That’s when I remembered that I still didn’t know if he was free.
I saw the lights come on in the house. Chris was home and I hadn’t made dinner. Or poured Cognac. I hadn’t been in the house at all. I’d booked my hotel room for one more night.
And then Tim’s words obliterated all other thought.
Tara:
I just want you to know that I’m so happy to hear from you. I never had any doubts that you would be famous someday. I remember your older brother. We were at your house and sitting at the dining room table. I can still remember to this day that he played “Hot August Night” by Neil Diamond. Whenever I hear that song I always think of that day and you.
I never married but was in a relationship for the past twenty some years until about six months ago when she left me for another man. One who would marry her. They got married this past fall and she’s pregnant already.
He caught me up on his life then. His mother was gone. And his brother Mike, too, who had died suddenly of a heart attack on Thanksgiving a few years before.
He mentioned my dad, too, telling me that he knew my father had never liked him.
Tara, the one thing that I want you to know is that I was very much in love with you. I know our relationship seemed physical all the time, but at that time I didn’t really know how to express my true feelings. To this day I regret how I treated you and made you feel. So, please don’t ever doubt how I felt about you. The biggest regret I have is when I let you walk away from me that day in the hall when you asked for your ring back. I didn’t want you to know how much that hurt. I should have gone after you. I’m sorry for that. I don’t mean to be too sentimental about the past, but it does bother me that things ended so suddenly and without any emotions on my part. Every now and then I catch myself thinking back to that cold and rainy Oct. day when this cute little blonde haired girl from my geology class talked to me. You had me from that moment. I can remember that next Monday trying to find you everywhere on campus. I even had Steve looking for you, and then there you and Ann were outside the library.
Whenever I meet someone, I always judge my feelings about them based on that good feeling I had when I met you at October Daze. Oh, by the way I would have taken you back in a heartbeat.
Let’s talk soon. You know it’s very intimidating writing a letter to an accomplished writer such as yourself!
Lots of Love to You!!!
Tim
I finished the letter, and my blurred gaze went immediately back to the top of the page. “Tara, the one thing that I want you to know . . .”
I was sobbing by the time I got through that paragraph a second time. He couldn’t possibly have known, but Tim had just given me back a piece of myself.
For all these years, I’d felt like I’d given Tim something precious and he’d just used me. I’d felt like the whore that James had called me. Like maybe James had been right and I had something wrong with me— something that called out to men, inviting them to do bad things to me. And it hadn’t been that way at all. I’d given myself to a man I adored. A man who’d loved me, too. A man who’d still been boy enough to fumble at communicating his feelings. It hadn’t been lust that had driven Tim’s behavior, but the love I’d believed in.
I read the letter a couple of times more, slowly, taking it all in. Maybe this was why Tim had found me now, right at the time I was coming to terms with myself and taking control of my life. Was he there to set me fully and completely free from the binds of my past?
From the belief that I was somehow bad?
My face was still wet with tears as I read the closing over and over. Lots of Love. The exact words I’d used all those years ago when I’d needed to tell him I loved him, but couldn’t come right out and say the words without him having done so first.
My fingers flew on the keyboard.
Tim,
I’m leaving my office and I have plans this evening but I’ve got much to say about your letter. The universe has been active today and I am very thankful. More on that tomorrow.
Send me your address and I’ll send you a book to read.
Sleep well.
Tara
Sleep well. It was warm. Loving. Without committing to any more than a reconnection between old friends.
Still, with a smile on my face, and a huge weight lifted from my life, I locked up the office, walked out to my car, and went to meet a local writer friend I’d called earlier in the day. She was divorced, had a huge house, and was struggling to make ends meet. By evening’s end we’d agreed that, as of the next day, I was her new boarder.
The next morning, after a night’s sleep filled with dreams of Tim, I checked out of the hotel, drove through a local fast-food place for a diet cola, and headed straight for my office. My head was spinning with things to say to Tim.
I had two critical deadlines pressing down on me. I’d just signed papers to end my marriage. And I was walking with a lilt in my step.
I didn’t even notice if Chris was still in the house as I took the paved path around back. I couldn’t get to my desk fast enough.
I bypassed my usual morning album, and seconds after I was inside the room, Neil Diamond’s voice filled the space. I felt like it was a hot August night.
There was another message from Tim.
You are a true mystery writer Miss Tara: “I have much to say about your letter! More tomorrow.”
His address followed and then . . .
Lots of love
Tim
Lots of love. Again. He was putting something out there. I had to find out what it was. The fact that I was no longer capable of fully engaging in a relationship wasn’t even enough to stop me. We were a continent apart. A full relationship was out of the question anyway.
