Both Ways

by Edward Goble

  Thursday morning he was up a few minutes before 5:00 a.m., groggy, ready for some warm sunshine and strong coffee. The nearest Starbucks was 140 miles away, so he had to endure his own brew from the faithful Mr. Coffee he and Jill had purchased for their first apartment and the semi-fresh can of Yuban they had brought up with the spring supply trip. It was too dark to jog, and, truth be told, the big blond was somewhat fearful of startling a lumbering California brown bear out looking for breakfast. And no matter what he and Billy saw the Crocodile Hunter attempt on television, he didn’t think a 190-pound Swede was any match for a bear, in strength, or in a foot race. So he pulled on a jacket and drank his coffee on the porch as the morning light slowly brought definition to the trees and rocks of the valley.

  By 6:30 a.m., he was dressed and sitting comfortably behind his iBook, almost ready to begin a strict day of study that he had scheduled to start at 8:00 a.m. Conveniently, he had some extra time, so he logged into the mail account he’d set up for this express purpose. There were no new messages, so he started a new email to the only name in the address book.

  “Working today?” Send.

  It was 8:30 a.m. in Galveston, Texas, and most days Judy Turnbull was in the office by 8:00 a.m. Usually, she would have sent the first email volley of the day, but sometimes a message from Madison was waiting in her inbox. At 6:45 a.m., while Madison poured a cup of coffee, he heard the familiar little tone from his iBook on the dining room table. Mail.

  “Meetings all morning. Driving to Houston tonight, meeting with Sears Friday morning. Busy - busy. How are you?”

  Madison sighed. As he read the note, his memory and imagination clicked into gear, and he could see the Blond from the Bar leaning down, asking him if he’d like to join them for a drink. He could almost feel her, smell her perfume as she reached up and kissed him on the cheek in the diner. His minds eye watched as she walked, so shapely, so confidently away from him without looking back. He imagined her now at her desk there in Texas, ruby red manicured nails and long, fair fingers clicking away on the keyboard. He imagined her in the snug grey skirt - legs tucked back and folded under her chair.

  “Meeting a buddy for some fishing.” Send. Madison was careful to stay discreet. Judy Turnbull was only privy to his first name. She didn’t know where he lived, what he did for a living, nothing pertinent. He liked it that way. Strangely, she never asked.

  “Mmm. Wish I were there,” came the reply after a few moments.

  “You are, trust me.” Send. He sat back and waited. He hated his actions, yet, in his mind, it was a harmless diversion from the heavy spiritual responsibility he held at the church. Probably not unlike the GI’s in Vietnam who got drunk and spent ten bucks in a Saigon brothel during three-day leave. They were happily married and would remain so, but the pressure of the war required a certain kind of therapy that couldn’t be found in a snapshot from home. At least that is what he told himself. Mail.

  “You must have quite an imagination. I’m better live.”

  Ha! Mhmm. He smiled as he typed, “So are Twinkies, but they’re not good for you. Better just to think about them.” Send. He had to consciously keep his distance in order for this to be a healthy liaison, he reasoned. “I’ll never see her again; we’ll never speak on the phone; it’s just harmless email fun as long as I’m careful,” he said out loud to the empty cabin. Mail.

  “Twinkies are okay as long as you just eat a little. Like I told you before, moderation is the key. So, don’t you want to see me again, just a little?”

  He had to admit that he did. Actually, he wanted to see her a lot. He wanted the whole box of Twinkies was the honest truth. But his was the paradox of propriety.

  “More than a little... gotta go.” Send.

  A few silent minutes passed as he sipped the last of his cold Yuban, the sun now illuminating the valley floor, unveiling the beauty and color that he had missed in the night. Mail.

  “Tomorrow then... Think of me... Kiss.”

