He wants to go to her, to comfort her, but he thinks she’ll run. He keeps his seat. “I’m sorry Anna,” is all he says, cursing those stupid, meaningless words.
She brings her knees to her chest and lays her face in her hands. “Why won’t you believe me John? Let me tell my story and leave it at that.”
He doesn’t answer.
“I didn’t leave him,” she says. “I didn’t want to be without him. An occasional smack here or a punch there was my trade for a secure marriage, a home, his love. It really wasn’t that bad. Otherwise, he was wonderful.” She wipes the back of her hand at her tears in frustration. “I am not making you understand.”
He moves from the chair to his knee, slowly, like he is approaching a wild animal.
“I understand,” he says cautiously.
“No you really do not. I needed to leave, but I didn’t. I should have run and never told him about the baby. When I started showing, things got worse. I was almost six months along, he beat me terribly and I ran. I lost my footing on the stairs and in an instant my baby was dead. Oh John I had to deliver her. My sweet girl. And afterwards, I stayed with him still.”
He reaches for her and she finally falls into his arms, crying. Within a minute she reaches to unbutton his pants.
“Anna?” he pulls away, confused.
“John let me,” she says reaching for him again. He moves away from her, starting to understand, her want, her need. She doesn’t wait for his reaction, just gets up and runs out the door.
It all becomes clear to John. He loves her. She needs him. He is her vice. What he thought was love from Anna was her need for distraction, avoidance, soothing and nothing more. The sex and the romance are her drugs. She doesn’t want him, she wants a stiff dick that will give her some release and eventually a baby. Even knowing, this he isn’t ready for it to be over. He isn’t ready to let her go. He has just a moment to decide. If he rejects her now, it’s over and he needs more time to think this through.
He bangs on her glass door with the side of his fist and she opens quickly.
“In the bed,” he demands. She takes his hand and guides him to the bedroom, bartering silently for his continued participation. Anna takes the lead, climbing on top of him and trying to lose herself with him. Her face is not content, but he doesn’t want to see. He flips her over, taking her from behind.
John is furious with her but sorry for her at the same time. She was going to use him for a baby and now she is just plain using him. John thinks the situation may be beyond him. He should probably leave, maybe go to Austin or Chicago. Struggling with Anna can’t be good for him.
After, she is calm, but embarrassed. “John, that was wrong I think. I’m not sure. I’m feeling a bit twisted up.”
He strokes her hair as she lays on his shoulder. He has longed for this closeness these last months. Not lying with her on a beach, not screwing her on a sofa, but being together, the way lovers are. He wants to tell himself it isn’t really love, that it has just been a fuck-fest of a summer. But that would be a lie. He won’t leave her.
“Anna I might owe you an apology. Yesterday on the boat, I had no right to force it.” She is wordless, but turns into him as he strokes her.
“I would never hurt you. Do you know that?” He asks. She is still silent, but he feels her tears on his shoulder.
“I’m not leaving your bed Anna. I’m staying.”
“For the rest of the summer?”
He nods, even though he isn’t sure it’s the right thing to do.
“I thought you might leave. John, I said terrible things yesterday. Things I didn’t mean.”
He wants to ask which things but doesn’t. Not yet. There has been enough talk today. It is enough to give him hope that he is wrong, that he isn’t just her drug of choice, but maybe there is something more between them. He will think about it tomorrow.
Later that night, he lies in her bed and again she climbs onto him. He sits up so he can see all of her, watching her take him in. She leans back, filling herself with him, and he silently vows to see these four weeks through to the last day. To love her, even if she can’t love him.
Her hands pull his and guide them where she wants. He reaches her with his thumb. She rocks against him, climbing to that place she has grown to know so well with him. She calls his name loudly again and again. She is gasping, hair streaming in his face when he lets go and fills her.
After, she fits herself into the crook of his arm, tangling her legs with his and John utters words unsaid for too long. "Goodnight Anna."
