“No, I can’t,” I murmur wearily. If only she knew what turmoil has been unleashed in my heart, she wouldn’t ask me to face him. I lack the strength.
“You have to give him a second chance, Gil. You have to give yourself a second chance, otherwise you’ll never be happy.”
*
The night seems too long for someone who, like me, has forgotten how to devote it to sleep over the last two weeks. The fact that the days are getting longer doesn’t help. I turn over in bed for the millionth time, and for the millionth time I look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It seems to have moved to a parallel dimension in which time doesn’t pass. I grunt in frustration and stick my head under the sheet when the vibration on my cell phone forces me to suddenly resurface. Who can it be at two o’clock in the morning? I look at the screen in alarm and hold my breath when I see those five letters arranged in an overly familiar order. Maybe I’m dreaming… I’ve dreamt of him so often in the few hours I’ve slept these last few days. I mechanically slide my finger across the screen and put the phone to my ear.
“Are you having a hard time sleeping?” his deep voice elicits the usual shiver that runs quickly along my spine. If I thought I could glimpse the end of the tunnel, I’ll have to revise my calculations, because it doesn’t look like I’ve made big steps forward if hearing him through a receiver is enough to feel this tide of emotions.
“Looks like you are, too.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, frustrated.
“Where are you?” a crazy hope flashes through my mind.
“Out here,” he admits. I jump out of bed and go over to the window that overlooks the entrance path. I move away the curtain to look outside and I see him out there, leaning against his white Toyota, lit only by the lamp posts shedding warm light onto the street.
“Why did you call?”
“Gil, you have to let me explain, please!” he insists determinedly raising his head towards me. I can’t make out his face, but I can imagine the flash of light shining in the emerald of his eyes. It always happens when he’s talking about something he cares about.
“Everyone thinks I should give you the chance to explain,” and when I say everyone, I mean literally everyone – except Lillian, in fact.
“And what do you think?”
“I think of hundreds of ways of eliminating you from my life,” I confess in one breath. He sighs and looks down for a couple of seconds, then raises his head again. He pulls away from the car and takes a step up the path.
“I see,” he replies calmly. “May I know which is the best?”
“Garroting you with a rusty wire.” I see his smile broaden despite the distance. His white teeth stand out in his overshadowed face.
“Are you sure? It would be a lengthy job,” he tries to dissuade me.
“That’s the point,” I reply.
“I didn’t make you out to be so bloody,” he says ironically.
“My second name is Mary.”
“You never said.”
“You said your name was Dalloway,” I retort.
“Dalloway… yeah, it’s my mother’s maiden name,” he guiltily explains.
“You should have told me,” I repeat for the umpteenth time, as if saying it often enough could turn back time and correct the course of events.
“Yes, I should have,” he admits immediately. “I would have that evening.” Right, he wanted to talk, I remember quite well. Too bad somebody ruined his scoop ahead of time.
“You should have told me sooner,” I reply rancorously. “Before I fell in love with someone who possibly doesn’t even exist; before it was too late.” I feel the heat of new tears beginning to stream down my cheeks, my voice trembles and I hope he doesn’t notice. I don’t want him to know I’m crying like a little girl, I don’t want him to insist on consoling me, because I might just let him, and that would be the end.
“I know, Gil, believe me, I know. At first you were a nobody I wouldn’t tell uncomfortable details about myself, my life, and the mistakes I wanted to bury so deep that I’d forget them. Then something changed. I discovered I felt something for you, I thought it was simple attraction, something I could easily ignore, but I was mistaken. When I realized how deep you had dug down in me, I met your father. I knew the face of every employee who lost his job because of me, I knew all their names by heart, and my world came tumbling down around me. You couldn’t be the daughter of one of them, it couldn’t be true,” I feel a weight on my stomach that grows heavier with his every word, and I don’t want to listen, because I think I understand him and I’m not sure I want to – I’m not sure of anything anymore. I grasp my cell phone, uncertain if I should end the conversation here or not, but then he resumes talking and I can’t, I can’t pull away from this stupid window or this stupid phone.
“I was afraid of losing you, Gil. I was afraid of losing you before I even really had you. So I know I should have told you, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t willing to pay the price the revelation would cost me, I’m not willing to pay it now, either,” he insists firmly. I look at him standing in the pathway. My tears have wet my pajama top and my words can’t get past the knot in my throat.
“Gil, please, say something,” he murmurs into the phone. His voice is low but I perceive it as a scream. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and try to catch my breath.
“I can’t trust you,” I say quickly so my voice won’t crack.
“Yes, you can,” he insists. How I wish it were true.
“You didn’t tell me the truth, Jared, you didn’t trust me. How can I trust you?” it’s more of a prayer than a question. I wish he had the answer, the magic recipe to erase the disappointment that has taken root and seems will never go away. “You should have trusted me… I would have understood.”
“Now I know that,” he replies simply, lowering his head. No recipe, no solution. There’s no going back. Exhausted, I let go of the curtain and the room is once again enveloped in darkness.
“I don’t want to give you up,” I hear him whisper before I hang up. I don’t either, I find myself thinking as I slip back into bed and bury my face in the pillow.
