by Sonja Yoerg
Jackie didn’t notice me, but I attended the second half of her public lecture. I stood just outside the doors at the back, hoping to gauge how she was holding up. The answer: well enough to deliver a coherent story and deftly handle the inane questions that inevitably follow. I thought about approaching her, inviting her for drinks or even dinner, but as I winnowed through the crowd filing out, I saw I had been usurped. From Jackie’s body language I surmised she knew this strikingly handsome man. He wasn’t familiar and that concerned me.
With a conference on campus, plus the usual holiday uptick in drinking, the bar at the University Hotel was packed. I stayed out of view, but given how enthralled she seemed with Mystery Man, I needn’t have bothered. She downed two martinis—near her limit—and I was relieved to see she left the hotel on her own. I couldn’t know how long Mystery Man would be in town, so I’d have to keep tabs on Jackie until the rest of the dominoes fell. On the off chance there was something between them, I had to know. The complication perturbed but did not derail me. I toyed with the idea of hiring a private investigator to tail her, but by the time I parked in my driveway I had come up with a better, cleaner plan.
In my home office, I log on to Maitre’D using Jackie’s email address and password. With Christmas approaching, Jackie and her Mystery Man will need a reservation if they want to eat anywhere decent in DC. Jackie, like everyone else, ignores security on sites like this, and hasn’t changed her password since she was with me: !Rowurboat*. It’s the same for all her low-level accounts. I’m not surprised to find there is no reservation yet, but I’ll check back.
Later that evening, I find myself with time on my hands. The teaching assistants in my classes have taken care of all the grading, and the lab is effectively closed until after the new year. I have goals for the break—writing two papers—but there is no rush. I admit, I am distracted.
I compensate by figuring out how to make Jackie’s data problems worse. I originally decided to change the formulas because it seemed the least detectable. Jackie has Vince Leeds involved, as I knew she would. That revolting little man has a crush on her and would jump at any chance to scratch himself in her presence. He’s no fool, however, not when it comes to IT, and it’s only a matter of time before they narrow down the possibilities.
But my new idea is sneakier, and I’m eager to move forward with it. When I try to log in, however, I’m denied access. That weasel Vince. I’d like to wring his red, flaking neck. Unfortunately, that’s not practical, so I resolve to circulate a rumor that Vince is the source of the data fraud. It won’t be hard; graduate students love to gossip, especially when the story involves one of their professors. A graduate student of Jackie’s, Gretchen, is dating one of mine, so I predict the rumor will get back to Jackie within forty-eight hours. As a bonus, perhaps Vince will get fired.
He is a minor annoyance, however. My focus is and always will be Jackie. She must recognize the full extent of her error.
You undoubtedly think I’m a monster. Maybe I am. If a monster behaves without compassion or even consideration for life, I guess you could make the case. But no one has been flayed or eaten alive by the monster, have they?
I act according to my own wishes, driven by my needs. You are no different. My tactics are more ruthless than most, I grant you that, but if you had my cunning, would you not try to do what I did, exact revenge on someone who injured you? If you could get back at someone who wronged you—and get away with it—wouldn’t you jump at the chance?
Before you argue otherwise, let’s be clear about one thing: Jackie did wrong me.
I love her and only her. It’s not an easy thing for me to admit. If my mother weren’t already dead, I would throw her off a bridge for Jackie, and I have nothing against my mother, strictly speaking. Here’s the other thing: Jackie will never have anyone love her more than I do. The tragedy of our mutual loss pains me, and the pain sparks anger. It didn’t have to be this way, but she forced my hand.
We were together for five years, five long, happy years. She’s never denied her happiness, because she’s not a liar. After she was tenured, which I was instrumental in helping her achieve, she decided she wanted to change everything. She wanted to have what everyone has. She wanted to have it all.