In the morning, John wakes first and watches Anna sleep. Her long golden curls lie across the pillow, and he can feel her warmth against him. Finally, he thinks.
Silently, he slides out of bed and searches her bathroom for any sign of birth control. When she gets up and showers, he searches her dresser and nightstand and handbag for pills, a diaphragm case, anything. If she was trying to get pregnant at the end of May, she could have gotten an IUD or an injection. But he knows she didn’t. She is trying to get pregnant. Or she is already carrying his child.
They go back to 516 for breakfast. His is the better kitchen, hers is the better bed. He cooks omelets and she bakes muffins.
"Beach day?" she asks, already back to her usual, sunny self.
“Absolutely," he responds, flipping an omelet into the air, playing along.
Anna is full of smiles on the beach. Whatever emotions she let loose yesterday are tightly bottled back up today. They lie for hours in the sand, and he has time to watch her and gather his thoughts. His initial fury at being used as her sperm donor has subsided some. He doesn’t understand the ease of her deception, but he understands that she is in pain and a little irrational. He knows how that goes. After dumping his child in Chicago and running for eighteen months, he can’t really judge Anna too harshly.
Still, he thinks she is lying now. Even though she claims to be using birth control, he doesn’t believe her. He is stunned at his own stupidity for never asking her about it. He doesn’t know if he is out of practice, in denial, or just plain stupid. The idea of having another child is unimaginable and he needs to know if Anna is pregnant.
“Want a beer?” he asks to see if she is drinking alcohol. He can’t remember her last drink.
“No thanks,” she smiles, brushing her fingers gently through his beard. That was inconclusive. He watches her beautiful face, watching him. Her eyes are blue and bright and John wonders what is going on in her head. He wills her to speak, to say something to make him understand, and surprisingly she does.
“I don’t know how I can be without you,” she says.
“Because you love me,” he states, he doesn’t ask.
“Of course I do.”
“I don’t know what that means Anna.”
“It means I need you desperately. I enjoy every second I am with you. You are everything I could ever want in a man.”
“But?” He holds his breath because the but is what will end them in four weeks.
“I don’t want to have a baby with you.”
While the words are difficult to hear, he is relieved because he thinks she is finally being honest with him. “Because of Clara and Sarah?”
“Partially, but not entirely.” She nibbles her upper lip, carefully considering her words. “I decided long ago not to have a baby with a man this time. I want to be alone. My time with Dylan drained everything from me. I am done giving myself over wholly and completely to a man, despite the consequences.”
“And you are so sure all relationships are like that?” he asks.
“You tell me. You were happily married, right?”
He wants to be honest. This is probably the most honest conversation they have ever had. “We had our ups and downs. Every couple does.”
“Did you love her John?” she asks directly, then quickly looks regretful. “No don’t answer. That is none of my business.”
He looks out over the water and considers
her question anyway. He hasn’t thought about Sarah, before the suicide, in a long time. Theirs was a complex love. It was never easy. It isn’t an easy yes or no for him.
“Let’s stick to us. You were saying you want a baby, but you don’t want a relationship. I’m trying to understand.”
“Why John, why is it important to you? You don’t want another baby.” She sits up, getting annoyed.
“Lay yourself back down. We are just talking here. No need for anger.”
She complies silently.
“I would love more children actually, but I am doing a shit job of caring for the one I’ve got. And I know I have a lot of work to do with regard to my mental health before I can even give it a thought.”
“I know John.” She is somewhat chastened.
“Anna, can I ask you two questions and you can just answer them? I don’t want to play guessing games. Don’t spare my feelings. Don’t make me wonder.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
“Do you love me or do you need me? You know the difference.”
She won’t look at him when she answers, but she does answer. “John I have loved you since we visited Charleston and you held my hand walking down King Street. I loved you before that first week was out. I’ve loved you all summer. I told you when Clara was here and I tried to make light of it. I pretended I was joking, but I wasn’t. But I don’t want to love you. I don’t want to love any man.”