And as I scrolled through my inbox, I saw that he’d written to me later that night as well.
Tara: Just a quick note. I just realized that there was a link in your signature attached to your website. I went to it and was very impressed! Tim
He’d read up on me. And now he knew I was successful. That I’d made something of my life. There was a picture of Chris and me on my website.
And Tim was backing up. He’d signed the post, simply, Tim. No love anywhere. Not even a Have a nice day.
I panicked.
I wasn’t going to lose him again.
Lose him? I didn’t have him. Couldn’t have him. I wasn’t a complete woman anymore. I was TTQ, a successful, two-dimensional standin for the person Tara had been. I was being totally honest now. No more hiding or pretending. A part of me had died that night with James on the country road. TTQ was the person who’d emerged from the darkness. She was my protection. And my strength.
And Tim’s hints of love were threatening TTQ’s stability.
But apparently parts of Tara had survived. And apparently that girl had more of a say over my life than I realized.
And so I began what turned out to be a flurry of e-mails over the next twenty-four hours.
Tim,
I was very touched about your memory of my brother and Neil Diamond. Out of the blue you write that—without knowing that Neil is the connection we all keep to him.
I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. I remember him. I loved being at his house; it felt safe and full of love and family.
I don’t remember that my father didn’t like you. I actually can’t ever remember the two of you being in the same room! Wonder why I blocked that? Maybe because I was blocking him so I could breathe. What I do remember is how much my mother adored you. She was always after me to be good to you and encouraged me to spend time with you.
Do you still lift weights?
I deleted the line. And then put it back in. And then TTQ took over again, philosophizing because that’s what she did. Life had taught her a lot. She talked to him about finding perfect moments amid the cacophony of life. She talked to him about her writer friends. And about how hard the public aspects of her job used to be for her. I w
anted him to know and understand TTQ. To know that I was TTQ. And then Tara popped up again.
That’s what’s so nice about you. You just know me—without all the trappings—and you’re reminding me of who I really am, the person inside. You wrote to me without knowing or caring anything about my career.
It’s nice. Very nice. Sometimes I lose track of the girl I used to be and I miss her a lot.
I’ve thought about you a lot over the years and want to hear about your life.
Thanks for listening. It’s done my heart very good to meet up with you again.
A wave of fear passed over me and TTQ swooped in.
I’m out of here for today. I’m on deadline and this week is going to have some late nights, but if I start this early in the week, I’ll be in trouble by the end. So . . . until tomorrow . . .
Tara
Tim was at home alone, pushing himself to the limit on the treadmill that night. In twenty-four hours his entire life had turned upside down. Tara was there! And yet . . . she wasn’t. She was answering him. But her letters were so formal. Because she was blowing him off?
When he heard the new message alert on his computer on the other side of the spare bedroom that was both workout room and office, he flipped the treadmill off and went to see what she’d written.
Parts of the post didn’t sound like his Tara. But other parts did.
And as he read her exposition of her life, he started to understand a bit better.
Out of everything she’d written, those lines stood out. He read them again. And wrote back immediately.
I’d left the office, but I didn’t leave Tim behind. I pulled up my e-mail on my smartphone and watched for a reply to my post. My stomach was in knots. His name popped up while I was in my car in the parking lot of a pizza place. I was taking dinner home to my new landlord and her kid.
Okay, I needed that. I had no idea what I was walking into. I just kept thinking that I was pouring out my heart to you and telling you how much you mean to me now and in past years, and all you were giving me was this journalist view of your life.I never even once thought of you as this person who received fan mail and dealt with all the other stuff that goes with being out in the public. Again, my view of you is this cute little blonde girl who broke my heart at Wright State. I can now understand why you were so matter of fact in your conversations—duh, I get it now. Forgive me, I was only thinking of myself and my emotions and not taking yours into account. Please just feel safe with me. I HAVE NO HIDDEN MOTIVE, only want to reconnect after a lot of years and catch up.
I want to find out more about your past and listen to your feelings. I’m good at reading between the lines, and I feel and hear a lot of pain. We can share that later if you want. Mostly I want you to know I will always listen if you need. Talk later.
P.S. You really sounded like you need a hug today.
Tim
I hit reply, but couldn’t see the small keyboard on my phone through my tears. I took the pizza home. I went to bed. And wished that I could lay my head on Tim’s chest and go to sleep.
Twenty
THE NEXT MORNING WHEN I OPENED MY E-MAIL, THERE was another message from Tim in my inbox. And I opened the post with mixed emotions. I needed Tim so desperately. And I couldn’t be the other half of his whole.