Here’s the world’s worst-kept secret: no one has it all. I’m speaking strictly about women, of course, and only about women with ambition—intellectual, artistic, entrepreneurial, whatever—any female with a dollop of passion for something beyond getting her nails done and waiting for pumpkin-pie-spice season to roll around again. Those women, which is to say most women, do not have it all, unless what you mean by that is all the conflict, all the disappointment, and all the anxiety. Work demands too much or it is not sufficiently satisfying. Children demand too much or . . . ha! There is no “or.” Children are, by their nature, demanding.
Then there is marriage. In theory, it should be the answer to a woman’s work-children conflict. In practice, it’s just another problem. Or, I should say, he’s just another problem. He wants to have it all, too. Plus time for running or golf or fiddling with cars and also a man cave, unlimited gaming, and porn viewing. Think I’m exaggerating? Seventy-five percent of men watch porn regularly. Do seventy-five percent of men do half the household chores—or half of anything unpleasant? Even when the woman earns more money, the man refuses to take up the slack. It’s laughable, really, the idea of marriage as partnership. A man who wants simply takes.
I’m not saying anything revolutionary here. I’m just saying it bluntly.
Jackie, as a modern woman, has the right to choose. But marriage and children are not an add-on configuration to work. It’s a zero-sum game. The circle of time and energy is finite; slice the pie however you wish, but something gets smaller as something else gets bigger. In pushing me to agree to living together, which would then progress to pushing me to having children with her, the pie would undergo massive reorganization. Perhaps I sound selfish, but look at it this way: Jackie loved the attention I lavished on her during the time we were together. How could I possibly continue to do that as the pie wedge of children squeezed us out? She would miss my attention or resent the children. The struggle for balance would be constant, and she would never be satisfied that she got it right. There is no winning, only settling for the mediocre.
I think Jackie sees that now—and Miles will, too—how difficult it is to focus on someone and also share them. You lose so much more than you gain.
CHAPTER 22
Grace points at a display of white poinsettias. “Is it just me, or are those more Halloween than Christmas?”
Jackie laughs. “Personally, I think the pink ones are worse. What do you say, a dozen of the red?”
Grace’s eyes widen. “Steady, Martha. I don’t live at Turkey Hill Farm.”
Jackie ignores her and transfers the plants to a large cart. Other than putting up a tree right after Thanksgiving, Grace has had no time to decorate because of the illnesses plaguing her family, so Jackie suggested they spend their afternoon together on a shopping spree at the White Horse Nursery in Waynesboro.
Jackie points to a wreath display on a nearby wall. “Next stop.”
“Those are gorgeous. I wish I had more doors.”
“You can put them wherever you want.”
Grace wheels the cart over. “Don’t you want one?”
“Me?” Jackie ordered gifts for her nieces and nephews a while ago, but she hasn’t given a thought to decorating the house. She hasn’t had the bandwidth or the requisite cheer.
Grace is reading her thoughts. “You going to tell me what’s bugging you, or do I have to wheedle it out of you?”
“You’ve been in the trenches, Gracie.”
“And now I’m out, so spill.”
They load up Grace’s minivan with their purchases and order lunch at the adjacent diner. Sitting in a booth across from Grace, Jackie feels the weight of her secrets. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you all this. There was always a reason
, at first because it was embarrassing, then at Thanksgiving the stuff with Miles took over, then the kids were sick—”
“It’s okay. I mean, if it was too embarrassing to tell me, it must’ve been bad.”
“Is. It’s still bad.”
Grace picks up Jackie’s hand and holds it in hers. “Tell me everything.”
Jackie does, through lunch and dessert and coffee. Grace asks few questions, letting Jackie reel out the troubling and peculiar story of the last three months. When Jackie relates her encounter with the strange man at her house Sunday night and the encounter with Antonio that followed, Grace puts up her hands.
“Wait. He said what?”
“That I was living a lie. He was probably high on something; that’s all I can figure.” She didn’t believe it, but after hearing herself talk about Harlan and Nasira and Miles and Antonio and have little of it make sense, she allows herself a minor defensive dismissal.
