He let the bag go as I stood, clutching it.
“I hope it didn’t break,” said the man at the table.
“I think it’s fine.”
His smile was crooked, but friendly. He pointed to the empty seat across from him. “This seat’s empty, if you don’t mind sharing.”
I looked around, but there was no other place. I sat. “Thanks.”
We stared at each other for a few moments, strangers at a table. I sipped my latte self-consciously, uncertain what to say. My new companion seemed in no mood to break the silence, either. His broad, pleasant smile urged me to return it.
“I’m Greg, by the way.” He held out his hand, which I shook.
“Sadie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sadie.” His fingers squeezed mine briefly. His hand was very warm. In the next moment, so was my face.
I was saved at that moment by the arrival of the sandwich I’d ordered, and a scant minute later, Greg’s salad and soup. Around us the chatter of conversation rose and fell. It seemed rude not to talk to him, so I did.
It didn’t matter what we said. The weather was nice; yes, it was a shame about that fire downtown; of course the city needed new taxes like a cow needed a tennis racket. Greg carried the conversation without effort, leading me from topic to topic. The area became more and more crowded, necessitating us to move our chairs closer and closer. By the time we’d finished our lunches, we were sitting almost thigh to thigh.
He didn’t touch me on purpose. It was clearly the fault of the man behind us, who laughed loudly and shook his chair, causing Greg’s leg to rub mine. Just as it was the fault of the café employee squeezing by us for making Greg have to lean forward with his hand on my shoulder to keep from being bonked on the head by a tray. The napkin holder, too, conspired against us, for refusing to give up a napkin without Greg’s manly help.
Sitting next to Greg was like licking a battery. Shocking, sizzling and stupid. Each slight caress, every nonchalant stroke, echoed in the tightness of my nipples and the friction between my thighs. We danced, and if I fumbled the steps from lack of practice, Greg was a skilled enough partner to make up for it. I hadn’t thought it would be so easy to be seduced.
I didn’t want this. I craved it. I couldn’t. I would.
I didn’t.
If he’d been Joe, we’d have ended up going to a hotel room, or at least back to his car. But…he wasn’t Joe, this wasn’t a story. It was real life, and when lunch was over, so was the flirtation. When the crowds cleared and there could be no excuse to linger, Greg stood. I did, too. His gaze fell on the band on my finger. I looked at his hand, which wore a similar ring.
“It was nice meeting you, Sadie.”
“You, too. Thanks for letting me share your table.”
He had a nice smile, but the heat between us, if there had been any beyond my imagination, had faded. “Anytime.”
I hadn’t done anything wrong, even less than in the hours I’d spent listening to Joe tell his tales of sexual excess. Yet I felt twice as bad as I’d ever felt about that, and it took me some hard thinking to figure out why. It came down to something simple. It wasn’t the stories but Joe himself I’d come to depend upon. Substituting a random, unexpected flirtation wasn’t harmless, not when it meant I was trying to replace something I’d come to care about very much with something pretending to be as important.
The parking garage wasn’t the best place for contemplation, but with one hand on my car and the other holding my bag, I closed my eyes and let myself think about what I’d been avoiding all day. It was the first Friday of November and I hadn’t seen Joe. I might not ever see him again. The rest of my life would have no Joe in it. I’d lost something precious, and no matter how much things with Adam were changing, I missed what I’d had no right to have.
“Dr. Danning?”
I opened my eyes, turning, embarrassed at having been caught in such a socially awkward state. “Elle, hi!”
If Elle had seen my close-eyed contemplation, she didn’t show it. “How are you?”
“Busy,” I said with a small laugh designed to hide the shakiness of my voice. I stood up straight and offered my hand to Elle’s companion. “Hello, I’m Sadie Danning.”
“This is my mother.” Elle took a deep breath. “We’ve been shopping.”
“Have you?” I smiled. “That sounds nice.”
