The Transformation

by Terri Kraus

  The old man sniffed loudly and looked away, out the window, at the early-morning traffic on Walnut. Then he pulled himself together.

  “Anyway, Oliver, that’s been my counsel whenever a young person asked if God had only one special, unique person they were supposed to find and whom they would be happy with. I’m not sure God is in the matchmaking business like that. Maybe there are any number of women out there who you could be happy with. Women who love God, of course, and who will try and love you, women who believe in commitment. I don’t think God plays hide ’n’ seek games with the perfect mate, where you have to find the one and only person for you somewhere out there in the whole wide world. I believe He brings people across our path. But this is the most crucial piece of advice I can offer you: Don’t rush things with … you know … sex. I would tell you to wait. Sex before marriage might ruin whatever chance you have to be happy. If this woman can’t understand that concept, then maybe you need to move on. I know it’s hard, as a man, but that’s what I believe is the truth.”

  He looked straight into Oliver’s eyes. “And, deep in your heart, I think you do too.”

  “Are you free for lunch?” Oliver asked, holding his cell phone awkwardly against his left cheek while he steered with his right hand, knowing that he should stop the car. But traffic was slow and he felt in no danger of being distracted. “Sorry I wasn’t on the jobsite this morning. I had some errands to take care of.”

  Samantha didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Where?”

  “How about the Carnegie Café?”

  “Where? Where’s that?”

  “At the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. By the university. You’ve been there, haven’t you? Over on Forbes.”

  “Of course. With the dinosaurs? Sure. Like a million times. Twice a year with school. It was a sacred pilgrimage. I loved their spooky displays and all the stuffed animals. But I never ate at their café. Brown-bag lunches and all that.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Oliver hurried down the massive steps in front of the museum as Samantha exited a yellow cab.

  “I knew I wouldn’t be able to park close,” she said, as if she needed to explain the taxi. “And I was pretty sure you would give me a ride back home.”

  “Sure,” Oliver said as he stopped in front of the revolving doors. “Do I go first, or do you?”

  “You go first,” Samantha said. “If the door is hard to push, then the man is supposed to bear that heavy burden.”

  Oliver pretended that the door was indeed very heavy and recalcitrant, which it wasn’t, but he enjoyed hearing Samantha laugh at his acting.

  They found a table overlooking the dinosaur hall, only a half-wall separating them from the entrance. They could both see the head and tiny, disproportionate forearms of the T-Rex bathed in the spotlights that washed over the bones, casting ominous shadows on the floor that provided a nervous pause to a packet of grade-school children as they walked through the exhibit.

  “I remember being so scared by all the bones,” Samantha said. “I was sure, at least once, that I saw them move. All those huge skeletons with their big, toothy grins. Scary stuff for a little kid—especially since I didn’t understand it.”

  They both ordered lunch. Oliver wouldn’t have ordered anything if he had been alone, except coffee and maybe a piece of pie, but Samantha ordered chicken salad on wheat toast, a cup of the soup of the day (cream of broccoli), and a salad with the house dressing (“dinosaur vinaigrette”) on the side. Oliver didn’t want this lunch to be more awkward than it needed to be, in case she felt self-conscious eating alone, so he decided to order something.

  As she neared finishing her food, Oliver, who had only picked at his chef’s salad, put his fork down and lifted his coffee cup toward the waitress, who quickly brought a refill.

  “Samantha,” he said, “I need to explain something to you.”

  She took another bite of the second half of her sandwich and looked up, her beautiful eyes wide with invitation.

  “It’s about what we talked about the other night. When you came to the church. And when … you know …”

  She had not swallowed completely when she started to reply. “I know, Oliver. It made you nervous. I understand. I can give you time. I know we’re wired differently. But I can be patient. Really.”

  Oliver didn’t respond immediately.

  “That’s the guy speech, isn’t it?” she asked. “I don’t think many women get a chance to say that.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” Oliver said.

  A group of squealing children raced past them and pointed at the bones ahead. Some of the boys were making dinosaur-growling noises, all the while a quartet of harried teachers and aides chased after them, calling to them to be reserved and quiet.

  “I know what you were offering … that night,” he said, looking at her evenly.

  Samantha wasn’t the sort of woman Oliver thought could ever blush, but he saw her cheeks flush for a moment.

  “And I was flattered. A little guilty for feeling so flattered. And very, very tempted,” he added.

  “Well … thank you,” she replied, obviously not knowing if that should be considered a compliment.

  “But I couldn’t.”

  “I know,” she said. “You explained why. Your faith. The Bible. But I said I would give it time, Oliver. I know sometimes love doesn’t happen … not love. I didn’t mean that word, exactly. But two people, being together … well, sometimes it takes one of them longer to feel ready. That’s okay.”

  Oliver waited as the waitress cleared the empty dishes, asking if he wanted to take home what was left of his salad. He shook his head.