18
“Gil, dear,” Jane bursts into the shop from the door that leads into the entrance hall. She is wearing one of those smiles that wrinkles her whole face and a floral dress I have never seen before.
“Jane,” I greet her donning a smile. I’m getting used to it, it’s the only way to simulate some happiness. I don’t recognize myself anymore, I didn’t use to be like this: I was always smiling, I was happy. Now I’m missing something.
“I was thinking,” she begins, joining me at the counter where I’m finishing applying flowers to the beige felt cloche hat on which I’ve been working for the past two days. “Since you opened for business, you’ve been spending more time here than at home, am I wrong?” she seeks confirmation.
“No, Jane, you’re never wrong.”
“In fact,” she agrees, observing my work with a curious attentiveness. “Why don’t you take the empty apartment upstairs? It’s already furnished, you would only have to bring your belongings, so when you’re late you’re not forced to endure those horrible bus rides,” she suggests with a disgusted expression. She must not be very used to public transport – buses aren’t all that bad, maybe a bit uncomfortable at times, but not bad.
“Actually…”
“Don’t even try saying you can’t afford the rent, because this time I won’t even listen to you, dear. You’re so tired, you need to rest a bit, and I’m sure that having a stable pied-a-terre where you can spend the night would be a good start,” she insists unyieldingly. It’s true, over the past few days I never have managed to make it home before eleven, but the reason wasn’t a surplus of work. I got more tired during the renovation. The truth is that I can’t sleep at night, so I prefer to use my time productively rather than turn over and over in bed for hours.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
�
��Of course it is. If you don’t want the apartment, you can stay at my place when you’re late. I thought you cherished your privacy, that’s why I thought of the apartment, but if you prefer a room, that’s fine with me,” she insists with conviction.
“Is there anything I can say to turn down your offer?” I ask, just to make sure. As usual with Jane, I’ve driven myself into a cul-de-sac. I had to accept it when I read her lease contract: it’s hard to call a rent of sixty-seven dollars per month, which will become sixty-eight when she turns that age and so on, a payment. For sure she won’t live to be five hundred, so the rent will remain paltry.
“No, my dear, not a thing,” she replies steadfastly.
“Why are you doing all this for me?” I ask, incapable of curbing my curiosity.
“I’m not doing it just for you, Gil. I’d do it for anyone,” she explains with a smile. “It’s one of the few pleasures left to this old lady. Besides, I forced Ernest to fix up the apartment over the past few days – if he doesn’t see his efforts have come to something, he’ll be very disappointed, don’t you think?” Wily as ever. Jane is truly Machiavellian sometimes. Poor Ernest.
“Yes, I think so too,” I am forced to agree.
“I knew you would see my point. So, here are the keys, second floor,” she reminds me, handing me an iron ring with a key hanging from it. As I take it, my brain registers the last words that came out of her mouth: ‘second floor’… Her ‘I’m not doing it just for you’ suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. I’m about to protest, when I realize she’s already in the entrance hall.
“Get some boxes ready this evening so tomorrow afternoon Ernest can come by with his car and help you bring them here. See you soon, dear,” she hurriedly takes her leave. I tend to forget her surprising agility. Darn.
It may be the exhaustion, but I was incapable of preventing Grandma Natalie from helping me pack up the few things I brought to her house since I moved to Fall River. When I asked for her help in getting out of this devilish plan, her response was totally unexpected. Instead of backing me, she went up to my room and began folding up my clothes, incessantly repeating that after all Jane is right, that she’s not comfortable knowing I’m out and about after midnight, and that she would rest easier if I stayed there to sleep. The result was that two hours were all it took to pack everything up with the approval of the woman who should have been strenuously opposed to me moving out. I’d rather not dwell on it. Playing on her feelings of guilt, telling her that her eagerness to be rid of me was solely due to the fact that she didn’t want me underfoot any more, was also totally useless. I know, it sounded crazy in my head even before I said it out loud, but desperation pushes you to try anything, even the most base trick.
“Aren’t you going to bed?” Grandma asks, seeing me sitting on the couch staring at the TV screen after supper.
“Yes, in a minute.”
“What’s the matter?” she sits next to me and takes the remote control from my hands to turn the television off.
“Nothing, Grandma, I’m fine.”
“I can imagine, honey, that it hurts, but you can’t continue denying what is obvious to everyone.”
“What are you talking about?” I turn to look into those hazel eyes which only Father and Lillian inherited.
“You’re in love with that boy,” she replies with disarming straightforwardness. I look down, embarrassed. “Seconding an emotion is never a lack of coherence.”
“It’s complicated,” I simply state.
“You keep saying that, but you’re a simple person, why don’t you just follow your nature?”
“You were the one who told me trust is fundamental,” I remind her, returning my gaze to her face. “And I don’t know if I trust him anymore.”
“Trust yourself, what you feel,” she urges me. As if that were easy. She knows how torn I am and decides to leave me alone with my thoughts. She stands and kisses me on my temple, like she did when I was little, then she gives me an encouraging smile and leaves.