Tara,
I thought about you a lot over the years and always wondered how you were doing, and what you were doing. Do you remember when I came to see you in the summer of 1980 after we had broken up? You were engaged to some guy named James. And you were different. I’ve always wondered why.
The other day I was reading the letters you wrote to me from Armstrong. They were cute, and I loved them. I’m going to scan them and send them to you, to remind you of who you were, in case you have forgotten. Because the truth is, no matter how famous you get I just can’t see you that way. I will always see you as my October Daze girl. Oh, by the way I have a newspaper clipping of the article you wrote for the Dayton Daily News about the commissioner’s race. That was the night you shushed me when I was trying to talk to you.
Tara, I’m really sad to see that you have such thick walls. I understand why, but you have to let some people in your life. I know it can be difficult to let people see your heart because they can easily break it, but a broken heart is just like anything else broken—it can be put back together with the right glue and touch.
I really like talking with you and hearing about your life. I don’t want you to worry about saying or doing the right thing, just let it out and be yourself. I like that.
Well, October, I’ve got to go. I’m killing my spell check and grammar check (I’ve never seen so many red and green lines).
Take Care of Yourself.
Love you,
Tim
Oh, God. He was doing it to me again. Pulling me into him. Just like he had in geology class all those years ago. I had to say no. Even if we didn’t live a country apart, I couldn’t give him anything but friendship. I couldn’t do this—couldn’t let him consume my life. Couldn’t let something build between us.
My heart didn’t listen to me. It listened to him.
It was almost impossible to believe that only two days had passed since I’d first heard from Classmates.com. My entire universe had tilted.
I wrote back to him first thing. Or, rather, TTQ did.
Okay, I have to say, I love the part about red and green lines! I feel for your spell check! Those lines are some of my best friends, you know, so watch how you treat them!
And I’d love to see the letters I sent from Armstrong. I have such mixed emotions about that time in my life. That’s where I met James. So much for safety and security at this little cloistered church school!
I remember that day you came to the house. I remember being so confused and feeling trapped by everything. Everyone wanted something from me, expected things from me, and I was so lost. I was struggling to put one foot in front of the other. I was trying so hard to do what I thought was right. I think the fact that I agreed to see you was very telling.
I’m very very sorry I hurt you. It was not knowingly. I had no idea how much you honestly cared. I wish I’d known. I really thought you were prompted by a part of your anatomy a little farther down than the heart. If it gives you any sense of justice, I suffered hugely. The universe didn’t let me hurt someone and run off into the sunset.
Tara
And as soon as I finished the note to Tim, I sent out an S.O.S. to my two closest writer friends.
“I’m in over my head,” I wrote to them. I told them about Tim. About the past two days. And I asked them if I was making a mistake. If I was doing something wrong. If I was being selfish. After all, Chris and I had just signed divorce papers. I wasn’t even moved out of his house yet.
In just moments I heard back.
Tara,
You are separated. You should be divorced. But you ARE definitely separated. You can do any damn thing you want to do, including having conversations with an old college friend.
That definitely does NOT make you selfish. You have stuck with Chris far longer than he deserves, and he has abused and misused you emotionally. You deserve to feel special . . .
And in the same batch of mail was a one-line note from Tim.
Finally, Tara has arrived! Welcome, glad you could join me.
Tim
He was pushing me. I was tense. Scared. And so driven to connect with him that I couldn’t listen to reason. I didn’t answer him, either. And a couple of hours later, I heard from him again.
Okay, you’re in the pool with no life preserver. Start swimming! I finally got to look a little deeper inside your life. Can I hear more about your relationship with James? Did you guys have any good moments?
Tim
Tim didn’t really want to hear about James. He wanted to know her, and he was frustrated as hell. The epistles she was sending him were a smokescreen. One that was easy for him to see through.
The
re were things she wasn’t telling him, and if they were going to have half a hope of making it this time, he had to know what those things were.
Making it this time?
Was he really considering the idea that he and Tara had a future together?
Tim asked the question, but he already knew the answer. He’d lost twenty-seven years of his life for needing this woman. He couldn’t let her just slip away again.
And it wasn’t just his own need that drove him. He could feel Tara’s pain between the lines of her letters. He had to help.
But first he had to get her to tell him what he was helping with.
He watched for her response to his challenge. And read it as soon as it came through.
I don’t speak about James. He’s never mentioned in my presence. Ever. Not by anyone. My mother and I have never spoken about him since the whole thing happened. Even my husband, Chris, never knew a thing about him. If there’s something specific you’d like to know about him, ask. I can’t just brainstorm him. I suppose there must have been good moments. I can’t remember any.
Tara
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. His fingers tripped over themselves as he typed.
What the hell? Her husband?
It Happened on Maple Street Page 19