I am so fucked, John thinks before he stands and picks her up, holding her close in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asks. “That wasn’t a wonderful declaration of romantic love. I told you I don’t want to love you. I want to be alone.”
He carries her to her house. “I don’t care. I want to make love to the woman I’m in love with, who’s in love with me. Just shut up and let me.”
“What about the second question John?”
“One is good enough for now,” he says, freeing her from her bikini. When he releases into her, he knows he won’t ask her if she is still trying to get pregnant. It is a self-destructive game of risk, but he can’t give her up and he will take whatever comes. He is fucked and he knows it.
They resume their regular routine over the next days. The only difference is that nights are spent in Anna’s bed. One afternoon, she closes her John Irving novel. Their habit is to pass books back and forth when she feels they are suited for him. Not this time. "This is a crazy story. Just crazy. I loved it. But so dark. Not for you at all."
John agrees. "I love a John Irving. Great books but terrible movies. Except Cider House. Good movie. Have we read anything besides doomed love affairs this summer? I'm choosing one."
He returns from the 517 lending library holding up a weathered copy of About a Boy. "Nick Hornby is great. I loved High Fidelity. That guy was a true music fan."
"Nope," she says tentatively. "I have actually read this one, great movie too. But not for you. Some themes include a mother's attempted suicide."
He stares at the book for a moment. "I think I should read it. I have to stop avoiding."
"Can I make a rather unorthodox suggestion then?” Anna offers. “How about I read it to you? Everything sounds better, safer, funnier, more wonderful, with a mild English accent." She tries to joke.
He is touched and says so with his mouth on hers.
"Now now, that is enough of that, go back to your chair... okay here goes… chapter one, page one. So, have you split up now?... Are you being funny?... People often thought Marcus was being funny when he wasn't."
John sits back, closes his eyes and listens to Anna tell the story. She differentiates her voice slightly for each character. This continues for a few days. When Anna becomes hoarse with words, John takes a turn. They read on the beach, on John's porch swing with feet up, sipping bourbon after dinner. John relaxes, knowing she would never drink pregnant.
At the worst parts, during the main character's suicide attempt, John remains calm.
"I don't. Not anymore. I bloody hate Joni Mitchell... Will knew then, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Marcus would be OK.” Anna pauses and adds, “the end."
John is quiet for a moment, then laughs. "Anna that was fantastic. Thank you."
"The pleasure was all mine. I think we did Mr. Hornby justice.” Anna considers him silently. “John, do you want to talk about her?” Anna asks. "Tell me about Sarah, before? Tell me the stories you will tell Clara someday."
"Are we going to share our happy stories?"
She nods.
"Quid pro quo?" he asks.
"I'd like to."
"I am trying to think of a funny line like I was born a poor black child, but that isn't as funny with my accent as it is with yours. Texans have to be careful. They call me Ismael. Not funny at all sorry."
She laughs anyway, encouraging his attempt to keep this light. "Let's take some wine to the beach and talk there?"
They sit in the sand for a while before he begins. "I did think of a line, a quote actually. Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
She ponders the weight of these words. "I don't know it. Did we read it this summer?"
"No, it is an old one,” he says. “Tolstoy. Doomed love and suicide, Anna Karenina."
She nods, remembering it from college. "That is quite a quote."
"It stuck with me." He stares out at the water, not averting his eyes from her but glad to have a different focus. Telling the woman you love about the woman you loved before, is not easy. "I met Sarah a few years after law school. I was a third year at a big firm in Washington DC. I was working about eighty hours a week. They work third years like dogs. There was a Starbucks across from my building on H Street. I was in there three times a day, just to make it through. Faces become familiar. My morning coffee run and hers pretty much aligned. Eventually we got to talking. She worked for a nonprofit around the corner, getting veterans back to work, job training and employment supports. Once in a while, one of her vets got into trouble and before I knew it, I was taking on pro bono cases for her. That woman could talk me into anything." He stops looking at Anna, worried. "Is this okay?"
