What Might Have Been

by Glenda Sanders

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not that simple.”

  “Then why?” she asked, filling the question with anguish.

  Richard couldn’t look at her. He closed his eyes and a cry of misery rose from deep inside him to emerge as a groan. He covered his face with his hands and drew in a breath. “I can’t explain,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I ache from wanting you. I’ve been aching with it ever since I walked into your office.”

  “Then tell me why!” she said, venting her frustration. “We’re not kids anymore. We’re responsible adults. We’d be...careful. Who would we be hurting if we gave each other pleasure? Just tell me that much. Who would we be hurting?”

  The song was still playing—the song they’d danced to, hummed along with—mocking them with the very emotions it stirred in them.

  His hands encircled the tops of her arms, as if he felt he had to hold her away from him to prevent her from getting too close. “God, Barbara. I can’t think when I’m standing here looking at you like this. I can’t talk to you. I can’t explain.”

  “I’m not asking you to talk, or explain. Only to make love to me.”

  “If I stay half a minute longer, I’m going to,” he said intensely, dropping his hands as though afraid his very touch might hurt her. “And then we’d both be sorry.”

  “Leave, then,” she said, whirling away from him. She couldn’t look at him; she’d never be able to face him again.

  He was across the room, reaching for the doorknob to let himself out, before she added with deceptive calm, “I thought you’d grown up, Richard. I thought you’d learned from your mistakes. But I can see now that was wishful thinking. You’re still as self-centered as you were that day you left me for Christine.”

  He looked as if he might speak. She sensed her name on his tongue, but he never gave it voice. He merely shook his head, squared his sagging shoulders and summoned enough strength to walk through the door.

  4

  AT FIRST, Barbara couldn’t move. Cold, empty and aching, she stood in the middle of the room with the disoriented detachment of a disaster victim.

  Gradually, though, reality insinuated itself into her conscious awareness. The mellow, seductive song on the stereo ended and was replaced by a ludicrously upbeat disco number with inane lyrics. Barbara stomped to the entertainment center and slapped off the switch.

  The resultant silence offered little solace but, rather, seemed to close in around her. She went to the sofa and dropped onto it. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rocked back and forth, sobbing silently and tearlessly as reaction set in.

  He had rejected her again. Richard...had rejected her again. At seventeen, she’d had the resiliency of youth with which to deal with his defection. He’d had the excuse of immaturity for his actions. What was left to her at thirty-five, except humiliation? At thirty-seven, Richard needed no excuse beyond lack of interest.

  Barbara ached. She ached physically with sexual frustration, she ached emotionally with embarrassment. Her soul ached with disappointment. So many years she’d wondered, imagined, fantasized, hoped; in all those years, she’d never let go of the dream of what it would be like to have Richard make love to her. Perhaps it was an adolescent fantasy, fated to be shattered. That didn’t matter. She’d held on to it with the ferocity of a woman who needed to believe that the joining of two people could be—

  She wasn’t even sure what she had wanted it to be—just something more than what she’d known. Something like the fulfillment of the promises in those long-ago kisses laced with innocence and passion. She’d thought she and Richard had been granted the chance to find out if their lovemaking could be as special as those kisses.

  She picked up a throw pillow and hugged it to her breasts, while an anguished sob broke in her throat. Had it been so wrong for her to hold on to that dream? Had Richard held on to even a piece of it? For a few minutes tonight, when he was kissing her, when his arms were around her, she’d thought—

  With all her might, she thrust the pillow across the room. She’d been a fool in every sense of the word, and now she’d have to live with that. But she was bound to see him again, sooner or later; her involvement with his daughter guaranteed it. God, how would she ever look him in the eye and act as if this evening hadn’t happened? She found out much sooner than she anticipated, in a most unexpected place. And she flubbed it badly.