  “No. It’s not a time thing,” he continued. “I’ll always be tempted—believe me. But I won’t ever be ready. Unless I’m married.”

  Samantha wrinkled her face. “Never?”

  “Not without being married.”

  “Really? Really and truly?”

  “That’s what I believe.”

  They both sat still, not speaking, looking into each other’s eyes. Oliver tried to discern what she was thinking but couldn’t.

  “We have to believe the same thing?” she asked. “I mean, like being married first. I have to believe what you believe?”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

  Samantha’s expression went from puzzled to angry and puzzled. “You mean, I would have to change who I was if we were to be together? No other man in my life has asked me to change myself like that.”

  Later, Oliver would berate himself for his next question. “And just how many men have there been in your life?”

  Samantha no longer looked puzzled at all, just angry. Maybe angry and hurt. “You don’t have the right to ask me that.”

  “I do have the right,” he replied.

  “Just because you haven’t had sex doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have had sex,” she flared back.

  At that moment, Oliver began to realize the truth: He didn’t have a future with this woman. That realization was beginning to break his heart—more than a little.

  How could I forgive this? How could I overlook what she has done with her life? How could I overlook the fact that she has slept with—what?—a dozen men? Maybe even more than that?

  Samantha sat still, her eyes hot and fiery. He had never seen her like this before.

  And she is a Jew.

  “It’s not a matter of changing yourself,” Oliver said.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Samantha replied.

  “People can’t really change themselves. That, only God can do.”

  “He didn’t change my mother. For all her keeping of the laws, God didn’t change her.”

  Samantha stood up, grabbed her purse, and turned and walked away, every step a bit faster than th
e one before. But just as she turned, Oliver saw her eyes and the welling of tears starting to spill from them.

  “I won’t be home until later tonight,” Oliver explained. “I know it’s Friday, and I said we would go to a movie tonight, but the air-conditioning people won’t be done until … maybe six tonight. They want to button it all up before the weekend, so that’s why they’re working late.”

  “Oh, Oliver, that’s okay. Just being with you for a while is enough,” Paula said. “Late is okay.”

  “I’ll hurry home, get cleaned up, and call you. Your mom still fine with babysitting tonight?”

  “She is. She’s spending the night, so we can stay out a little later,” Paula replied, a hint of hopefulness in her voice.

  By the time Oliver made it home, fed Robert the Dog, and took a shower, it was nearly 8:30. Robert looked as grumpy as a dog can look when Oliver left, and he almost had to shove the dog’s snout out of the way to get the door closed. Paula was ready, of course, and before Oliver had a chance to get out of the truck, she was hurrying down the walk, pulling on her light jacket, juggling her purse between her arms as she climbed into the passenger side. She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, her hand resting on his arm and giving it a light squeeze.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, and Oliver believed her. “It seems like ages since we’ve been together—and I know it’s only been a week. I miss you when you’re not around.”

  Oliver put the truck into gear. “Where to? I’m kind of fried, so tonight is your choice. Whatever you want.”

  She sidled closer to him and took his arm in hers. Her perfume was stronger than he’d have preferred, but mostly pleasant.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Really hungry?”

  “Well …”

  “You had a candy bar on the way home, didn’t you?”

  Oliver turned for a moment to stare at her. “How did you know?”

  Paula leaned in and gave him another kiss on the cheek. “The wrapper is on the floor over here. Your truck is always so neat, so I figured it had to be recent.”

  Oliver’s grin was sheepish.

  Paula grinned back. “What about Eat ’n’ Park? Big food, little food, no food, whatever you want.”

  “You want to go there?” he asked. “It’s so—ordinary.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. As long as I’m with you.”

  They were seated in the last booth, farthest from the door, the booth facing the highway, in the back of the restaurant.

  “This is nice,” Paula said. “You remember how often we came here back in high school when we were dating? I loved being here with you.”

  “Yeah, I remember. We would split a strawberry pie and order two glasses of water. I think the pie cost a dollar back then.”

  The laughter came easy between them, and Oliver began to relax. He hadn’t been relaxed in a long time or at least it felt like a long time. When she took his hand in hers, her action didn’t feel awkward or forward. It was pleasant.

  “I talked to Pastor Mosco this week,” she said.

  “When did you see him?”

  “No. I mean, I didn’t talk to him—not exactly. I talked to his wife. She said that you and he had discussed … you know, me and you dating. What it all means. What it might lead to. That sort of stuff. She was so helpful.”

  “She was?” It amazed Oliver that he was ever the topic of other people’s conversations.

  “Mrs. Mosco said Pastor Mosco said you’d asked about us, and that he’d said we would be okay. You know, us being in church, and me being born again and all that. She said he said it was okay with the church and that you seemed pleased by it all. That means a lot to me, Oliver, that you’re happy with the way things are, the way I am, the way you are, and how we are with God and everything. That’s important. Like she said, me being a born-again virgin was important. Like I’m not doing anything that God doesn’t like … until the right man comes along. She said it was important to do that, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m waiting. Me and Bridget are waiting. She said that God will provide.”

