Our Seas of Fear and Love

by Richard Shain Cohen

  “You’re not pulling my leg?”

  “C’mon, Pam. What's on your mind?”

  “Truthfully? I don't want to leave my boy friend. I'm not sure I can take a long distance relationship.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pam, I’m O.K. Now cut it out.”

  “Is Brigit there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she there a lot?”

  “Well, yes. Why are you giving me this grilling? Cut it out. I’m all right,” he emphasized. “Look, you live your life. You be happy. But, Pam, make sure you love him, that you’re not giving in to ‘I think so.’”

  Pamela smiled, silently interpreting, “In other words don't make the mistake you made.” She smiled more and asked, “May I talk to Brigit?”

  “I’ll get her. She left so we could talk privately, I think. Well, before I call her, I want to know. Pam, if this is what you truly want, Larry, and you’re staying because you love him.”

  “I’m not a kid, dad.”

  He laughed. “How well I know.” Both daughters were so attractive, desirable. Like their mother, but thank goodness absent her character.

  “Now let me talk to Brigit.”

  She thought of Brigit. Whatever those two did now was their choice and no one had a right to interfere. Oh. Her husband. Her children have finished college. They’re working out of state. What would happen if? If what, Pamela? If Thomas divorced Brigit? What about their family? Well, would Brigit be with dad? Aunt Mary’s there to help him too. Hmm. Melinda married. Now that’s interesting. Here are two doctors and then the complication of Brigit.

  “Pam, are you still on the line?”

  “Oh, yes, dad. I was just thinking.”

  “Of what?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Truthfully.”

  “Brigit, dad. You and Brigit, her family.”

  “Well,” startled, though he shouldn’t have been, he continued, “She does come to the house. I’d be . . . .” He stopped.

  “You’d be lost without her, right? You love her. She loves you. We’re all grown-ups now. Oh I guess it’s like Larry and me only we don’t want to marry, at least not now.”

  He was actually pleased Pamela would stay where she was, because he wanted his freedom to be with Brigit. They had been sleeping together for some time now. He wanted his life to end with her. She wished she could just stay and live with him until . . . . But there was Thomas and her own home.

  He thought he owed Pamela an escape clause. “Pamela. If you ever, well, if you ever decide what you’re doing isn’t for you, you can always come live here, if that’s what you want, dear. But remember, my life . . . .”

  “Don’t finish. Although I worry about Brigit and her family, if it ever comes to that, I’d keep out of your way. I still love her, you know. And I do wish she had been my mother. Damn it, dad, I know what happened. Fuck that dead mother of ours, Melinda’s and mine. Fuck her for what she was, what she did, what an embarrassment she is and always will be. She made a hell of a mark on all of us. Fuck her.” She was very angry now. “That woman could have ruined your reputation, ruined Melinda’s chances. Then I think of grandma. What she must have suffered. Grandpa.”

  “Pamela. Stop. Stop now. Please. You’re,” he was going to tell her she was hurting him but didn’t. “Pam, it’s the way things are. We can’t change them, can we? So we live with what we have and are. You don’t need that teen-age lecture.”

  “No, dad.”

  She laughed slightly. “You still think if I asked to come home you’d want me? I use that f word.”

  They both laughed. “I’d manage to stand it. But I better warn you. Brigit hates it.” They laughed again.

  “Just let me say something to Brigit.”

  He called to her, and she appeared from close to the door.

  “You sneak. You listened. Pamela wants to talk to you.”

  “Pam. I’m here as usual. How are you dear?”

  “Like my dad was a damn fool for not making you our mother.” Brigit’s face turned red as she felt a sting in her stomach, instantly thinking of Thomas.

  “Oh, forgive me, Brigit. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s O.K. I love you as if you were my daughter. You know that.”

  “Well, I love you for everything, for taking care of dad, for making Melinda and me feel like we have someone to turn to, for helping us make it through the hell. Oh, forget it. I love you for allowing us to depend on you. So, before I start crying, I’m hanging up. My eyes are wet.”

