Beyond the Quiet

by Brenda Hill

  The hunger in Terry’s eyes was almost the same, and for some strange reason, I couldn’t look away. My breathing quickened and a trickle of sweat rolled under my bra. I swallowed, then realized how dry my throat felt.

  How could my mouth be so dry when the rest of my body felt like liquid fire?

  I stirred sweetener in my tea, embarrassed to discover my fingers were trembling.

  When Terry took my hand and gently squeezed it, I forgot the tea. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and suddenly the sound of dishes clattering and the conversation at the next table evaporated into silence. All I could hear was my heart beating, and with each throb, my traitorous body responded. He raised my hand to his mouth, and holding my eyes with his, he gently brushed the top of my hand with his lips. The touch was so light I shouldn’t have felt much at all, but fire blazed all the way to my toes, melting everything in its path. My nipples hardened, scratching the lace in my bra. My panties flooded with desire.

  Here I was, a forty-three-year-old woman and I’d never felt anything like that in my entire life. At that moment, if he’d suggested a motel room, I would have led the way.

  Then, like a worm in an apple, I thought of his wife, or ex-wife, as he’d said. For a brief moment I wondered if I could believe him and then realized it didn’t matter. In no way did I want any kind of a relationship with a man, and I had no intentions of leading him or anyone else on. I jerked my hand from his. How could I have allowed myself to respond to this man? And in a public place? I couldn’t look at him.

  “This shouldn’t be happening,” I muttered. “I’m newly widowed and you’re a divorced man. By the way, just how long have you been divorced?”

  “I left her a year ago and took a small apartment in Redlands, but I didn’t file right away. I thought it would be easier for her that way. She’s still living in our house in Loma Linda, but it’s up for sale. I’m helping her find a smaller place.”

  “I suppose she’s agreed to all this, and it’s also just fine that you’re here with me now.”

  “Of course not.” For the first time he seemed uncomfortable. He poured more sugar into his coffee and stirred. I hoped it was cold.

  “Betty doesn’t want the divorce,” he continued, not looking at me. He kept his eyes on his cup. “Never did. She fought it until I filed, hoping I’d change my mind. But I had to do it.”

  “You had to divorce her? Why, Terry? Never mind, I know. ‘She didn’t understand me,’ or how about the classic, ‘She’s cold in bed?’” I glared at him, not understanding why I felt such rage. I’d made a life-study of how to appear cool and calm in every situation, how to not let things get to me. Yet here I was, sitting next to this man who brought out emotions I’d never dared to feel. And I didn’t like it, didn’t know how to handle this raging disquiet.

  “The simple truth is, I never loved her.” He said it so quietly, so simply that I didn’t question him.

  Picturing the nervous, wiry-haired woman and this passionate man, I could agree they were perhaps a mismatch. But I’d known of other marriages that had overcome more difficult obstacles and were perfectly happy.

  “So why did you marry her?”

  “We’d been married for almost thirty years, and I never strayed. I made a commitment and I stuck with it, no matter what. Then something happened to change everything. I woke up and couldn’t stand to spend another day in a stale, passionless existence. I moved out and kept asking for a divorce, finally filed the papers a couple of months ago. I was going to give her the house and anything else she wanted, but she said she didn’t want to live in our house by herself. So I started looking for a place for her.”

  “It must have been difficult for her.”

  “I’m sorry about that, but it was the right thing for me to do. She’s still young enough to have a life with someone who truly loves her and I hope she does. But right now, I want a life for myself.” He took my hand in both of his, holding it, cradling it as if it were precious. “As soon as I saw you, I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d been marking time, just existing, not dating, not seeing anyone. But seeing you proved that I was still alive, that I could still want something. You see, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  I believed him and suddenly, the anger disappeared. Perhaps it was the sincerity in his voice, perhaps it was pure body chemistry, but I found myself leaning toward him, drawn toward him with a yearning I didn’t understand. All I was certain of was that I wanted to hear more.

  Then something he’d said made me pause.

  “What do you mean, you’d been marking time?”

  He sighed. “Let me give you some background, Lisa. I know it’s asking a lot, but I really want you to know.” He sipped his coffee. “It’s cold.”

  Strange, but I didn’t feel the same satisfaction I would have felt just a few moments ago.

  He signaled the server for coffee and asked her to refill my tea. After our drinks were served, he began again, talking about growing up after his father died in an automobile accident when he was three, and how his mother struggled to raise him. She’d worked in an office, making just over minimum wage.

  “She wanted me to get involved in boy things,” he said, keeping his eyes on his coffee, “cub scouts and sports, but they always required extra money. We never had enough—for anything. I went to work as soon as I could, then joined the navy. Unlike most people, I loved it and would’ve stayed in—except I met Betty. Typical story. I was on leave in San Diego and my buddy fixed me up with a blind date. I was young, had too many beers, and next thing I knew, Betty was pregnant. I told her I’d take care of her, so I married her. I honor my commitments, and we’d been married ever since—until a few months ago. End of story.”