  She had just arrived at the gym for a basketball game—the game, against Lake High’s arch rival and major contender for the district title—and stopped at the refreshment stand in the foyer before going into the gym to look for Susan Tanner, who taught biology. Susan was married to the head basketball coach, so she felt duty bound to attend all the games and, whenever possible, she cajoled Barbara into meeting her there.

  Carrying a jumbo pretzel in one hand and a soda in the other, Barbara left the vendor’s window and headed for the gym, where the pom-pom girls were performing a pregame routine. Later she would curse the impulse that made her turn back for a napkin, for when she turned, she caught sight of Richard at the counter where condiments for the hot dogs sold at the concession stand were kept.

  He was not alone. With him was a very attractive Latino woman, with a luxuriant mass of thick, dark hair, vibrant brown eyes, and the warm brown skin tone that women spent hours on the beach or in tanning salons trying to achieve. She was wearing a Lake High T-shirt identical to Barbara’s, tucked into a pair of khaki walking shorts. Her breasts were full, her waist minuscule and her legs as well toned as a marathon runner’s. Just looking at her made Barbara feel drab and flabby.

  The woman spoke animatedly to Richard as she opened plastic packets of mustard and relish and emptied them atop two hot dogs on the counter in front of her. Barbara tried to turn away, ignore his presence, forget she’d seen him at all. But just as she moved to do so, Richard said something back to the woman, and they laughed.

  Barbara stared. She knew she was staring, but paralyzed by memories of seeing him with a different woman—a girl, really—at a different game, in a different city, she just stood and stared, feeling again the pain and betrayal of that night half a lifetime ago.

  It seemed so fresh and so immediate—how could it still hurt after so many years?

  Because not twenty-four hours ago he walked out of your living room; you offered yourself to him, and he left. She willed her head to turn, her eyes to look away, her legs to move, but she was too late. He’d spied her. He met and held her gaze, said something to the dark-haired woman and strode toward Barbara in purposeful strides.

  Only a full sprint would have enabled her to get away from him, and a full sprint through the thickening crowd of students, parents and faculty would certainly cause a scene and, ultimately, generate gossip. Still, she had to fight off the instinctive, self-preserving response to flee at full speed. Though she took a few steps in a futile attempt to avoid a confrontation, he caught up with her quickly and reflexively reached for her upper arm to stop her.

  Not wanting to risk a scene, she stopped. “It’s not what it looks like, Barbara. She’s a neighbor, a friend. We’re not—”

  “Don’t explain anything to me, Richard. It’s none of my business who you’re with, and I really couldn’t care less.”

  “That wasn’t what the expression in your eyes said,” Richard replied.

  “That was—” She ducked her head, unable to face him. She swallowed, and started over. “That was just a momentary sense of déjà vu.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world.”

  “Richard, please,” she pleaded.

  Richard shifted his weight restlessly. “Missy told me she talked to you.”

  Without looking at his face, Barbara nodded.

  “You and she decided on a day for her to visit.”

  “Tuesday,” Barbara confirmed on the front end of a sigh. She wished she hadn’t agreed to counsel his daughter, even informally. As much as she wanted to be objective, she was
n’t sure she could. And if she botched everything, Missy was the one who stood to get hurt most.

  “She’s looking forward to—”

  Richard was interrupted by the summons of the woman at the counter. “Rick!”

  When he looked in her direction, she held up the hot dogs and shrugged her shoulders apologetically. “I’ve got to get into the concession stand. The popcorn machine—”

  He turned back to Barbara. “I’ve got to go,” he said with obvious regret. “Maybe we could—?”

  “I don’t think so,” Barbara said, seizing the opportunity to escape and wanting to be lost in the crowd before he could retrieve his hot dogs and come after her.

  She found Susan and spent the first quarter of the game worrying that Richard might find her. But by the middle of the second quarter, she’d relaxed enough to become involved in the fast-moving game. Lake fell behind by two points, caught up and fell behind again. With less than a minute left in the half, the team’s starting center, Eddie Munoz, landed a tying basket.