  Oliver was happy when the waitress came over with her green order pad. He scanned the menu. He knew what was on it, but the examination bought him some time.

  Paula ordered the sesame chicken dinner; Oliver selected the Superburger and a Diet Coke. Neither spoke until their drinks were served.

  “I didn’t mean to go so fast, Oliver,” Paula said. “I guess I just get anxious because I don’t see you during the week. I know your mother is pushing you. I don’t want her to do that, but you know your mother. I know Pastor Mosco is pushing you too. And I know Bridget would love to have you around all the time.”

  Oliver took a long drink. “I know. I know everyone wants to see us together. At least it seems that way.”

  “What about you, Oliver?” Paula asked as she speared a lettuce leaf. “What do you want? I know what I want, and that’s to be with you. But what is it you want?”

  Oliver hated the question. He really did. When people asked him what he wanted, he never knew how to reply. Did he tell people what he thought they wanted for him, or what his mother wanted, or what he should want? Wasn’t he in the business of giving people what they wanted—even if he hated it? Make the customer happy—that was the most important part of his business. If his heart wasn’t in it, so what? The customer would be satisfied. People would be happy. No one would be unhappy. That’s what motivated Oliver, that’s what drove him—everyone happy and content and not sad or depressed or … whatever. Give the people what they want.

  And tonight, Paula looked so earnest and needy, so pretty and inviting, too. She looked like she really needed him. Her daughter needed a father … Oliver could see that. Paula needed someone to be her rock—to keep her safe, protect her, and prevent her from being lonely. Oliver knew that. He wanted to do right by Paula, as well as his mother and the pastor.

  “Do you want to be with me, Oliver? Like that? Like your mother wants? Like I want? You need to be honest with me.” She speared another piece of lettuce and chewed carefully.

  “I think I do, Paula,” he said, letting the words slowly leave his mouth, as if it were a test to see how they felt and how it sounded when spoken aloud. That wasn’t so bad. The words sounded okay. I felt … okay.

  “You do?” she asked, placing her fork on her empty salad plate, sliding it to the edge of the table to make room for her main course. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure. I guess I’m sure,” Oliver said.

  The waitress placed both their orders on the table. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  “Everything looks great,” Oliver replied. “Just great.”

  “Then you two enjoy.”

  “That’s great, Oliver,” Paula said. “I’m so happy.”

  She patted his hand, then reached for her knife and began to cut through the chicken breast, nearly hidden under a beige sesame sauce with a large sprig of parsley like a forest on the north side of the dish. “That is just so great.”

  After dinner, Paula suggested strawberry pie, for old times’ sake, and Oliver politely declined, claiming the Superburger and the mound of french fries had left him stuffed, unable to eat another bite, even a forkful of dessert.

  “It’s too early to go home,” Paula insisted as Oliver pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. “Let’s drive over to Twin Lakes. We can watch the moon on the water. Remember when we used to go parking there back in high school?”

  Oliver nodded. He did remember but didn’t want either of them to elaborate on those memories.

  He pulled into the dark parking area. He had remembered the lake as being larger than it was. It had been years since he’d visited the park. Clouds obscured the moon, but the air was warm, and they both rolled their windows
down. Oliver switched on the radio and found the one classical station in the area. He liked it, not for the music so much as it was listener-supported, so there were no commercials unless it was pledge week, and it wasn’t.

  “This is so nice, being with you like this,” Paula cooed as she snuggled against Oliver. Crickets and katydids and spring peepers filled the night air with their calls. After a long piece by Mozart, Paula turned to Oliver and kissed him, full on his lips. As she did, she placed her hand on his knee, and slowly began to move her hand, waiting for his encouragement. After a few inches, he placed his larger hand on hers, his palm thick with calluses, and pushed her hand slowly away, trying not to be obvious or dramatic about it.

  She pulled her hand away. “What’s the matter, Oliver?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “I’m just tired. I need to get to sleep.”

  Paula slid away from him a few inches. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Sure. But I’m tired tonight. It’s been a long week.”

  He tried to interpret what she might be thinking through her eyes, but the moon was still hidden, and the faint glow from the radio wasn’t strong enough to dispel the darkness.

  On the road back toward Route 30, he felt more awake than he had in weeks, his mind racing.

  She would not have stopped. She would have kept going.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  IN THE EARLY-MORNING HOURS of Monday, well before the sun, well before the traffic, even before the coffee shops opened, a sleepless Oliver was at work. Even Robert the Dog slept on, curled up on a pallet of painter’s drop cloths over by the basement steps.

  Carrying a hammer and a pry bar, Oliver meticulously removed a series of trim and molding from around the mirror behind the bar. One of the long pieces of trim was the slightest bit warped, and every time Oliver laid eyes on it, it disturbed him, bothered him. He stripped it all off, then compared each piece with a long metal drywall level.