By the next night she was dying to see Grayson again but couldn’t track him down. The gallery was closed, he wasn’t responding to email, and it was only about one minute earlier she’d realized she didn’t have his home phone number.
She sent three frantic and increasingly demanding emails and tossed back the rest of the scotch he’d left. Ten-thirty on a Thursday night, no email from Tristan, none from Grayson. She still thought he was behind the letters and the email she’d gotten. If she left to go somewhere he might come and then she’d miss him.
She was pacing, it was getting bad when she did that.
Sixth Street then. She spun the car’s tires in the dirt driveway, to hell with the men she already knew. She would go find a new one.
Grayson’s headlights swept into her eyes as he started the turn into the drive, then skidded to a stop when he saw her car. He got out and leaned against her Toyota, waited until she climbed onto the hood to sit beside him before he spoke.
“You were going downtown.” His voice sprawled with interest, not how Tristan would say it, accusingly, but like he was thinking of the possibilities, imagining outcomes.
“You didn’t answer my emails.” She nudged him with her foot. “And I don’t even have your number at home.”
For a moment he just stood quiet and then he turned his head. “I haven’t given it to you because you can’t call there.”
It didn’t even occur to her what he meant, until he reached over and touched her hand. She looked past him, then up to the sky. “Damn, Grayson. You’re married?”
He let that sit between them for a minute. She let it sit too, but then her curiosity got the better of her. “Do you love your wife?”
He laughed. “I wish it were as simple as that, whether I loved her or not.”
“It is that simple.”
“No, Wendell, it isn’t. You haven’t been there yet and you don’t know.”
The stars were strewn across the sky. It was a gorgeous night. “Look, Grayson, what are you doing here? It can’t be sex, we haven’t even done that.”
He snorted. “Darlin’, I can get as much of that as I want at home. Don’t assume my wife is a cold withholding bitch and I’m looking to be bedded down. That’s not it.” He paused. “Okay, well, it’s part of it. Not all.”
“What, then?” Grayson didn’t know this and she wasn’t going to tell him, but he was even sexier now that she knew.
“It’s waking up beside someone who no longer has the power to make you go weak in the knees. If I was twenty-five and we weren’t married, I’d say I was sorry and leave. But I’m not and we are, and not only that, she’s the mother of my children. What am I supposed to do?”
His voice dropped and his face sagged. Her heartbeat increased, the look on his face was so frightening. She didn’t ever want to feel the way he was feeling right that second.
“Do I make you weak in the knees?”
He lay her back on the hood of the car, ran his hands beneath her blouse, then to her skirt and up her thighs.
“Don’t stop. Just make me want you.”
And so he did. Grayson made her want him on the hood of the Toyota, stars blinking on velvet sky, and then he left.
The first thing she did was go inside and Google him. Buried in gallery pages she found exactly what he hadn’t given, his address and home phone number. Damn him, he would not make her want him and leave. He would not say she made him weak in the knees and then go home to his wife.
The pay phone receiver was slick and oily, as though rubbed with polish, or worse things she didn’t want to think about. When it rang she didn’t have the impulse to hang up; instead, she waited to hear her voice. She wanted to know what his wife sounded like.
“Hello?”
Her voice wasn’t twangy like Grayson’s. It was a sweet, hopeful voice, as though she had been waiting all her life for one phenomenal phone call and this might be it.
She repeated the greeting a second time, a third, then sat silent for a moment before hanging up. It surprised Wendell that in the space between her hellos she wanted to ask questions.
How did he act when he woke up in the morning? What did he say earlier that evening when he had come from Wendell’s? Did he seem guilty? Nonchalant?
But of course she said none of those things.
She had the address, She had the Yahoo directions that would take her to his doorstep. She did what he had no idea she would do - drove to his house in the middle of the night. First she passed it by slowly. It was a historic home, close to the street, a tiny lamp on the front porch alongside a chair, but he wasn’t in it. Down the street she turned around and parked across from his front door.
The Jaguar was still warm from Grayson’s return, the engine creaks were audible through the open windows of her car. There was a light upstairs, their bedroom, perhaps the wife’s questioning, hopeful look. Had he gone home to his wife for real, still warm with passion from kissing Wendell? She assumed his wife wanted his passion, hoped for it, but she didn’t imagine he fulfilled it. In her mind, he crawled into bed and wrestled with the smell of her that lingered on his hands.
Scott kept picking up the telephone and hitting the speed-dial for Jessie. Is Wendell there, was what he thought he’d say. I’m on my way to get her. Funny how his mind was screwing with him. Rationalizing the act.
Truth was he just wanted to hear Jessie’s voice.
He hit the one on the keypad and waited.
“Hello?”
The question in her voice made him consider hanging up, but he figured she might have caller ID by now and she’d know it was him.
“Jess.”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Why are you calling, Scott?”
“Just checking in.” It occurred to him he could ask if she’d heard from Wendell.
“She’d call you if she called me.” Jess paused. “You know she keeps things even that way.”
“So you’re not mad about what happened.”
“It just happened. We both know- “
“Know what?”
“Nothing, Scott. I have to go now.”