Mrs. Kavanagh snorted. “Nice? If you like trudging around store after store and buying nothing, yes. Very nice.”
Elle’s smile didn’t waver. “My mother thinks I need to update my wardrobe.”
Comparing the two of them, I couldn’t agree. Elle’s mother might have been dressed in pieces of obvious expense and classic style, but Elle wore her simple black skirt and pale blue cardigan with far more class. I gave Elle’s arm a quick squeeze.
“That’s a pretty sweater,” I told her. Yes, to make her mother grit her teeth.
Elle beamed. “Dan bought it for me.”
Again, Mrs. Kavanagh snorted. Elle gave her mother a narrow, sideways glance, which the older woman saw. “What?”
“My mother,” said Elle with a serenity that could only have come from long practice, “thinks Dan’s tastes sucks.”
“Language, Ella! Mother Mary!”
Elle’s sweet smile remained unchanged as she shrugged innocently. I had to bite back a smile of my own. The heat in my cheeks started to fade.
“Did Ella call you doctor?” Mrs. Kavanagh, perhaps sensing she couldn’t niggle her daughter any further on the subject of clothes, piped up. “What kind of doctor are you?”
Before I could answer, Elle reached to touch my upper arm. “She was my shoulder.”
I’ve been called many things in my life, but that was one of the nicest. The affection in her voice made my throat thick. “Thank you, Elle.”
She nodded. Her mother looked confused, a state of mind in which I doubted she’d often found herself. She turned to her daughter with a frown.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I wasn’t about to tell Mrs. Kavanagh the role I’d played in her daughter’s life if Elle didn’t want me to. Consequently, for a minute neither of us spoke. This didn’t sit well with Mrs. Kavanagh, who really needed a house dropped on her.
“Ella?”
“Dr. Danning was my doctor.”
Silence while Mrs. Kavanagh assessed this. “Your…?”
“My shrink, Mother.” Elle sounded exasperated and amused.
The curl of Mrs. Kavanagh’s lip should have offended me, as should the looking over she gave me. I’d never been more aware of my shoes needing a polish or my stockings having snags as under Elle’s mother’s eagle eye. She sniffed.
“Well.” She put more meaning into that single word than if she’d recited a soliloquy.
“My mother doesn’t approve of psychologists,” Elle said. I don’t think I was mistaken about her glee.
“I’ll try not to let that bother me,” I said. Elle and I laughed. Her mother, predictably, did not.
“I’ll be waiting for you in the China Orchid,” Mrs. Kavanagh said, “if you want to…talk.”
Talk or kick puppies, perhaps? She made both actions sound as horrible. Elle sighed and waited until her mother had gone out of earshot before she spoke.
“Sorry about that. But I guess now you see what I mean.”
“I never doubted you were telling me the truth,” I said. “How are things?”
She laughed behind her hand, the sound echoing in the garage. “Much better, if you can believe it. With the wedding to plan she’s got caterers to give hell to. She leaves me alone. Sort of.”
“Yes, that’s in a couple weeks. You must be excited.”
Elle raised a brow. “That’s one way to put it. I’d have said sick to my stomach and ready to pull out my hair, but sure. Excited works.”
We laughed again. Her smile softened. She touched my arm again, a gesture of some significance, since she was not the touchy-feely sort.
“I miss our talks, Dr. Danning.”
“Do you think you need to see me again?” The question came out sounding professional.
She shook her head. “No. Not in that way. I’m doing really well, actually. Just that…it was nice to have someone to talk to. It’s nice to have someone you can tell your secrets to, you know? Without being afraid? I knew I could always tell you anything, and you’d give me advice but you wouldn’t judge me or get angry with me. It was nice to have a shoulder to cry on.”
I nodded, touched. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
She chewed her lower lip, looking awkward. “It’s important to have someone like that? Don’t you think?”
“I do.” I studied her.