  “But wait, it’s not the end of the story. If you didn’t love her, why didn’t you divorce later?”

  He shrugged. “I’d never had much of a family. My grandparents were all dead, and my aunts, uncles, and cousins were spread over the country. I love kids, and she was going to have mine.”

  “So you have children?”

  He shook his head. “She had an accident. Some guy hit her car. She miscarried and had to have an emergency hysterectomy.”

  “Yet you stayed married?” I wasn’t sure why I was asking all those questions. After all, we would never see one another again. And yet....

  “She was really broken up about the miscarriage,” he told me, “so I didn’t want to add to her pain. At that time, it didn’t matter. I went to work, came home, did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

  “Were you happy?”

  “Happy?” He shrugged. “I didn’t allow myself to think about it, not until recently. If I felt something was missing, I ignored it. Too many things I wanted to do. I worked, got my education, saved money so we could travel. So many places I wanted to see in this world. Just not enough time.”

  “You keep saying things like that. Why? What did you mean when you said you didn’t have much time?”

  “That, as they say, is another story. Right now I want to talk about you.”

  Having been so totally immersed in what he was saying, I found it difficult to break away, to return to my world. He’d managed to make me feel the loneliness he didn’t talk about, and the lack of courage or strong enough desire to make a change.

  The flash of headlights outside the restaurant caught my eye and I realized it had grown dark. Glancing at my watch, I was astonished to see how late it was. We had, it seemed, spent hours together, hours that had passed like minutes.

  “I have to go, Terry. So much is going on in my life right now that I don’t know if I can handle anything else.”

  On the ride back to my car we didn’t talk, but I felt totally comfortable. Terry played a CD of instrumental New Age music I hadn’t heard, and while it was soothing, the haunting sound of the flutes brought tears. I had a hard time keeping them back.

  When we pulled beside my car at the old house, the nei
ghborhood appeared normal. No police tape, no crowds.

  Terry turned off the engine. He didn’t try to kiss me; instead, he ran one finger down my arm and took my hand in his. I didn’t resist. How could I? There was something special about him that made me feel as if I were someone special.

  Sitting quietly in the car, our hands clasped together, I realized Terry had touched me more today than anyone had in a very long time. Oh sure, there had been the customary pecks on the cheek from Shanna, the brief hugs from Stan and Maggie or from friends after the funeral, but nothing else in too long a time. I couldn’t even remember the last time Mac and I had made love. It had to be long before his illness progressed and took away his drive. While I hadn’t missed the sex, many times I desperately wanted someone who cared enough simply to put his arms around me and hold me.

  “What time shall I pick you up tomorrow?” Terry asked. “Breakfast would be nice, although if I must, I can wait until lunch.”

  Even though I was surprised at how much I’d enjoyed this evening, I couldn’t afford to spend time with him. Not only did I have to get my life in control as far as my finances were concerned, but there was no way I could live with myself if I started a new relationship with someone this soon after my husband’s death. Yet I didn’t want the evening to end. What kind of a woman was I?

  I opened the car door. “I appreciate what you did for me today, but I don’t have time for a relationship now. I don’t even want one.”

  “You can’t do this, Lisa. We have so much to talk about, a lifetime to catch up on. A future to share. Besides, you want to hear the rest of my story, don’t you? And I want to know everything about you—”

  And so, instead of getting out of the car like I should have done, I sat wishing...what? That things were different? That I could’ve been different? But I couldn’t wish a lifetime away. After all, I’d been blessed with a beautiful daughter and grandson. So what did I wish for? The tragedy was that I didn’t know.

  “What is it, Lisa? Tell me. I’ll help. I’ll do anything for you, you know that.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Sliding out of the seat, I hurried to my car before I could change my mind.

  ***

  When I entered my home, I stopped abruptly. A sudden, chilling feeling washed over me that something was different. The atmosphere felt different I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so I stood by the door and snapped on all the lights. Nothing appeared out of place. The wing chair stood next to Mac’s sofa, and nothing looked disturbed.

  Cautiously, my heart thumping in an unknown fear, I made my way through the lower level, flipping on lights as I went, but again, everything looked normal. I made my way up the stairs to my bedroom. Hesitating by the door, I snapped on the lights, aware that my heart was thumping so loud that I felt sure anyone near me could hear it. I took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the room. Everything looked okay. I checked the corners, the closet, and even looked under the bed like an old woman. I found nothing. I opened my jewelry box, but everything was in its place, even the one good diamond ring Mac had given me on our twentieth anniversary. Nothing was missing, so I breathed a little easier. Just to make sure, I checked the rest of the upstairs and found nothing amiss.