I try to reflect on her words, but every time I stop to think of him, I am assailed by a devastating sadness. All I want is to have him back with me, to embrace him once again, to hear his voice and feel his lips on my own. After all, what damage can it do to give in to this? Does it make any more sense to sit here waiting for it to pass? It won’t pass, Margherita said so, too. So why don’t I make my mind up and knock on his door? Why can’t I do it? Vexed, I get up from the couch and mount the stairs two at a time. The truth is that I know perfectly well what’s stopping me: I’m angry with him for thinking I was a slave to prejudice and incapable of understanding him like everyone else – and I haven’t got over it yet.
*
I glance distractedly at my watch as the last client leaves the shop. It’s nearly eight, and Ernest came by two hours ago to tell me he brought the boxes up to the apartment that Jane forced me to lease – though I have to admit I didn’t put up too much of a fight. I should start emptying them before it gets too late. I pull down the shutter, tidy up the hats that have been left around so as to find everything in order tomorrow morning, and step out into the entrance hall. Mounting the stairs to the second floor sets my heart aflutter – I’m anxious. Once I reach the landing, I find my few belongings piled in front of the door and the man I was hoping I wouldn’t see – what a liar I am! – leaning against the wall.
“What do you want?” I ask, too brusquely for me.
“I saw the boxes and thought you might need a hand,” he replies without acknowledging the blow. I reach the door, trying to ignore him with all my might, and put the key in the lock.
“Well, you were wrong, I can take care of it perfectly well on my own,” I point out, opening the door.
He picks up one of the five boxes lying at his feet and follows me into the house, as if he hasn’t heard a word. I am about to have a go at him, when the sound of my cell phone forces me to desist. Annoyed, I take it out of my purse shooting Jared a nasty look.
“I told you I can manage perfectly well on my own,” I insist, glancing at the screen. It’s Father. “Hello?” I say into the phone.
“Gil, it’s your father,” he returns my greeting. “Have you finished working?”
“Yes, I just set foot in the apartment Jane has made available to me,” I bring him up to speed as I look at Jared with irritation while he goes out and comes back in carrying the second box. He’s really determined to annoy me this evening.
“Good, then sit down someplace, I have something important to tell you.” Suddenly the conversation absorbs all my attention; I ignore Jared and his maneuvers and concentrate on Father.
“Tell me, what happened?”
“They called me from Robinson’s Industries today,” he calmly reveals.
“What? What did they want?”
“They offered me my place back,” I hear no jubilation in his voice, it’s as if he were simply telling me about the week’s weather forecast. “It seems the company managed to obtain a particularly demanding order and is hiring back all the workers they let go seven months ago.” My mouth hangs open and my mind is going around in circles; only my eyes run rapidly to the man who has just finished setting the last box in the middle of the living room and is now looking at me with startling intensity. “Gil, are you there?” Father asks on the other end of the line.
“Y… yes, I’m here, I’m here,” I try to recover, leaning against the wall near the entrance.
“I didn’t take it.”
“What? Why?”
“I have my job at the repair shop now, I’m happy with it, Gil. Do you understand?” he asks. “I’m happy as I am,” he calmly insists. “At first I thought that working for that company was my greatest ambition, but now I see I was wrong.”
“But… Father, you loved working there,” I remind him as if it were necessary.
“It’s true, I liked it, but I also like working at the shop, coming home earlier, meeting different people, listening to th
e town gossip.” I’m confused, I don’t think I understand.
“Are you sure?” I can’t erase the expression he wore that Friday from my mind. He can’t not want that job back, he was so sad when he lost it.
“I’m sure,” he confirms calmly. I blink a couple of times and try to make sense of his words. There is no hesitation in his voice, no cracking – he really is sure. “I’m glad they asked me to go back, but I have no intention of leaving the job I have now.”
“Are you really happy where you are?”
“I will be even happier when you and Lillian have settled down permanently,” he reminds me with a hint of reproach in his voice.
“O… ok,” I stammer, incapable of fully digesting the news.
“Well, honey, gotta go. Mother just put dinner on the table. Have a nice evening,” he happily says goodbye.
“Y… you too, Father,” I force myself to reply. “Say hi to Mother.”
“Sure, Gil, I will,” he says before hanging up. I sit there staring at the screen as if transfixed for a few seconds, then I remember I still have a guest, albeit uninvited. Jared is standing near the boxes with an intense expression that pins me down as soon as my eyes meet his.
His gaze suddenly becomes firm and he begins to move towards me.
“No, don’t,” I order before I look away.
“What?”
“This,” I say, showing him the phone I am clasping. He immediately understands what I’m talking about but doesn’t stop walking until he is nearly touching me. I can feel the heat of his body through the layers of our clothing. “I’m mad at you,” I remind him.
“I know and I’m sorry,” he whispers taking a strand of my hair and twisting it in his fingers. The movement of his hand is almost mesmerizing and I find I am lacking the strength to push him away. Deep down inside myself I have always known he was working to fix his mistake – he wouldn’t give up until he did, and now he’s done it.
“This doesn’t change a thing,” I make clear, trying to curb the impulse to raise a hand just to be able to touch his skin, his face, his lips once again.
What a Girl Wants Page 22