“I mean, I talk to Dan. He listens. To everything. I think he might wish I didn’t talk so much, actually. It’s been…interesting. But he listens.”
“That’s good.” I meant it, even as once again I found myself in the unenviable position of envying her.
“So, anyway. I should get back to my mother. I’ll see you next week?”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
She laughed with genuine humor. “I’m glad someone is!”
“Oh, Elle,” I told her. “You don’t mean that, do you?”
She shook her head after a pause. “No. I guess I don’t. Tell me something, Dr. Danning. It’s worth it, isn’t it? Getting married?”
If we’d been in my office with a desk between us, my answer might have been different. Standing in the parking garage, with her no longer my client, my reply was more forthright. “I used to think so.”
She made a small noise, as if she understood my answer so completely it needed no comment. I nodded, a wind-up doll with rusted gears. She stepped back and gave a little wave, walking backward a few steps before turning and disappearing around the corner. I couldn’t move at first, when she’d gone, but after a moment I managed to unlock my door and slide behind the wheel, where I sat for a very long time.
I wished I had someone to talk to.
It was difficult to mourn losing something I wasn’t supposed to have. I might have spent more time quietly missing the stories I’d never hear again, but I frankly had no time. Adam up was happier than Adam down, but twice as exhausting. He stopped sleeping as much as he’d been, preferring to stay up late chatting. Instead of spending most of his time in bed, he insisted on getting into his chair. He wanted to go places, do things he’d been refusing to do for years.
“But I don’t want to see that movie,” I protested, half-heartedly. I sprawled on the recliner, watching Adam looking up film showings on the Internet. His hair was growing back, but he was still pale. He looked frailer in the chair than he did in bed. “Why don’t we just go out to dinner? Or better yet, stay home?”
He spun around to face me. “I thought you’d want to go to the movies!”
“Well…” I tried to think of an answer that didn’t sound lame. “I’m tired, Adam. I’ve worked all week. I was sort of hoping to take it easy.”
“I’ve worked all week, too, Sadie.”
Adam never wheedled. He never pleaded his case. He didn’t even try to make me want what he wanted. He just tried to get me to agree to give him what he wanted.
“I don’t like serial killer movies.” I took off my shoes and stood to strip out of my nylons with a breath of relief.
“We could see something else.”
“Tomorrow?” I tossed my shed stockings into the laundry basket. “We can go to a Saturday matinee.”
“Fine.” He spun the chair again and ordered his computer to close the browser.
I sighed. “Honey, I think it’s great you want to go out and do things. But I’m tired. Okay? I get up at 4:00 a.m. every day—”
“Forget it.” I didn’t need to see his face to know he was frowning.
“How about I order some Chinese and we watch those episodes of Monty Python we have on DVD?”
I could see the shrug he meant to make, though it was the barest lift of shoulder. I sighed. Now he was pissed.
“You bitched because I didn’t want to do anything, now you bitch when I do.”
That stung. “I’m not bitching! We’ll go tomorrow, it’s not a big deal!”
“I said fine.”
In the past I’d have tried to placate him, or allowed him to goad me into an argument. This time, I simply left the room. I went to my own room, picked up a book I’d been trying to read for months and snuggled into my easy chair to finish it.
It took him fifteen minutes to shout for me. I put the book aside and answered his call. He was muttering curses.
“Your fucking shoes, Sadie!”
I’d left my shoes on the floor and he’d rolled over one. Now it lodged against the wheel, preventing him from moving. All he needed to do was back up and go around it, which I explained as I moved the offending items and cleared his path.
“I’m sorry, though,” I added. “I know to be more careful.”
Adam launched into a diatribe. I got up and left the room. This time, I was ten pages from the end of the book before he called for me again. I made him wait until I was done before I went back in.
“Damn it, Sadie! Don’t walk away from me!” Again, he started being derisive.
Again, I walked away.
I listened to him ranting for half an hour before I came back in with two bowls of ice cream and the Monty Python DVDs. Adam looked sullen. I set the ice cream on the table and fussed with the television.
