Back In the Game

by Holly Chamberlin

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s—wonderful.”

  “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? I mean, only a few months ago I felt like my life was over. I was really screwed up, you know? And then I met Anne. It was like—magic. Love at first sight and all that. It was the first time that ever happened to me, you know, just—bam!”

  The first time? I wondered what Duncan had felt when he’d first met me. Maybe he’d told me once. If so, I’d forgotten. Not love at first sight, though. That was for Anne.

  “So,” I said, trying but failing to sound okay, “you think it’s a good thing I asked for a divorce?”

  Duncan took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Maybe. In the end. Who knows? Sometimes life has to really suck before it gets radically better than it ever was.”

  All I knew at that moment was that my life felt radically worse than it ever had.

  Duncan took a big bite of his muffin and chewed enthusiastically. I used to find Duncan’s enjoyment of food sweet. What, I wondered, did Anne think of his eating habits?

  Duncan wiped the crumbs from his lips. “So,” he said, “don’t you want to know anything about her?”

  No. Of course not. I don’t feel even a shred of morbid curiosity.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Well, she’s a bit younger, twenty-six to be exact. And she’s divorced; who isn’t these days, right? And she’s got a three-year-old girl named Edie. God, Edie is adorable. I swear she’s the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen. She totally takes after her mom.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Why, I wondered, is he doing this to me?

  “Anne’s ex is an idiot,” Duncan went on. “He sends a check every month but wants nothing to do with either of them. Anne’s got full custody and the father even waived visitation rights, which is fine by me. I don’t want Edie spending time with that jerk.”

  Since when had Duncan become so paternal?

  “So,” I asked, unnecessarily, “things are serious between you two?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Duncan said with enthusiasm. “Like I said, I’ve never felt this way before. Things are just different with Anne. I can’t explain how or why. They just are.”

  Different. Different means better; everyone knows that.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Duncan leaned forward and fixed me with his eyes. I’m not sure I’d ever seen him look so serious. “Laura,” he said, “when you left me because I didn’t want kids, well, it really got me thinking about the whole thing. Now, with Anne, I feel really ready, really excited about being a dad. We hope to have a baby of our own before long. Right after we get married. I don’t know, maybe I just needed some time to process my own feelings, you know?”

  My entire body began to buzz. I thought I might faint. “So,” I finally said, “if I had waited a few more months before serving you divorce papers, maybe you would have changed your mind? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Duncan seemed to ponder. Since when had he become a great thinker?

  “No,” he finally said, “not really. Something tells me I probably wouldn’t ever have wanted kids with you.”

  I pushed my coffee cup toward the middle of the table. The thought of food or drink was nauseating.

  “I’m sorry,” Duncan said, “I don’t mean to be harsh. Look, maybe it’s just hindsight talking; maybe it’s just my way of getting over the pain you put me through. Jesus, Laura, you turned my life upside down, both of our lives. You had no faith in us as a couple. You threw away someone who loved you for someone who didn’t even exist.”

  Someone who loved me. Past tense.

  Different means better.

  Duncan laughed. “Anyway, look at me, I’ve been doing all the talking. So, what did you want to see me about?”

  I wanted to ask you to take me back.

  “Oh, it’s . . .” I smiled shakily and waved my hand. “Nothing, just . . . nothing.”

  Duncan had known me too long to believe I was telling the truth.

  “Hey, Laura, are you okay? I hope I didn’t sound cruel or anything—”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine. Really.”

  Duncan looked at me again, closely, but asked no more questions. “Okay, then,” he said, and his voice was somehow softer. “I should go. Anne and Edie are meeting me just outside. I promised I’d take them to the aquarium.”

  I nodded. No more words. Duncan stood and hesitated for a moment. I kept my eyes on the Formica table. And then he left.

  I didn’t want to look. I shouldn’t have looked. But I did, and what I saw made me so sad I thought I would die right there in Dunkin’ Donuts.

  Duncan stepped out into the late morning sun. He put his arm around a small, plumpish woman and squeezed. She beamed up at him. The toddler she held in her arms reached for Duncan and he took the little girl. He kissed the little girl on the nose.

  And then I watched my life walk away.

  “You look like hell.”

  I don’t remember how I got to Nell’s apartment. I don’t even remember her opening the door. But she did, and when I didn’t say anything in response, she took my arm and led me inside.

  “Sit,” she said, and I did sit on the big comfortable couch.

  Nell went away for a minute and came back with a glass of water. I shook my head. Nell put the water aside, crouched on the floor, and placed her hands on my knees.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Laura, talk to me.”

  I wanted to say something, I did, but I couldn’t because suddenly I was sobbing these big, painful sobs. Nell sat next to me then and held me against her while I cried and cried all over her nice blouse. I’m sure I ruined it but she didn’t say anything about it afterward.

  “It will be all right,” Nell said in that soothing voice I remembered her using when the children were little. “Everything will be all right.”

  I shook my head and managed to croak, “No, it won’t!” before another bout of sobbing overtook me.