She nods, encouraging him to continue.
"So it went like that for a while. Eventually I got a free night or a free weekend and we went out, started sleeping over, within a year we were living together." They sit in silence listening to the waves while he pulls his thoughts together. "Sarah was unique. She wasn't an easy woman. She was driven and fierce. She was sure she could save the world. She used to call me 'Hubble' from The Way We Were because she was complicated and a thinker and she'd get a little angry, and I just wanted to work and have fun and live our lives. But she was funny and exciting, too. One minute we'd be in bed reading the Sunday paper talking about breakfast, the next she'd have us at National picking up a shuttle to New York because she wanted a doughnut from 'Donut Plant.' You ever been there?" Anna shakes her head. "Go. It is fucking amazing."
"We were mostly happy. One night after a few years living together, we were seeing Citizen Kane. We had dinner after at a little French place a few blocks away and I dropped an engagement ring into her soufflé." He smiles at the memory. "We eloped and got married in Vegas of all places. She had no family and didn't want a wedding. My parents were hurt. She didn't connect with them. Her parents died when she was young. I think she resented my relationship with mine a little. It was hard for her, reminded her of what she had lost. She loved Stephanie and Brian though. We all got along well. We did a few trips to the islands together. Sarah and Stephanie became close. Eventually we decided to move to Chicago and start trying for a family. She had some complications getting pregnant. It took a few years, a surgery and then there was Clara." He stops, clear-eyed.
She lays her head on his shoulder. "You are a wonderful man, John."
"Why do you say that?" he asks.
"Everything I learn about you, every piece you add to the puzzle that is John, I know more and more that
you are a truly wonderful man."
He leaves it there. "I'd like to hear yours. Tell me about you and Dylan."
Anna smiles, stalling. "Oh so much better to be the listener than the speaker at times, isn’t it? There were happy times. I don’t want you to think mine has been a life wasted. We were happy most of the time, especially in the earlier days." She takes a few shallow breaths remembering, silently, preparing to talk. "When I came to America, I attended the University of Maryland. It is crazy that we were just around the beltway from each other, considering our Manchester and Austin origins. Maryland had excellent opportunities and some scholarships for international students. I studied English, a little cliché for a Brit, but I was somewhat uninspired and I loved the coursework. My path wasn't obvious to me."
"I liked art, but I wasn’t great at it. I painted some and wrote some but really never found my niche. When I met Dylan, we were sophomores, he was taking a Shakespeare class to fulfill a requirement, but he was pre-med. He was motivated and very driven. He knew exactly what he wanted. His father had died from a brain tumor when he was a child and he always wanted to go into oncology. If he had lived I think he might have cured cancer. He was absolutely brilliant. His mother didn't manage well on her own and she remarried too quickly. Dylan was never close with his stepfather. Theirs was a contentious relationship. I think it was violent at times. If I trace back his anger, it really started then. Anyway, we became each other’s families. When the rest of campus was going home for holidays, we'd hole up together with a sad little Christmas tree and a store bought ham. I was never so happy in my entire life. It really was like that for the first years. He changed later, during his residency when the pressure and exhaustion became too much. God, I always sound like I am making excuses for him. Anyway, after college we married, and when he finished med school he stayed on at Hopkins. I had odd jobs, nothing that became a career. We traveled a bit. I joined him on a Doctors Without Borders sort of trip to Africa, sponsored by Hopkins. Before we left he surprised me with my first Nikon. It was more than we could afford at the time, but he knew something I did not and photography quickly stopped being my hobby and became my life. It gave me a magical tool to access all of this creative energy I never could tap. It was like giving sight to a blind man. Dylan gave me that."
Circling The Shadows Page 14