Grace sighs and leans back in her chair. “First, you are a batshit crazy stalker. Seriously, Jacks.” She locks eyes with Jackie. “But you’re done blowing past boundaries now, right?”
Jackie nods, her shame as familiar and stifling as being wrapped in an old comforter on a sweltering day.
“Hey, for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have thought you had that in you, so kudos for keeping it fresh.” She smiles, and just like that, Jackie is forgiven. Grace goes on. “As far as the data stuff goes, I’ve got nothing. It could be anybody, right? It’s the world we live in now.”
“True, but I have to assume it’s not random. My lab was the target, or I was.”
Grace frowns. “I don’t like the sound of that—any of this.”
“I wish I’d told you sooner.”
“To be honest I’m not sure I could’ve taken this blow-by-blow. The executive summary is working for me.” Grace pauses and lets out a long breath. “Okay, so Harlan. You know I never had the warm fuzzies for him, but I’m trying to look at all this objectively. I don’t know why he’s so inconsistent with you, why he’s normal friends one minute and weird and cagey the next. I don’t know why he’d openly drool over you at that wedding, except you’re gorgeous, so there’s that.” She grins at Jackie, who rolls her eyes. Grace points to Jackie’s chocolate ice cream. “You finished with that?”
Jackie pushes the bowl toward her sister. “Have at it.”
“If you ask me, Jacks, you’ll find yourself strapped to a table zonked on trazodone before you figure him out.” She takes a bite of ice cream and wiggles her spoon between her fingers, lost in thought. “But what about Nasira?”
“What about her?”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
“I’ve tried a few times. I told you.” Jackie wonders if Grace was really listening.
“No, not that. Really talking to her. Like you just did with me. Leave out some of the Miles and Antonio stuff, but tell her everything.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know what’s going on with her, and she doesn’t know what’s going on with you. Nothing you told me made it seem like she was hiding anything or acting bizarre or nasty. Aloof, maybe, but that’s not a crime.”
Jackie stares into the middle distance, imagining the conversation with Nasira.
“What have you got to lose, Jacks?”
On the drive back to DC, Jackie realizes she forgot to tell Grace about Jeff Toshack. She considers texting her but decides it’s only a curiosity. It can wait.
The next day is Thursday, the last day of finals, and the campus has a funereal quality not helped by the dull gray skies. Jackie takes her time walking to the lab; she has a call later with the Autism America director and is mentally drafting her replies to what she knows will be pointed questions. Be transparent but emphasize the positive. The data are intact. Significant findings at this stage are unlikely, but the results show promise. Recruitment to the study is strong, so getting adequate data won’t be an issue. And, yes, she is instituting new security measures.
And, no, Ms. Calhoun, we don’t yet know who was at fault. Me, yes. I’m at fault.
Jackie is getting used to saying that, but it still feels terrible. It is her responsibility, but the level of security she had is typical for behavioral research. Her findings shouldn’t require a security clearance. How could she possibly have known someone was out to get her?
The question pinballs around her mind again and again, and the answer seems just beyond her grasp. If she could shut down the rest of her life and concentrate on this one question, the answer would come to her, she is sure.
She arrives at her lab and lets herself in. Even though no subjects are scheduled this morning, the silence is unusual. She proceeds down the hall, stopping at the shared office. Nasira is seated in front of a monitor and turns to Jackie.
“Good morning.” Nasira’s face is drawn and her lips are pale. Her posture, normally regal, is slumped.
“Good morning. Are you feeling all right?”
She pauses. “Not exactly.”
Jackie is pinned on the horns of a dilemma. Her experience with personal conversations with Nasira is that they lead to strife and misunderstanding, so Jackie’s first impulse is to express her regret and skedaddle to her office. But Grace’s words are fresh in her mind and, along with them, the possibility of clearing the air, and more.
“Would you like to talk?”