  The cheerleaders grew red-cheeked with excitement and the crowd of home team supporters exploded with cheers of encouragement. Eddie followed up with another two baskets in rapid succession, giving Lake a four-point lead at the half. The band exploded into the school’s fight song as the players left the court.

  “What a game!” Susan said. “Roger’s going to be so wound up he won’t be able to sleep until Sunday.” Grinning naughtily, she added, “Unless I relax him.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Barbara said.

  “Nope. Just horny,” Susan said. “I swear, Roger gets so worked up when they’re practicing for a big game that he forgets what his husbandly duty is.”

  “I’m sure you remind him.”

  “I don’t have a drawerful of see-through teddies for nothing,” Susan said.

  “They’re playing great tonight,” Barbara said.

  “Yeah. Especially Eddie Munoz. He’s trying extra hard since his dad got to come to the game. They weren’t sure they’d be able to get him here. That’s him in the wheelchair behind the bench.” She offered Barbara her field glasses.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Barbara asked, accepting the binoculars.

  “You haven’t heard about it? It’s the weirdest thing. An old war wound, from Vietnam. Last month he was mowing and pulled on the lawn mower and fell down, paralyzed. They X-rayed him and there was a piece of shrapnel pressing into his spine. It’s been inside him all these years and gradually shifted.”

  “How awful!” Barbara said. “Is the paralysis permanent?”

  “It’s a wait-and-see. They removed it, but they don’t know exactly how much damage it did. They won’t know for a while, but he’s getting some feeling back in his feet, which is a hopeful sign.”

  The pom-pom girls were on the court, dancing and shaking their pom-poms to an upbeat song from the band. Barbara looked beyond them to the wheelchair parked between the team bench and the first row of bleacher seats. “He’s a big man,” she observed absently.

  “Six-six,” Susan confirmed. “He was a scholarship player in college basketball. His size is part of the problem. It’s a nightmare getting him anywhere. Can you imagine trying to lift him?”

  “That’s rough,” Barbara said. Succumbing to lurid curiosity, she raised the field glasses for a closer look at Mr. Munoz.

  “Eddie’s a big kid, but he can’t get him in and out of the chair without help,” Susan continued. “If it weren’t for one of their neighbors, I guess he wouldn’t get out at all.”

  Too caught up in what she was watching, Barbara grunted noncommittally. Munoz’s helpful neighbor had just moved within range of the field glasses, smiling affably as he handed Munoz a soda and said something that made them both laugh. Barbara knew what the neighbor’s laughter would sound like, because the neighbor’s face was as familiar to her as her own reflection in the mirror. And so was the tenderness in the neighbor’s eyes—a tenderness discernible even through binoculars across a gym.

  “Hey, what’s so interesting over there?”

  Barbara lowered the glasses. “Nothing! I—I was just looking at Mr. Munoz.” She forced a smile. “Just morbid curiosity.”

  Susan frowned skeptically but didn’t comment. The moment was saved from awkwardness when the cheerleaders led the team back onto the court and the crowd broke into a raucous cheer. Lake built their slight lead to a comfortable eight points by the end of the third quarter and won by twelve.

  “Roger should be in a good mood tonight,” Barbara said as the fans began leaving the bleachers. “The boys played well.”

  “As if you noticed!” Susan said. “Why do I get the feeling your mind wasn’t on basketball tonight?”

  “My mind’s never on basketball,” Barbara countered. “You know I only come to the games to humor you.”

  “Well, you seemed particularly disinterested tonight. Listen, Roger won’t be home for at least a couple of hours. Why don’t we go get a pizza or something and you can tell me why you were so distracted.”

  “Not tonight,” Barbara said. “It’s been a rough week, and I’m a little tired. Besides,” she added with a grin, “you need plenty of time to pick out a teddy.”

  “No decision to be made on game nights,” Susan said. “When the team wins, I wear the school colors. When they lose, I wear black.”