He hung up. It was just as well. The rule. Never more than once. Nothing he couldn’t give up.
That evening he headed into town and drove past Jessie’s house. There she was, standing on her front porch. He didn’t even know how he got to that side of Culpeper. She stood there and glared so he drove on by.
Downtown to the library to find some reading material, anything that would pass the time. Nonfiction, fiction, he didn’t care. The liquor store, the grocery store. He found all kinds of reasons why he came to town. Let’s just forget that little detour he made down Jessie’s street. Let that go.
Last stop the video store. Three movies would get him through one more night of hell if the bourbon didn’t knock him out first.
A red-haired woman smiled over the DVD case she was holding, then bumped into him around the corner in the middle of new releases. “Can you recommend something?” She pulled her hair forward over one shoulder and drew her fingers through it.
He held up the three he was holding. “I have a thing for old action films. You must be wanting something current.”
She smiled. “Oh, action sounds good to me.”
He resisted the impulse to invite her over. Small town gossip. Jess.
Except that’s one thing he could say for Jess, she never let her opinion of him slip in public. She had remained silent on that count all these years.
He slapped a twenty on the counter and grabbed the change and the bag. Was unlocking his truck when the woman came up behind him.
“Want some company?”
Gossip, worse than that, this red-haired chick calling and god forbid, stopping by whenever she got the notion. But hey, it was a long lonely night ahead.
What the hell. “Follow me,” he told her and got in his truck.
Didn’t check for a ring in the video store, d
idn’t matter much except here in Culpeper, where married was probably the safer of the alternatives. Not married and she’d be looking to get that way. On the other hand, married might mean her irate husband in his front yard, shotgun in hand.
What did it mean, anyway? Marriage.
For Lynnie and Scott it had been unspoken. They had never once discussed the rules of engagement. She wanted him only and that made him love her, but on his end he couldn’t last the separations. It was nothing to do with love, just a hunger he wouldn’t deny.
Goddamn it. The thought of Lynnie still cold-cocked him. The way they held on to one another. How much she mattered. Sometimes he wondered if it was that, the simple fact that he loved her so much, that made him want to leave. A religion that both saved him and pushed him to sin. Making love to Lynnie had been his form of prayer.
Halfway home he realized he didn’t want this woman in Lynnie’s house. He pulled over to tell her.
“How about we go to your place instead?”
“That won’t work. Motel?”
He shook his head no.
She pretended to glower but took out a pen and jotted her phone number on the back of a dry cleaning ticket. “In case you change your mind.”
He thought of her the rest of the way home. Those red lips, the soft skin beneath her breasts. The way she’d touch his rough places. But before he got to the best part, he was in his driveway. Faced off by the climbing rose Lynnie had planted and trained along the porch rail. It had taken over this year.
Two ham and cheese sandwiches on rye with mustard and horseradish, one dark Heineken. Stack of library books beside his chair. DVD cued up. Forgot to check email so he balanced the plate on the arm of the chair and headed to the study. Nothing, just a howdy from a guy he worked with. No I love you Daddy I am dying to go on a road trip with you. No word from his little girl at all.
Detour back to the kitchen for a glass and the bourbon.
Welcome to the real jungle. Stalked by nothing more potent than the wished for sound of his daughter’s voice. The rustle of Lynnie’s dress as she walked down the hall. Come on to bed, dear soul, she used to say.
He always went.
The next day he drove over to Charlottesville and knocked on Wendell’s apartment door. He could see she wasn’t there but had the impulse to knock anyway. He drove the familiar streets and cruised UV’s campus. The memories were all mixed up now. Scott young and looking for a way to prove himself. He had held Lynnie’s hand across restaurant tables and moved Wendell into her dorm as a freshman. You can go now, daddy, she’d said, way before he was ready to leave, but he did as she asked.
Some things he couldn’t sort out anymore, like that place with the plants in the window. Did he eat there with Lynnie or Wendell? Somehow youth and fatherhood had rolled together.
He didn’t ponder this much but he was a middle-aged man. His strength had peaked. He was able to pull it out when he was balls to the wall, but the day was coming. He knew that.
He drove around Charlottesville pining over a woman who died so many years ago anyone would think he’d be done grieving.
Wendell was all he had left, and she was gone too, wouldn’t answer emails, wouldn’t settle down and let him have a life.
What kind of life have you given her?
That sarcastic voice would be Jess, pointing out that he expected everyone he loved to wait, let him go when he needed to and be there smiling when he returned. And up until a few days ago he’d have had his own sarcastic response, go to hell, Jess.
Now he thought of her body, how she felt pressed up next to him. Her eyes close. They’d had years to finesse the dynamic that kept them at odds and all it took to knock that askew was Wendell leaving.
He did not want this mess in his life. The thought of Jess in his head. What if they gave in to it? They’d pay, later. He’d pay when she turned him into someone he didn’t want to be. He could feel it starting up.
He wouldn’t sit back and wait for it. Even as the dark thoughts churned, he was on his way home to pack his truck and make a phone call or two. Get the hell out of this god-forsaken little town.