“What if I needed you?”
I turned to him. “You do need me for a lot of things. But I don’t need to take shit from you. I love you, Adam, and I want to be here for you, but you’ve got to stop hating me for it.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said, but in a low voice.
“Don’t you?” I asked calmly. I don’t think I’d have asked before, but somehow everything that had happened with Joe made me feel like there was no point in pretense any more.
“No.” The way he cut his gaze from mine told me something different.
It still stung. Even though I understood it, even though I knew if the situation were reversed I’d probably have spent a great deal of time hating him, too, it still stabbed me.
“I don’t hate you,” Adam repeated. “But sometimes…”
I waited. The ice cream melted. The TV annoyed me with its blather until I turned it off. “Sometimes?”
“Sometimes I can’t stand you.”
I sat, still and small, made insignificant by a truth I couldn’t even blame him for sharing. It wasn’t fair, but it was honest. I’d asked him to tell me, and he did.
“I can’t stand the way you fuss over me, or how you wait outside the door before you come in. I know what you’re doing out there, Sadie. I know how you have to force yourself to smile. I can’t stand the way you make excuses for me to people.”
“I do that because—”
“I know why you do it. And fuck ’em. You don’t need to make excuses for me, okay? I don’t want you to make me better for anyone. You get it? And I can’t stand that I’m your excuse for not having a life.”
“Don’t say that. I don’t think that.” I blinked, expecting tears, but my eyes were dry.
Adam gave me a long, hard stare. “Nobody’s going to fault you for getting out once in awhile.”
“I never said they would.”
“All you do is work and come home and take care of me. You never go out with friends anymore. What are you afraid of? That they’ll think you’re a shitty wife if you leave me to go out?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised he turned the tables on me. He’d always been good at it. “I’m afraid you’ll think I’m a shitty wife if I go out.”
His mouth twisted. “You don’t get it.”
“No. I guess I don’t.”
We stared at each other. His gaze flickered, unreadable. I’d wanted him to speak. Now I wished for silence.
“When you’re around me, all I can think about is all the things I’m not, anymore,” Adam said. “All the things I used to do.”
“Things have changed, yes, but—”
“It’s easy for you to say that when you’re not the one in the chair!”
Adam’s shout struck me into silence. He was right. I could make no judgment about his feelings. I wasn’t in his place.
“See? You say you want to hear it. But you don’t.”
I spread my hands, unable to answer. Adam made a disgusted sound.
“Now you know why I’ve kept my mouth shut. You don’t want to hear what I have to say. You don’t want to know how I really feel. You want to fuck? Okay, fine. You want to go places? Fine, I’ll do that, too. But when you tell me you want me to talk, I know you’re lying.”
“I want things to be the way they used to!” I cried.
“Well, they can’t.”
“Then I want us to try and make them work they way they are, now.” I reached to touch him and he turned his face. “Adam. Why can’t we make this work?”
“Sometimes,” he said after a second that lasted a million years, “things get broken. And they can’t be fixed.”
“Is that us? Are we broken?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s not my fault I can’t follow you anymore,” I whispered.
“If I wasn’t in this chair, would you have left me by now?” He did a slow, deliberate spin.
I sighed. “If you weren’t in that chair, would you be such an asshole?”
He glared. I shrugged. He moved away from me, and I didn’t follow.
“Do you love me, Adam?”
He shook his head the barest amount. “I don’t know.”
It would’ve been easier if he’d said no.
“Well,” I said, getting up, “let me know when you’ve figured it out.”
Then I left him alone until he needed me again, but we didn’t speak.
“I’m going to start handing out autographed pictures,” Adam said as I closed the door to the van. “Charge ’em five bucks each. What do you think?”
I looked over to the line of people outside the new Mexican restaurant. No matter how many times we’re told as children it’s not polite to stare, few of us remember it in adulthood. A good many of them were watching as I made sure Adam was secure in his chair and walked with him toward the small ramp up to the sidewalk.