  “So are mine. So long, sweet.”

  When she hung up, her eyes were filled. Gregory noticed but said nothing. It was between Brigit and Pamela. Watching her tears fall along her cheeks, he did think of Thomas. His conscience began to bother him more than it had. Thomas had been his friend all these years, but the relationship had grown colder.

  Brigit, who had been standing while talking to Pamela, sat on the bed, brushing his hair with her hand, kissing his cheek. “You’re concerned about something, Greg, and it’s not your illness right now. What is it?”

  “I thought about Thomas. I don’t want to. But I also don’t want you in pain because of me. I know my children care so much for you. In fact, even though Melinda’s now married and Pamela has a guy. I know they turn to you. But is it fair?”

  “Yes. Definitely, yes. I’d give them my all, if I had to, just like I would for my own children. I’m not saying they take Robert’s and Kathryn’s places, but . . . . Crap, Gregory. They could have been ours, all four.” She hesitated. “All five.”

  She barely heard him. “I know. I just can’t bear losing you again. I’d rather this damn CLL would kill me.”

  She ignored ‘kill me.’ “I would live here, but I hurt for Thomas, and even for myself when I think of what we are doing. Yet, I would never give up taking care of you. Remember my Celtic past. I’m the healer.” She weakly smiled, wiping at the tears. “No one can make me. Not Thomas, not God.” She was crying harder now.

  “Well, perhaps I should come less often, dearest. We can’t continue like we have. Admit it, Greg. You are concerned. We can't keep away from,” she paused, “the sex, the fondling. I don’t want to. You don’t. But we’re wrong. Oh, damn, I can’t stop crying. Why do we have to suffer because of love?”

  She went to the bathroom, washed her face, put on some eye shadow, smoothed her dress, brushed her hair, put some perfume behind her ears and on her wrists, renewed her lipstick. Satisfied with her looks, she decided there was not much more either of them could say. When she came from the bathroom, she told Greg the night nurse would come soon.

  “You don’t want to wait?”

  “I don’t want to leave,” as she sat, took his hand, placed it in her lap, wanting the closeness.

  “I must.”

  She pressed him harder against herself, desiring the comfort and need. “Greg, I have to settle things with Thomas.”

  “He's really upset, isn't he?”

  “Yes. I know he is. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I know it’s coming. He's getting cross, and rightfully he doesn't trust me any longer, even though I think he may be trying to convince himself I’m faithful. Oh. What's the sense?” Tears formed again, filling her eyes. She could barely see, sniffed, wiped at her nose and eyes. “Give me one of your tissues.” She wiped trying to calm herself. “Damn, I just did my eyes. I’ll have to again. Oh well. But Greg. I just,” she did not want to say it. “I just don't seem to care. In fact I believe I don't. It's the children I love so, what I may be doing to them. Oh God, why did you and I ever meet?”

  She stood, again went to the bathroom to make certain her eyes looked all right, returned, “I’m leaving,” and she kissed him, hard, placing her tongue in his mouth, kissing his neck, then pulling sharply from him to prevent herself from becoming aroused. “Good night.”

  “Brigit. Be kind to yourself. You’re good. You always have
been. Brigit, I don’t want to lose you.”

  She resisted going back to him. “I’m leaving. See you.” She had decided this was the night she and Thomas would talk frankly about what he was thinking.

  When she arrived home, she quickly changed clothes, showered, put on another dress, cotton, with a straight skirt that came to just below her knees but was tight at the bosom. It would show her legs when she sat. She brushed her hair again, because of the wind that caught it coming from the car, again made certain of her perfume and lips. She then made dinner, chose a bottle of red Thomas liked and decided to have a chocolate desert she made the previous day. She walked about the house, waiting for him. Hearing the car, she went to the door, opened it and waited. He smiled seeing her, came to her, kissed her. She placed her arms about his neck, pulling him closer so he could feel her body.

  “Hm. What a greeting. Ooh. You smell good. He put his nose in her hair and about her ears and neck. I need more greetings like this.” He didn’t ask what she was thinking because of this sudden show of affection.