He’s off walking a trail to try and find a rowan seedling, so we can plant it in the back yard. Rebo said rowan trees protect. Our baby needs a rowan tree to grow with her and keep her safe.
He digs the hole and I plant the seedling. We water it and then sit together, holding hands. All I want is safety. For the baby, for Scott. For this little tree. I want the sense of many years ahead, time rolling forward. Scott with grey hair, relaxed and home, retired.
The little girl inside me moves, and I put his hand on my belly. “It’s not big enough in there for her. She needs a bigger place to be.”
“She’ll be running around out here soon enough.” Scott smiles. For a moment I see it through his eyes, the daughter, the wife, the grassy back yard. I see what it means to him, and how even when he’s gone, when he’s holding a gun and doing god knows what, this is what anchors him. This is what keeps him safe and brings him back.
Jessie clucks her tongue at me and shakes her head. “Have you thought what this will mean? You’ll raise this child alone, Lynnie. He won’t ever be there for you. Either of you.”
It’s hard keeping Jessie’s concern at bay, harder not letting her doubts color my own vision. But the fact is, she doesn’t understand. She sees it all from the outside.
“I made this choice, Jessie. I love him. Maybe one day he’ll stop and stay home. But for now, this is what I chose.”
“Have you ever asked him to quit?”
I don’t dare tell her that I did, the one time, and he said no. “I won’t ask him to quit what he does. He does it because he needs to, and I won’t get in the way of that.”
Jessie sighs and looks away.
“Tell me about you. Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not really.”
Jessie is only two years younger than me, but she has formed much of what she thinks about men based on my decisions. She sees what I chose and she hates it. On two levels, first that I found someone I love so much. And that he has turned out to be so different from what we both expected. Scott is not the Prince Charming we envisioned when we were girls. And yet I chose him anyway. Jessie has decided to do without.
Some nights when Scott’s away I lie in bed and close my eyes, as though he’s there with me. Not like I’m imagining him lying beside me, but like his energy has joined with mine, wrapped around my body like a blanket.
Sometimes we have conversations. I think something and he responds. I’ve never mentioned it to Jessie, or even Scott, for fear they’d both think I’m going a little crazy here. And also because I don’t want to lose this odd way of connection. If I can feel Scott with me, when he’s gone, even if I have no idea where he is or when he plans to return, I can get by. And maybe he feels it too.
Today I found a rocking chair in an antique store in town. I’d been looking for the right one. The wood is solid and strong. Already I am sitting in the chair, knitted throw over my knees, rocking this little girl to sleep. When she moves inside, I go to the chair and sing to her until she quiets.
There’s been a sense of urgency inside me this week, the very strong desire to nurture the baby, to find ways of reassuring her now, before she’s even born. I woke up just now dreaming of numbers, actual numbers counting down, and it scared me for no good reason.
I wish Scott were home. Even a telephone call would be a comfort.
I have baby clothes and diapers. Everything is ready. Scott called to say he’ll be here, he promised. Jessie met me for lunch today in Culpeper and we talked about names. Wendell. That’s her first name. And I suppose if I’m wrong about this and she turns out to be a he, the name would still work.
Today when I got home I took out the memory boxes and went through them. I arranged them in sequence. Started filling the empty one. Things to do with the baby. A few photos of me, big with her inside. Lists and some other things.
I dusted all the figurines yesterday, and checked on the white tulips I planted in the fall. There’s no way to know if they’re safe in that bed, but I keep standing there, looking for signs of moles and voles.
Scott will be angry about this part but I bought a lock box for his ammunition. No shooting in the back yard with the baby here. He does that when he’s upset, takes the guns and the ammunition out back and shoots over the trees. I have never known what purpose that serves for him, but it calms him. Only once was I concerned, and that was the last time he came home.
Jack Roland, from down the road, had stopped by and mowed the grass for me, and for some reason it sent Scott over the edge when he found out. That time, with the guns, we argued. I had the terrible thought that if Jack Roland happened to drive up Scott would turn and shoot him down.
Awake again in the wee hours writing in my blue notebook. This time the dream was about babies. Sisters. I don’t know if they were me and Jessie, or the baby Wendell and another baby girl I might have. One was a bit older than the other, and I was telling Scott to take care of them.
He was very upset. And then the dream shifted. He was with a woman. I couldn’t see her face. He was standing between us, holding his head in both hands, squeezing, like he had a headache. I told him it was okay. I forgave him.
I know there are other women. It’s okay. I don’t like it, but I know why he does it. Do you hear this, Scott? I understand why you’re doing it.
It was so quiet. Wendell had driven past Grayson’s house two times already and the Jaguar was there, parked for the evening so far as she could tell, while the lamplight through the front windows looked warm and inviting. His home. Wife and children. She kept saying that to herself, but it just made her mad.
There were no new emails except one about a job she didn’t want. A dig back in Virginia.
She took a beer from the fridge and got into a warm bath with bubbles and a candle. She let the silence sit with her. After awhile she got out and put on a T-shirt, padded down the hallway and started switching off lamps. It was then she saw the wash of headlights across the living room wall. Grayson had come to visit.
The Meaning of Isolated Objects Page 8