“They’re not trying to be rude.” I waited until he’d successfully traversed the bumpy patch of concrete before walking by his side. “Besides. It’s been forever since we had dinner out, together. Let’s enjoy it.”
Once our marriage had been precious. Now it had become fragile, too. Our argument the night before had been swept beneath the carpet, ignored by both of us out of self-preservation. We were both too brittle for truth at the moment.
“You must be Danning, party of two?” The smiling hostess had very pretty eyes that skated serenely over Adam and rested on me. “You have a reservation.”
Of course she knew who we were. I’d called to make certain the restaurant had adequate facilities to handle Adam’s chair. Before I could answer, Adam spoke up.
“How’d you guess?”
The hostess looked startled that he’d spoken to her. “Oh, I…well, I…”
Adam had always been a flirt. I don’t think the girl waiting to seat us knew quite what to do. By the time we got to our table, though, she was laughing and blushing. He’d thoroughly charmed her. She left us with several backward glances. I saw her talking with one of the waitresses, pointing.
“Well,” I told him. “You certainly made an impression.”
“Don’t I always?”
A flash of a long-familiar grin made my heart ache. “Yes, Adam. You do.”
“What looks good?” He indicated the menu with a lift of his chin. “I’m in the mood for something spicy.”
We looked over the menu and ordered drinks. The waitress looked surprised when Adam ordered a Corona. She looked to me for confirmation, which I could see annoyed him even though he should have been used to it.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t drink and drive.”
Flustered, she scribbled our orders and fled the table. I gave Adam a look. He gave me one, too.
“What?”
“Do you have to be so belligerent?”
He frowned. “Hey, listen, I’m not a kid. If I want a drink, I should be able to have one.”
“It’s not fair of you to expect everyone in the world to understand, Adam.”
He made a disgusted noise. “Ask me if I give a rat’s ass about everyone in the world.”
“Do you give a rat’s ass about anyone else?” The words popped out before I could stop them.
The waitress brought our drinks and we ordered our food. She asked Adam what he wanted this time, not speaking to him through me. I waited until she’d gone before saying, “See?”
“Of course I care,” Adam snapped. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say,” I said quietly, “that you hold everyone around you up to very high standards of expectation, and I think you do it so you have the right to be disappointed.”
He said nothing. I pushed the lime to the bottom of his bottle and held it up for him. Beer through a straw had once been a college trick to avoid foam and get intoxicated faster. Now it was simply an easier way for him to drink.
“Why would I want to be disappointed?” Adam asked when he’d finished sipping.
“I don’t know. Because then you can be angry at that instead of the fact you’re in a chair? You tell me.”
It had been a long time since we’d discussed philosophy and punk rock, way back when we’d had hours of life and the desire to live it together. Nothing then had been too weighty a topic. I’d been happy to listen to him then, and I was happy to listen, now.
“It’s what people see. The chair. Are you saying I shouldn’t expect them to get their heads out of their asses?”
I shook my head. “No. But you could be kinder about their failures.”
He snorted. “Beer.”
I held it up and he drank. “I guess I don’t have your patience, Sadie.”
“No. Really? I’d never have guessed.”
We smiled at that, a moment of connection I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Our food came and we ate it, and if people stared and pitied us because I had to cut and feed him his food, Adam and I ignored them. We talked, the way we used to, about nothing serious. It was far from the easy way we’d once been but better than the way we’d become.
Getting out of the restaurant proved to be slightly harder than getting in had been. The crowd had grown, filling every table and spilling into the aisles. We had to say a lot of “excuse me” and “can you scoot in” but Adam, perhaps taking my words to heart, maintained a cheerfully polite air about it all even when people stared or whispered as we passed. I walked behind him to make sure I could help if he got caught up on anything, my gaze on his wheels.