  Finally, finally, the crying stopped, suddenly, like all the tears were just drained from my body. Nell went away again and brought me a box of tissues, most of which I used blowing my nose and mopping my face. She handed me two ibuprofen tablets and the abandoned glass of water and I choked the tablets down.

  “You’re going to have a whopper of a headache,” she said. “When you were a little girl, you always got headaches when you cried this way.”

  I attempted a smile, but I bet it was a pretty lame one.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Nell asked again.

  I looked at my sister and took a shaky breath. Somehow the words got out. “I saw Duncan,” I said.

  Nell’s expression remained neutral. “And it didn’t go well.”

  “It was horrible. I wanted to . . . I wanted to ask him if he, you know, if he wanted to get back together.”

  I had to stop there and sob some more. Nell waited patiently; at least she didn’t rush me. When the sobs went away again, I told her the rest, how I had never gotten to ask Duncan about getting back together because first he told me all about how happy he was with that woman and how he was going to get married and have babies with her.

  When I was done, Nell looked almost sick. “Oh, Laura,” she said, “I’m so sorry. And here I was, urging you to talk to him . . .”

  “Don’t feel bad,” I said. “If I’d taken your advice weeks ago, I might have had a chance with Duncan. I guess . . . I guess I just waited too long.”

  Nell and I sat quietly for a while, side by side on the couch. Finally, Nell sighed. “Laura,” she said, “I have a meeting at three but I’ll cancel and stay here with you if you want.”

  I shook my head. “That’s okay. Go. But can I just stay here for a while? Can I lie down here and not move? I don’t think I can move just yet.”

  “Of course.” Nell got up slowly and helped me to lie down. She brought a blanket from the linen closet and tucked it around me, nice and tight.

&n
bsp; “Try to sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I did sleep.

  And I dreamed that the truck that killed my parents was crashing into me.

  Chapter 29

  Grace

  You harbored dreams of growing old together, of breakfast on the porch, of reading poetry aloud to one another, of holding hands by the sea. But those dreams were shattered like a fragile glass thrown to the floor by an angry drunk. Now, sweep up the shards and get on with your life.

  —It’s Not Pretty: Facing the Reality of Divorce

  “Grace? Is something wrong with your entrée?”

  I stuck my fork into a piece of something and lifted it to my mouth. “Oh, no, it’s fine.”

  I chewed but tasted nothing.

  “Good,” Evan said. “I thought you might like this place. It’s unpretentious all around, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  My language skills seemed to have failed me. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to make normal conversation. Evan had to notice my odd behavior, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He continued to introduce interesting topics and to ask questions about my life as if I were actually capable of responding with more than one- or two-word answers.

  See, I was terribly attracted to the man across the table.

  It happened the moment I walked into the restaurant and spotted him waiting for me at the bar. I don’t mean to sound dramatic but it was a dramatic moment, one of those pivotal moments in life, a moment after which nothing is ever the same, for better or worse. I suppose you could argue that every moment changes you forever, but I’m talking about those moments you remember vividly, the ones you replay in your head with wonder.

  The moments, I reminded myself, that you most often regret.

  I poked at the pile of herbed rice on my plate and wondered if I could get a forkful to my mouth without it all spilling. Sexual attraction tends to make my hands unsteady.

  And they were trembling now. I hadn’t felt so drawn to a man since I’d met Simon. I hadn’t known I could feel this way again. Alive. Sexual. Intensely interested in everything Evan had to say, in the way his hair swept off his forehead, the way the cuff of his shirt accentuated the breadth of his hand. His very skin was compelling. The reading glasses he slipped on to consider the menu made me wild. He looked so serious and strong.

  I felt myself staring. I wanted to gaze into his eyes; I wanted to know him.

  I lowered my eyes to my plate. What was I eating? Herbed rice. And, oh, yes. The duck. I wondered then if desire after the age of thirty-five is always accompanied by mental illness.

  Evan was saying something about the last show the gallery had produced.

  The gallery.

  I hadn’t felt so compelled by Evan when we’d met at the gallery. Maybe I’d been intimidated by the space, by the notion of Evan’s reputation, by his professional expertise. But away from the gallery, in a casual setting, Evan was just a man and I was just a woman and I felt dangerously close to throwing myself on him and begging him to make love to me.

  “So,” Evan was saying, “would you like dessert?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Okay.”

  We shared a piece of cake. I think it was hazelnut. Or maybe it was almond. I don’t know.

  The check came. I reached for my bag.

  “This is my treat,” Evan said. He slipped a credit card from his breast pocket and inserted it into the leather folder.

  Simon had never paid for my dinner. He’d never paid for anything. Not once, not ever.

  “Our waitress was good, don’t you think?” Evan was saying. “A bit unsure of herself; she must be fairly new, but she seems to have the instincts to do the job.”

  “Yes,” I said. Our waitress had forgotten to bring the water we’d asked for. She’d dropped a knife. She’d misrepresented the preparation of Evan’s entrée.