  “C’mon, Thomas. Loosen your tie. And sit before we eat. Want a drink?”

  “I’ll get it, a scotch. Want one?”

  “Yes.”

  They sat in the living room, sipping.

  “I’ve got some swordfish. It ought to be ready soon. How’s that?”

  “Why so cheerful. Did you buy a new dress?”

  “I think I should have. O.K. I’ll go shopping tomorrow. I need a new evening dress, maybe a few other things, my underwear.” She wished she hadn’t mentioned the underwear. She didn’t want him thinking about her in clothes or undressed and wanted to wait until after dinner to talk to him. But he started.

  “Incidentally, did you hear the news? I was listening when coming home. All the trouble with Iran isn’t bad enough. Carter decided to do something about the hostages. It’s about time. Why fool around with those people? Khomeini. A religious dictator. Anyhow, he sent in helicopters to rescue the people held at the embassy. It was a disaster. The helicopters crashed. The Iranians were gleeful, chanting against the United States. You’d think we could conduct a military operation properly by now. It’s bad, Brigit. Bad. It’s going to mean a lot of trouble for us. And those poor hostages. The sanctions didn’t free them. Well, he tried, but he failed. It reminds me of the gas situation when we got the new car.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. Those poor men killed and their families.”

  “Let’s not make the evening too sad, Brigit. Yes, those poor families. You’re so right. Incidentally, how’s Gregory? What that poor fellow has had to endure.” He thought of his wife and Greg together so much, watched as her face visually saddened, his becoming taut.

  “I think he’s going to go to the hospital soon. It’s been coming on. I can see it.” She also noticed her husband’s face that softened some, as he told her, “I should go see him. I haven’t been a good friend. I will. Maybe,” and he thought of Brigit alone with Gregory so many months now, since Deirdre’s death and before. “Maybe, I ought to go in the next couple of days.”

  “That would be nice.” To end the conversation she told him she could smell the oven and would see if the fish were done.

  “Thomas, c’mon. It’s ready. Pour the wine.”

  “Brigit, the helicopter and Carter. It made me think of something, how fighting affects people. How secret missions can go wrong.” He watched her closely. She felt the shock of innuendo, suddenly stopped as she opened the oven. “Oooh. That hurts.”

  “What?” He thought she was answering him.

  “I burned my hand on the oven.” Still stung from his remark, as well as the burn, she ran cold water over her hand. She shook some, and tried to talk while the cold washed over her hand, but she wanted the offense tonight. She had made up her mind, but apparently he had also been thinking about it since she greeted him. Perhaps she had overdone it. She felt a pressure in her chest, breathed deeply, turned her head so Thomas would not see her. She forced, “That’s better. Now let’s get on with dinner.”

  After a quiet meal with little talk and clearing the table, she told him, “Let the dishes stand. I’ll put them in the dishwasher later. I want,” she hesitated. “Let’s go in the living room and talk.”

  “Fine,” he was smiling. This has been a long time coming. You won’t wiggle out of this, my loving wife.

  “Want some music?” he asked.

  “If you do.” She felt herself tremble, her skin rise. “Tom.” She stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “I guess we have to talk.”

  He burst, could not contain his anger. “Talk,” he shouted. “How about a good, honest tête-à-tête. The kids aren’t here to hear about their parents,” he paused, “their mother.”

  Her face colored with the tenseness of her body. He had already made up his mind. She had lost the advantage. I won’t let him do this to me. I won’t. Oh. You knew it was coming. So take it and give it.

  “I know you married me and wasn’t in love with me, Brigit. But I . . . .”

  “Stop now, Thomas. We married because you were in love with me, and I was honest with you about my feelings. You took me on that.”

  “But I never took you on being unfaithful.”

  “How many women have you had, Thomas?”

  “That’s not the point. The point is now. You and Gregory. I . . .” He didn’t want to say they’d been sleeping together. He had no proof, just the often lateness of her homecoming. “I believe you’ve been sleeping with him. Oh, I don’t mind your taking care of him. I knew, know you love him. You were honest about that from the beginning. But . . . .”