  Barbara shook her head. “Like I said, you’re hopeless.”

  They walked together as far as the foyer, speaking to several students along the way. Then they ran into a couple of other teachers who asked Susan to pass along their praise to her husband for the team’s fine performance. At length the conversation worked its way to the suggestion of a victory celebration. Barbara gave Susan’s elbow a squeeze. “You go ahead. I’m going to cut out. I’ll see you Monday.”

  Her timing couldn’t have been worse, for as she walked through the parking lot, her attention was drawn to a commotion a few cars away from hers. She recognized Richard’s voice above the din. “All right, now. Ready? On three.”

  Several other voices joined his to form a chorus. “One—two—three.”

  “Lift!” Richard said, and then, straining, added, “No more hot dogs for you, Munoz. You’re as heavy as a heifer.”

  With the help of another man, he was heaving the paralyzed man into the front seat of a sedan.

  “Watch his head!” This from Mrs. Munoz, who was hovering anxiously, supervising the transfer.

  “You couldn’t hurt a head this hard with a sledgehammer,” Richard said, then asked Munoz playfully, “How do you put up with this woman’s nagging?”

  Munoz, safely in the front seat, laughed. “She’s got great legs.”

  The nag with the great legs was attempting to fold the wheelchair, struggling with one of the adjustments.

  “Need some help?” Richard offered.

  “This clamp is always stubborn.”

  “I’ll get it,” Richard said, taking over the task.

  Barbara used his moment of preoccupation to hurry to her car, and drove away from the parking lot without a backward glance.

  But not, alas, without a backward thought. This latest encounter with Richard had left her shaken. She’d been foolish enough last night, throwing herself at Richard and inviting his devastating rejection of her. Tonight her reaction to seeing him with another woman had been downright bizarre.

  It was more than déjà vu, more than just the feeling of having been in that situation before. Tonight, Barbara had actually relived that horrid moment when she’d seen Richard with Christine. She had felt the same pain, the same betrayal.

  Once home, she kicked off her shoes, then released her hair from the barrette holding it in a ponytail at her nape. She combed her fingers through the loose hair. The familiarity of her apartment was soothing, but not soothing enough to convince her that she wasn’t coming unhinged where Richard was concerned.

  Though weary, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep so early. Nor would s
he be able to concentrate well enough to read. So she curled up on the couch, turned on the television and flipped from a sitcom to an investigative news show to a stand-up comedy special before finally returning to the news show.

  She had the vague notion that she should pay attention to the reporter exposing waste in government spending. Sooner or later the price paid by the government for eraser-tip pencils was bound to work its way into the conversation in the teachers’ lounge.

  During the station break, she rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat, then settled back in front of the TV set with a glass of juice and a brownie.

  The exposé on government waste had yielded to the exploration of an often-overlooked, frequently misdiagnosed, little understood disease. Barbara nibbled at the brownie as she listened to sufferers describe the anguish of having a disease no one understood and thought, with uncharacteristic indulgence in self-pity, that anguish was not limited to sufferers of oddball diseases. On top of having made a fool of herself and being rejected, she was probably going to gain two pounds on the brownies she’d made for Richard.

  The doorbell surprised her. At half-past ten? Thinking it was probably a neighbor with some minor crisis, she was more cautious than alarmed, but glad she had a peephole so she could check out who was at the door before opening it.

  After seeing the face of her unexpected caller, she wished she hadn’t looked. Just what did Richard think he was going to accomplish by showing up on her doorstep unannounced this late at night? Whatever it was, she didn’t need the grief. Though she’d seen him, he hadn’t seen her. And she was going to keep it that way.

  She tiptoed back to the sofa and curled up in the corner, hugging her legs, intent on ignoring the doorbell.

  Another ring. In the apartment next door, her neighbor’s yappy little dog, Gizmo, barked hysterically. Barbara buried her face against her knees and groaned softly. Please, oh, please, Richard—just go away!