  But all Evan saw was the fact that she was trying.

  Simon, on the other hand, would have been a boor about the whole thing, making a scene and demanding a free meal.

  “Are you ready to go?” Evan asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Evan rose. I rose. We walked to the door of the restaurant. He opened it, held it as I walked through.

  On the sidewalk Evan asked if he could get me a cab home. I said, “Yes, thanks,” and he stepped out into the street. A moment later he was opening the cab’s back door for me.

  “Thank you, Grace,” he said. “I had a lovely time.”

  He smiled down at me. I tried to smile up at him.

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  And I ducked into the backseat.

  The cab took off with a lurch. I snuck a look over my shoulder. Evan was watching us go.

  I turned around and tried to take a deep breath. It was hard to do with my heart pounding violently. I put my hand to my chest and willed my heart to slow, but it wouldn’t, not until I was lying in bed an hour later.

  I wondered. Had I just fallen in love with a man? I mean, a man, not a little boy, not an unruly, self-centered adolescent, but a man? Someone responsible for his own life, someone who had his own needs enough under control that he had room in his heart for the needs of another person?

  You can’t do this, Grace, a voice inside told me. You don’t know how. You’re too old to learn.

  It’s never too late to learn, another voice said. You simply have to apply yourself.

  I turned on my side and curled up, covers clutched in my hands. I felt both very old and very young, a person who had no language to express herself beyond the ability to whimper, a person suddenly aware she was in need of great care.

  Evan called two days after our dinner date. I was surprised; I was sure my less-than-engaging behavior had put him off.

  I was also pleased. I also felt like I was going to throw up.

  “Is this a good time to call?” he asked.

  Simon never cared if he interrupted my life.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thanks. And you?”

  I’m confused. And scared.

  “Okay,” I said. “You know, busy.”

  “A teacher’s life is a tough one.”

  “Yes.”

  Simon never showed any interest in my job, my career, my work.

  “I had a good time the other evening,” he said.

  My hand around the receiver was tense. I found myself staring at a spot on the floor, seeing nothing.

  “Me, too.”

  “I’m glad you liked the restaurant.”

  “Yes.”

  There was a beat of silence and then Evan said: “I was wondering if you might like to get together again, maybe this Saturday? If you like, we could have dinner at that new seafood place in the North End.”

  Simon always insisted we eat at his favorite restaurants. I always paid the bill. It’s what I did.

  “Grace?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, a bit too loudly. I looked up from the floor. “I can’t. I mean, thank you. I have plans.”

  “Oh. Okay then.” Evan’s voice was pleasant and even. “Maybe some other time?”

  My heart thumped in my chest; it felt like it wanted to get out and run.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I can. Good-bye.”

  Chapter 30

  Nell

  When it comes time to determine custody of your pets, ask this most important question: Who cleans the litter and scoops up the poop? This person is the true custodian of the cat and dog.

  —Dividing the Spoils: Getting What’s Rightfully Yours

  “Jess, darling, what’s your story?”

  Trina cocked her head, held her martini aloft, and eyed Jess as if she were a specimen in a lab. It was the first time Jess, Laura, and Grace were meeting Trina. My apartment, in actuality quite spacious, suddenly felt terribly cramped.

  And Jess looked terribly uncomfortable.
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br />   “You don’t have to talk about it,” I said hurriedly.

  “I cheated on my husband,” Jess blurted. “We got divorced. I’m consumed by guilt. I just don’t know how you can not feel awful about having an affair, about—about living the way that you do.”

  Trina was unfazed. She took a sip of her martini. “I have my moments, darling,” she said. “And I have my priorities. They’re not everyone’s priorities, to be sure.”

  It was a Saturday evening in May. And for the past hour Trina had been regaling us with stories from her outrageous life. Four marriages, each to a wealthy and powerful man. Numerous affairs with an astonishing variety of men, including a well-known aging rock star and a Washington politician with the president’s ear.

  Grace seemed to find Trina amusing. “I can’t be like you,” she said at one point. “I can’t take love or romance or marriage so lightly, but I have to admit I find your attitude refreshing.”

  Trina laughed. “I’m glad I entertain you, darling.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to be insulting! I just—”

  “You haven’t insulted me, darling. Now, you were saying that you can’t take romance lightly.”

  Grace nodded. “I can’t, but sometimes I wish I could. It’s just that I’ve gotten lost in love. I’ve let it blind me. I’ve let it lead me around like a dog being led by a leash. The thing is that I believe in love, I want love, I think I might even know where to find it, but I’m scared it will overpower me again and make me do stupid things.”

  “What do you mean you might know where to find love?” I asked. “What haven’t you been telling us?”

  Grace colored. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Jess reached for a shrimp from the iced platter on the coffee table. “The lady protests too much.”

  “Believe me,” Grace said, and I thought she sounded sad, “I’ve already destroyed any chance I might have had with this man.”

  Trina poured more champagne into Grace’s glass. “A real man isn’t so easily put off, darling Grace. They know how to practice patience. Is he a real man?”