Nasira eyes her warily. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t blame you. I haven’t given you much reason to trust me, and I’m sorry.” Jackie gestures to her office. “How about some tea? Black, right?”
“Sure. Tea sounds good.”
A few minutes later, Nasira sits across the desk from Jackie with a mug in her hands.
Jackie leaves her laptop in her bag and pries the lid off her coffee. “Do you feel like telling me why you’re upset? You don’t have to.”
Nasira shuts her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. “I don’t know where to start. Everything is such a mess.”
“Professionally? Personally?”
“Yes.”
Jackie smiles slightly. “See? We have much in common.” She said it as a joke, but it rings true. “Look. I must be part of the problem, so let me start with an apology. I didn’t take it well that you were seeing Harlan. In fact, I was obsessed with it. Maybe I still am.” Nasira is listening closely, her forehead creasing slightly. Jackie barrels ahead. Somehow regurgitating the whole story to Grace yesterday makes it easier to get to the point today. “You are so beautiful and smart—and young—that part is hard, I admit. Harlan is obviously smitten with you, and I took it badly. I’m sorry.”
She nods and sits quietly for moment, considering. “If he was smitten before, he’s over it now.”
Jackie is about to sip her coffee and sets it down again. “How so?”
“Are you sure you want me to talk about this?”
“No.”
The women look at each other. Outside the lab, a door closes. Jackie breaks the eye contact and sips her coffee, worried the next thing she says will spin the conversation out of control, as before.
Be honest. Be more honest than you think you can be.
“Nasira, you feel like everything is a mess, and so do I. And neither of us quite knows what the hell is going on, except that we can’t help but blame each other, at least for some of it. Is that about right?”
“Yes.”
Jackie places her hands flat on the desk. “Then let’s talk—really talk. If it’s me, it’s me. If it’s you, it’s you. But this dance isn’t doing either of us any good.”
Nasira shrugs one shoulder. “We can try, I suppose.”
Jackie hesitates, not from uncertainty, but because she is afraid Nasira will throw up a wall or accuse Jackie of something. She takes a deep breath and begins. “I have no idea how much you know about Harlan and me, but we dated for five years, starting when I was twenty-seven. We saw each other twice a week, always at his place. He h
elped me, like he’s helping you, but the similarities end there, which is why I’ve been so jealous. It took over two years before he agreed to go away for a weekend.” Nasira raises her eyebrows but says nothing. “And he wouldn’t agree to moving in together. Ever. He wanted two dates a week for the rest of our lives. Eventually, I realized it wasn’t enough.”
Nasira leans back in her chair. “And with me he was doing all that right away, before I even asked.”
Jackie nods. She’s thought about it so many times, it has finally lost its sting. “Not to be rude, but why the change? The first rule of human behavior is that people don’t change.”
“I don’t know why. But he’s ignoring me now, shutting me out completely, acting as though I’ve done something to offend him. I have no idea what.” Her face crumples, and it seems she might cry.
“Oh, Nasira . . .”
She rubs her nose. “It’s not just about him. Two weeks ago, my parents came to see me and arrived early. They saw Harlan kissing me goodbye and completely lost their minds.” She stares at the ceiling, as if the right words were written there. “My parents are strict, especially my father. I was supposed to marry a Syrian man from a family my parents know. He’s a nice guy, the nicest really, and I thought I could go along with it.” She shrugs. “I’d already disappointed my father by leaving med school, so I tried not to break his heart again.”
“But you didn’t want this other guy.”
Her face is pensive. “It wasn’t about him, exactly. It was about making my own decisions. Anyway, they were just getting over it, just starting to treat me like their daughter again, and then they see me with Harlan.” She spreads her hands, indicating the obvious.
“He’s too old.”
“Yes. And too non-Syrian.”
Jackie gives her a half smile. No wonder Nasira is troubled. “Does Harlan know about this?”
She shakes her head. “Right after it happened, we went to New York. I tried to put it out of my mind, have fun.”
“The New York trip after his router broke.”