In a bigger city, running into someone I knew would have been coincidence, but in Harrisburg it was merely inevitable. I expected to see an acquaintance in the restaurant. I didn’t expect a sleek French twist and pearl earrings.
“Pardon me,” Priscilla said as she shifted her chair so Adam could get by, but I wasn’t looking at Priscilla.
Of course, I was looking at Joe.
“Thanks,” Adam told her as he passed.
I stopped, frozen for what seemed forever while Joe and I stared. I was the first to look away. I put my hands on the back of Adam’s chair, though he didn’t like that. I thought, perhaps, I could push him faster, harder, though that was silly since he operated the chair and no amount of shoving from me was going to get him through a space too narrow.
“Sadie, hold on,” Adam said, irritated. “Wait a minute, someone’s got to move or something.”
People were staring even more at the small commotion we were causing, but Adam stayed calm. I was the one who felt frantic and stressed, my hands shaking and cheeks hot. I wanted to move, but hemmed in by Adam in front and diners on either side, I couldn’t.
“Here.” Joe stood, moving with easy grace, and tapped the oblivious man at the next table on the shoulder. “Can you move, please?”
He arranged the chairs and cleared the way in no more than half a minute, and he did it without making it seem awkward or a big deal. He even bent to pick up a napkin that had fallen, no barrier to Adam’s chair but a consid erate gesture anyway. Then he stood back, out of the way, to allow us to pass.
“Thanks, man,” Adam said.
“No problem.” I heard Joe’s smile though I was steadfastly not looking at his face. “Have a nice night.”
“Joe, darling,” said Priscilla from behind me. “Sit down.”
I gave her a glance. She was smiling, too, pleasantly, with her perfect red lips and perfect white teeth. Her perfect hair and face and life. I nodded, quickly, then followed Adam out of the restaurant.
At home I was quiet as I helped Adam get ready for bed. We went through the routine, so familiar now we didn’t need to think about it. My fingers fumbled on the controls of the lift I used to get him from the chair into bed and for one heart-stopping instant I thought he was going to fall.
“Easy,” Adam said. A few minutes later, when he was settled and changed into pajamas, he added, “Are you all right?”
“No.” I started to cry, and this time, he didn’t tell me to stop.
I cried for a very long time, sobbed myself to sickness, and wished desperately for a hand to hold mine. Adam couldn’t give me that. Not ever. But I laid my face down against his shoulder and wept, and he whispered to me, offering the comfort of his words. They had to be enough.
“How did we get here?” Adam’s breath ruffled my hair. “I thought we’d always love each other. Was it just the accident, Sadie? Or would this have happened, anyway?”
“I don’t know.” With my eyes closed and the softness of flannel beneath my cheek, the words were easier. “I don’t know anything anymore, Adam.”
“I used to know everything for both of us,” he said. I felt the brush of his mouth against my temple. “Back then. I wish I still did.”
I lifted my head to look into his face. “I don’t. Things change. They have to change in order to grow. We’re not the same people we were when we met.”
“No? Who are you, now?”
I think he meant to be smart, but I told him the truth anyway. “I don’t know, Adam. I’m trying to figure it all out.”
“You’re Sadie Danning. You’re my wife.”
Silence hung between us for a moment. “There’s more to me than just being your wife.”
“I know that.”
“I think…I need to know it, too.”
He sighed, heavy. “So what happens now? Do we keep trying?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Much had changed, but Adam’s smile was the same as it had always been. “Not a damn one.”
I got up, meaning to go to the bathroom and wash my swollen eyes, but he stopped me.
“Sadie. I do love you. I still do.”
“I love you, too.”
A red ribbon, a poem. Our love, mad, bad and dangerous to know. Once it had been enough to build our lives around. Now I wasn’t so sure, and both of us knew it.
We were broken, brittle and fragile. The question was, were we still precious to each other? Or, instead of everything falling into place, had it fallen into pieces?