  Getting ready for bed, I opened my underwear drawer for a clean pair of pajamas, but when I was changing, something nigged at me. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I went back to the drawer and inspected the contents: several stacks of pjs, bras, and panties, all neatly folded as usual. I kept looking them over and couldn’t figure out what bothered me. Then I noticed the top pair of panties. They looked just slightly out of place, the fold just a little different from the rest. I pulled them out and realized it was a pair I’d worn yesterday. How did they get into my clean drawer? Had I unthinkingly put them back with the clean underwear? But I was a creature of habit and I didn’t think I’d do such a thing.

  Had someone broken in and gone through my personal things? Suddenly I felt sick. Checking both the front and back doors, I saw they were secure with no signs of a break-in. I picked up the phone to call the police, but just as I began to punch 9-1-1, I thought about what they’d ask: Has your home been burglarized? No. Is anyone in the house now? No. Is anything missing? No. So, lady, why are you calling? I found a pair of dirty panties in my drawer.

  Feeling ridiculous, I replaced the phone, dropped the panties into the hamper and slid into bed. I’d been so unnerved the past few days that I could have put the panties back into the drawer without realizing what I was doing. One time when I was watching TV after an argument with Mac, I got up to get something from the fridge. Later, when I wanted to change channels, I couldn’t find the remote, and after tearing the house upside down, Mac found it in the fridge. So of course, that’s all it was. I turned out the light and settled down to get some rest.

  But I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. With every creak of the house, my eyes popped open. Finally, when the dawn threw a pale light into the room, I slept.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day Maggie called with an invitation. Stan had a sudden delay in a court date and they decided to take a trip to Lake Tahoe. Although she pretended that inviting me to join them had nothing to do with being hesitant to leave me alone, I knew better.

  “Take your vacation and enjoy every moment,” I told her. “You and Stan have stayed close ever since Mac first received his diagnosis and you deserve some time to yourselves. I’m fine.” Maybe that wasn’t quite true, but I needed to work out things on my own.

  I hadn’t told them about Terry, partly because I felt ashamed that I was even thinking about another man so soon after Mac’s death. And, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. I only knew I couldn’t allow myself to get involved.

  But I didn’t understand why I kept thinking of him. At the oddest times, I’d picture the way his mouth curved in that wry smile of his, or I saw that little tummy he kept trying to hold in. Most of all, I’d remember the expression in his eyes when he looked at me, and I felt more alive, more wanted, than any time I’d spent in twenty-five years of lovemaking with Mac. I was horrified at that thought, but I couldn’t deny it. Perhaps one day I’d figure out why.

  But not now. Now I had too much to do just to survive.

  Over the next few days Terry called several times, sometimes twice a day, but this wasn’t the time for either of us. I had to get some money coming in, so I begged him to stop calling. Then, when he persisted, I let the machine pick up, and after about six times of not reaching me, he finally quit calling.

  Feeling a restlessness that nothing seemed to ease, I explored most of the homes on the foreclosure list west of Yucaipa into Redlands and San Bernardino and east to Beaumont and Banning.

  A former stagecoach stop, Banning had been a tiny desert community, a quick place for gas and fast food while on the way to Palm Springs or other desert communities further inland. Then, just past Banning, the Morongo Casino had undergone a major remodeling; now, their twenty-seven-story hotel and spa was a lighted monolith in the desert valley. Soaring real estate prices in the coastal cities forced commuters further inland and seniors flocked into the area. Upscale golf course retirement villages with floodlit palm trees and bubbling fountains opened, a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart sprang up seemingly overnight, and Banning’s forgotten downtown was dusted off and small Mom and Pop businesses moved into vacant storefronts. The town was alive and growing, but like everywhere else in the country, people spent more than they made. Foreclosures could be found almost everywhere. I held three impromptu open houses and wrote several contracts.

  Most agents rank hosting an open house on the same level as a trip to the proctologist, but I had always enjoyed the entire process. I especially loved matching a home I’d toured to a client’s needs and often took prospective buyers to other listings after the open house. Keeping photos and descriptions helped and I kept my notebook within reach.

  So far I’d written four contracts, and if even only one closed, I’
d have some money coming in. Of course, most of it would go right back out, but at least some of the squeezing sensation around my chest had started to ease and I could take a deep breath.

  Driving home on I-10, I passed Desert Lawn Cemetery and remembered an article in our local paper. A few years ago, a Yucaipa housewife heard about a duffel bag tossed from a car on a freeway. Inside was the body of a newborn baby boy. Horrified, the Yucaipa woman couldn’t forget the image of that abandoned baby’s body all alone in a coroner’s office, so she made inquiries, collected the body, and with her family’s approval, used her own savings to buy a plot at Desert Lawn. After learning about the discovery of two more dead infants, she contacted a local senator, and the Safe Arms for Newborns law was drawn up and passed, legislation that allowed mothers to turn over their newborns without recrimination within three days of birth.

  And, with help from donations and volunteers, the special Garden of Angels section of the cemetery held several abandoned babies whose bodies could otherwise have remained in storage for several years.