  Madison read the email message again and again. Then he read the whole thread of messages. He could hear her saying every word as if she were sitting across the table offering him the view he shouldn’t take. After rereading the conversation for the fourth time, he selected all the messages and deleted them, then emptied his deleted mail box and cleared the cache from his computer. With a few clicks, the conversation never happened. He put the computer to sleep and pulled a sweatshirt on and left the cabin for a walk in the morning sun.

  It was peaceful up here, quiet. He walked down the gravel road that led to a little surface street connecting to the highway. He and Jill had found this place through a realtor; they would have never located it on their own. It was about a mile to the little town of Sunflower, which consisted of a public swimming pool, a grocery/video rental/gas station, and a post office. He never could quite understand the public swimming pool, but there always seemed to be kids there on hot summer afternoons. He had no idea where they came from. He bought a Mountain Dew and a pack of Twinkies for the walk home. “Mmm. These are good,” he said out loud as he inspected the inside of the half-eaten treat. Then he laughed to himself, “Just a little though. Everything in moderation.”

  Thursday afternoon and Friday brought high-level production as the conference material flowed from Madison’s mind, and his fingers danced upon the keyboard. He finished his series with an illustration he felt would help the conference attendees understand the meaning of submission in marriage. He wrote:

  You are driving down a winding country road. It is beautiful, and the traffic is sparse. You are in a convertible, and the wind is whistling by, blowing your hair back. It is the perfect day. Around the next turn, you see a sign that says “One Lane Bridge Ahead.” Then another that says, “Yield.” Well, what are you going to do? The day belongs to you - you are captain and commander. The wind, the sun, and the convertible declare that you are the king of the world. But when you approach the bridge, what do you do? You slow down, you pull to the side, you yield to oncoming traffic. But why? Are you not King? Yes, but that is how the road works. Whether king or common the rule of the road is to yield.

  Then, you continue on your way. And you drive and drive and continue your journey till it is time to return home. You turn around and retrace your route along the beautiful country road. The scenery is different from this direction; the sun is at a new angle, offering a different perspective of the same landscape. After a while, you come to a sign that says, “One Lane Bridge Ahead.” And then there is another that says, “Yield.” And what do you do? The same thing you did when coming from the other direction. Because, for the road to work, for people to be able to enjoy the scenery and the beauty and the unique perspective found in each direction, both sides must yield. For the road to work, both sides must yield. Submission is a one-lane bridge on the road of marriage, and, for the relationship to last, for it to really work, both sides must submit to one another.

  It was Friday evening, and the sun was setting on the west side of the cabin. He pressed Apple-S and put the iBook into sleep mode. He recovered the half-empty Mountain Dew from the little white refrigerator and went back out to the porch with his cell phone. The signal wasn’t strong from the cabin, but he was usually able to get at least one bar when he went outside. He got Jill’s voice-mail, the sound of her voice reassuring and sweet. “Hi. This is Jill. I’ll call you back - promise. Leave a message.” Madison smiled, his wife’s southern drawl always lifted his spirit and made his day.

  “Hey, J. Just wanted to let you know that I finished the conference material. Yeah! I think it’s pretty good stuff. Can’t wait to see you. Give Billy and Eerlene my love - and tell Leroy that daddy loves him - Love you.” He clicked the phone shut and got into the Rover. It was eight miles to I-5 and a Petro Truck Stop that he enjoyed when he was up here.

  Chapter 35

  Dave pulled in a little after 8 a.m. Saturday morning, his black CTS-V looking a little out of place on the rutty gravel road. �
�You ever going to pave this mess?” He called to his friend on the porch of the old cabin as he got out of the car.

  “What, and ruin the rustic charm? Jill wouldn’t stand for it. How was the drive?” Madison asked, walking out to give Dave a friendly embrace.

  “Quiet. Saturday morning traffic out of the city isn’t too bad.”

  “You liking the new digs?”

  “The only thing that is hard to get used to is all the stairs. I’ve asked a few neighbors, and they tell me I’ll eventually forget they are even there. Not likely.”