  “But what? Now I’m unfaithful. Well, fuck it, Thomas.”

  His face reddened. He grit his teeth, as his face then turned pale from the expectation of her next words.

  “Yes. I hate the word, but Fuck,” she shouted. She began crying, crying quite hard and loudly. “O damn. Yes, I’ve slept with him. Divorce me. Tell the children their mother’s a whore. I can’t help it, Thomas. I felt so sorry for him, and then. I’d be more dishonest if I told you I slept with him because he’s ill. I do love you, Thomas, but . . . .”

  “Please don’t say it. I took you at your word when we married. We’ve been happy. Damn.” He placed his head between his white knuckled hands. “I wanted to get even with you, Brigit, for everything I was imagining and knew in my heart was true, that you couldn’t help yourself.”

  “What do you mean I couldn’t help myself? Do you think I’m sort of a weak, dumb female? Oh, you goddamn men wanting us in our place, our legs spread in bed when you want, whatever. I didn’t know what I was doing?”

  “Don’t say that. I didn’t mean it that way. You didn’t let me finish. Well, yeah, I’ll say it. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to get even on an assumption. But damn you, you had to go and prove it true. I got one of the nurses at the hospital that’s been after me. I told you about her. She’s always telling people what a love I am, how good I am with everyone. I went home with her, Brigit. I was going to get even imagining you two. There’s no sense in going through all the details, is there? I left her there, lying ashamed, naked in bed, crying. She and I did do a few things. But I couldn’t go all the way. That was terrible. I humiliated her. And I thought of you, and went back to her, but she threw me out, screamed at me. I had to tell you. But. But. Oh. I want to forgive you. But . . . . I’m hurt, angry at you, at myself.”

  “So we both failed. Do you hate me for what I’m doing?”

  “Hate you? I wish. But. . . .” and he grew angry again. “You let me down, and the children. What would they think?”

  “They don’t have to know.”

  “No. They don’t have to know.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  He thought, wanted to say, “yes,” but knew he couldn’t. “No, Brigit. I want to live with you. Just let’s see how it goes. You go back to your lover. Maybe I’ll apologize to that nurse and take her. M
aybe I’ll feel better about you.”

  “Fuck you, Thomas.” She was very angry. “You’re playing games with me and with another woman. Fuck you. I’m leaving. I’m going to go live with Gregory until . . . .” and she began to cry again.

  He started toward her. “No, don’t come near me. Don’t touch me. If you need something, call me at Gregory’s or see if your nurse will relent and give you comfort. You can even have her come and stay here with you.” She rushed up the stairs, thinking of her anger at Gregory over Deirdre, packed as much as she could carry, called Gregory and told him she was coming to stay.

  ~

  Driving to his house, she rode past the water, stopped, felt both hurt and humiliated from the argument but soothed as though her body were covered in silk as she looked up at the three-quarter moon, the light as it spread in a ray across the ripples in the windless night, the stars, spangles to the unseen worlds. She imagined the horizon in the blackness, curving within and under itself as though in an ancient time when the world was flat, picturing herself falling over into the nether regions where she would find her love and peace. She sat, silently weeping, for the losses and joys of the past, for the present, the eventual loss of Gregory, her argument with Thomas, her children who she wished now were with her. “What’s the use?” she whispered. “Dream, think whatever you do, but we have made our lives in our image. Greg, I want you inside me, all about me, to calm this whirlpool inside.”

  She started the car, looked at the sea once more and drove along the shore until she reached his house. The light was on in the den. He must be listening to his music with the door open, no Deirdre to tell him to shut it off or lower it until she would no longer hear, and she doesn’t. Poor Deirdre, so foolish, so destructive. You are like the Celtic myth, falling from the moving chariot and killed. I feel for you right now, only right now. I feel for all women, for myself. We exhibit ourselves to empower us; we capture; we surrender; we open ourselves to swallow like a black hole, and that is when we what? Win? Lose? Find momentary rapture and loss?