  “Help you stay in shape.”

  “I guess.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Absolutely. Fish biting?”

  “Who cares - It’s more about floating around, eating junk the doctors tell us to avoid, right?”

  “That’s the spirit. Good to hear some things don’t change,” Dave said as they grabbed some coffee and hooked the boat trailer up to Madison’s Range Rover.

  Sunflower Lake was a mountain crater that had been dammed up to provide electricity for the valley. It was deep and clear, and the trout fishing was occasionally great. Madison bought the 14’ aluminum fishing boat and trailer combination from a neighbor who was trading in his summer cabin for a place at the beach. Since it only got used a few times each summer, the wear and tear on the craft was mainly from deterioration. They pulled into the gravel lot of a little general store/gas station and got fuel for the boat, picked up some munchies and a couple fragrant styrofoam cups of live bait, then drove the 3 miles up the road to the boat launch.

  “What did you mean back there?” Madison asked.

  “What?”

  “That some things don’t change.”

  “Oh. Just a figure of speech, I guess.”

  “C’mon, it sounded like more than that.”

  “Just things have changed, that’s all. I’m just noticing things I missed before.”

  “Retiring at thirty-eight will do that to you.”

  “I’m not retired. I’m... between jobs.”

  “Mmm.”

  They pushed the boat off the trailer as the engine sputtered and spewed forth a cloud of rich gray smoke. Madison parked the car and joined Dave in the boat. They putted off.

  “This is really beautiful,” Dave yelled over the engine noise. Madison nodded, his right hand twisting the throttle of the little Johnson 15 horse. The dark blue water was calm, and the sun glistened off its surface. Fish were jumping around them as they slid through the water with a cool breeze striking their faces, the elevated bow carving a path through the calm lake. They slowed to a stop not far from the opposite shore, near a little cove.

  “Look good?” Madison asked.

  “Looks good to me. What do I know?” Dave said. The two men rigged their poles, choosing a personal plan of attack, and pitched their lines in the water.

  “You ever get into fly-fishing?” Madison said.

  “No. Never have. I use lures sometimes.”

  “About as elaborate as I get is bobbers. Casting and reeling all day is too much work. I knew a guy that was into fly-fishing, though. It actually looked really fun.” Conversation trailed off for a while. One thing about the two friends was they were comfortable enough around each other that they didn’t have to fill the air with words. Their company was sometimes conversation enough.

  As the morning wore on, they covered a variety of subjects including politics and baseball. Madison was a huge A’s fan and lamented the team’s slide in the late summer. Both men reminisced the 1988 World Series when Dave’s Dodgers came from behind and beat the A’s on Kirk Gibson’s clutch home run off ace reliever, Dennis Eckersley. The ongoing discussion over which was the better franchise always came down to that hit, and Dave always won the argument.

  “Let’s talk about your love life,” Madison said.

  “Why don’t we talk about yours? You’re the one with a baby on the way.”

  “Exactly. I have a baby on the way. I have no love life.” They both laughed.

  “Is that what’s got you so distracted?” Dave asked.

  “Distracted. What do you mean? Me?”

  “You seem really distant, that’s all. I guess that’s what I was saying earlier - things have changed. We’ve changed.” Dave included himself although he sensed his change was more a product of growth, whereas Madison’s was something else.

  Madison was quiet for a few moments, finding difficulty choosing the right response. His friend knew him too well. “I suppose I’ve been somewhat distracted by everything going on. Life has taken some interesting turns lately. As you know.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s been healthy.”

  “Me? I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Madison smiled. “Green, just tell me what you’re thinking, I’m a pastor, not a mind reader.”

  “Okay. Well, the church has, what, doubled since I was here last?”

  “Probably.”

  “I guess it seems like the more people there are, the less of you there is - less of the real you anyway. You seem distant. It’s like the door is shut, and you’re not letting anyone see inside.”

  “Things do get more complicated as the church grows, and more and more demands are put on my time.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sitting here ragging on you. I don’t know what you’re dealing with. I’ve been here for what, a few months? I’m an idiot.”

  Both men continued to watch the tips of their poles for any sign of a nibble.

  “Dave, I appreciate your concern, I really do. But don’t you think Miss Ponca City makes sure I’m walking the straight and narrow?”

  “Actually,” Dave hesitated, “she’s the one who pointed it out to me. She’s worried about you, too.”

  “What is this, an intervention?” Madison laughed.

  “Yes,” Dave cleared his throat and said, like a judge addressing the defendant. “Madison Enright, you are charged with worrying your wife and best friend. How do you plead?”

  “Guilty, your honor. If they say I’m guilty, then I’m guilty.” Madison didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t help it. “So, what did she say?”

  Dave took a deep breath. It would have been much easier, he thought, if the couple could just talk straight with one another. “She is just worried about you. Says you are gone more, have more out of office appointments. You’re harder to find during the day, that kind of thing. She talked to me at that housewarming party, said you looked like your head was somewhere else, and I had to agree, buddy.”

  Madison started to bristle. He thought Jill should have spoken to him directly about this instead of sending Green. His silence communicated as much.

  “She said it’s been hard to talk to you about this because she rarely sees you lately. Madison?” Madison looked at his friend, his eyes were moist with a combination of sadness and anger. He didn’t want to hurt his wife, but he didn’t want to be accused of abandoning her either.

  “She just loves you, Mad. So do I...”

  It broke Madison’s heart to think he was letting those closest to himself down in some way, and he would have to do better. But he was taking some giant steps forward in his career, and the people in his life would have to adjust, as he was.

  “I know. I know, buddy. I’m sorry. I’ve got to get my head back in the game. Sometimes I start believing my own press, I guess, start thinking I’m bigger than life, ‘bigger than God,’ as you said,” he smiled. “Forgive me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  By the end of the day the anglers had landed four trout, kept none, and solved all the worlds problems. The mountain air became cool as the sun slipped out of sight, and afternoon shadows covered the quiet lake. A mild headwind made returning to the docks choppy and slow in the small boat, and, by the time they had stowed the equipment and boat, it was time for supper. They drove out to Petro for some “truck-driver food,” as they called it, and made it back to the cabin around 8:00 p.m.


  “Speaking of women, how is your new relationship going?” Madison asked as he poured water into the top of the Mr. Coffee.

  “Were we speaking of women?”

  “You must have been really serious when you told me you wanted to settle down. Shani was literally the first girl you met up here. You’re fast!”

  “Actually, Mrs. Thompson was the first girl I met up here. But when she told me she had one son in the FBI and another career Army man, I figured it would be healthier to keep looking.”

  “Wise choice... seriously though.”

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “No,” Madison said.

  “Me neither, but that’s kind of what happened. I was attracted to her, initially, and then, as I got to know her, I just...” Dave shook his head, trying to figure it out for himself. “I just love her.”

  “She’s half your age,” Madison said in mock outrage.

  “She is exactly nine years younger than me, Mother.”

  “People will talk,” Madison was having fun with this.

  “People will also notice that Franny graduates from high school four years before Baby Enright.”

  “Ooooh. Got me.” Madison feigned a shot to the chest.

  “So, you’re getting married then?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re talking about the child’s graduation from high school for goodness sake. Of course you said that!” he laughed.

  “Okay!” Dave yelled, throwing up his hands, “Yes! Okay? I want to marry her! Geez...” They were both laughing now. “You should have been a prosecutor.”

  “You were the pre-law guy, not me. You set a date?”

  “I haven’t even asked her!”

  “Haven’t asked her? What are you waiting for?”

  “Okay. Stop it, all right? I’m waiting for the right time. I want to do it with class, okay.”

  “Then you’d better have Jill help you - with the class part - I mean.”