by ANN HYMES
The phone rang and broke the train of thought that was leading to danger.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Theresa. I’ve had trouble getting through to you. You must be outside or out exploring a lot.”
The familiar voice shattered her reverie and the expectation of someone else.
“Hi, Kevin. Yes … yes, everything’s fine.” She’d been rehearsing what she would say if Rick called, and she stumbled to switch gears and realign emotions.
He continued, not delving into her sincerity. “I tried calling all day yesterday, but there was no answer. And last night I had to work late. Hope this isn’t too early.”
“No, it’s fine. We’re up. I mean … Gypsy and I are up.”
Her clarification was peculiar, but she didn’t dare pursue it. In her heart she had committed adultery, plain and simple. She increasingly thought of Rick and what it would be like to be with him. The rolling daydream from the beach repeated and repeated, but now the man’s face was clearly Rick’s, and Theresa’s imagination carried them to new heights. Her restlessness was protected by distance, but she knew the glue that kept her married to Kevin was losing its grip. Theresa could not quite admit the finality of it, but lack of satisfying companionship makes places empty and uninteresting. She knew she was selfish to think of discarding a good man who wanted her so much, but she did not care. She was not willing to rot in place.
Theresa was glad Kevin could not see into her eyes, but she knew he was searching for clues to figure out the moment, to move forward.
She pounced on the lull. “I need to let Gypsy outside. Can you hold a minute, and I’ll pick up downstairs?”
Theresa knew he’d be glad for the opportunity to gather his thoughts. Lawyers liked preparation.
She grabbed her robe and hurried downstairs with the dog. As she opened the door, her heart pounded, and she froze. Scattered on the porch floor and down the steps were bits of celery, carrots, and crackers. Gypsy scurried over them, anxious to get outside and find a familiar place for her morning business. Theresa slammed the door and turned back to the kitchen. She picked up the phone.
“Kevin, still there? Can I call you right back? I need to do something.” She was trying to control the fright in her voice, and she knew she was breathing faster than before. She hoped he’d think she had just run down the stairs or from the back door.
“Is everything okay? You sound a little panicked.”
“Everything’s fine, but I need to check something. I’ll call you back in five minutes. Will you be home?”
“I’ll wait right here. Are you sure you’re all right?”
She hesitated. “I’ll call you right back.”
Theresa realized she’d opened up a Pandora’s box of choices. Kevin would not be easily brushed off without an explanation of her behavior, and she didn’t want to draw him into her web of events. Not yet. The details of her days were shaping her plans. She needed more answers herself before she could share her feelings with him—or her decisions about the future. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she wasn’t ready to tell him the whole truth, either.
Curiosity and foolishness combined as she raced across the lawn to the boathouse. The distance seemed longer than before, perhaps an omen urging her to reconsider. Should she stop and call the police? Gypsy caught up with her midway to the pier, and Theresa felt a silly comfort in the dog’s company. They had not been back inside the boathouse since that first morning, and she was hell-bent for discovery.
She pushed hard against the door, and it flew open, banging against the wall. It bounced back toward her, and she shoved the splintery boards away again. Hinges creaked. The image of an old Western movie, with the sheriff strutting into the saloon through swinging doors to confront the bad guys, flashed across her mind. She half smiled, but her knees were shaking, her eyes afraid to blink. Gypsy trotted in ahead of her, oblivious to the prospect of trouble.
The room had changed since Theresa first saw it. She stood in the doorway, taking in the whole space, her gaze drawing it together by each corner. Gypsy sniffed and inspected the floor, never missing an opportunity for the quick taste of a wayward crumb.
“Guess our boarder has checked out,” Theresa said aloud, the pounding in her chest lessening.
Gypsy’s ears perked up, and her tail wagged at the sound of Theresa’s voice. The dog seemed reassured by her tone. Tone communicates more than words, Theresa mused, remembering how Kevin’s dismissive tone distanced her from pursuing reasonable conversation. Whatever she said to Gypsy, if wrapped in kindness, would be accepted with grateful wagging. Gypsy took her cues from the one who fed her; spouses had more complicated needs. Kevin would not be pleased with her impulsive rush to the boathouse, and he would be right. Could there possibly be danger in this peaceful place? Gypsy’s tail continued to wag.
The pile of cassette tapes and portable tape recorder were gone. There was no sign of carrots or bags of chips. The bed was made with the tidy precision of camp inspection for the day’s clean cabin award. Everything was in order, the four chairs pushed evenly under the table at exact intervals. Theresa didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed. She stepped into the room, entering the home that had been someone else’s. Who had stayed here? What trespasser would leave with such care? Her apprehension faded into acceptance and the belief that a friendly visitor had belonged to this room as surely as her grandmother’s heart had filled the towers overlooking it.
She left the door open as she called Gypsy and headed back to the house. Her fear of the place was over. Its drafty walls held mysteries that could no longer frighten. It had been cleared of the past, but its ghost still lingered somewhere in the present. She was determined to find her connection to this elusive specter and the reason for corncobs and carrots. New relationships were dawning in her life, leaving gifts at the doorstep of her imagination.
Early morning was cool and damp. The boldness of a golden sunrise crept across the ocean, warming Theresa’s back as she followed her shadow across the lawn. The phone was ringing. She ran the last few yards into the house and again breathlessly picked up the receiver.
“Hi Kevin,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that … ” She stopped to consider where to go next with her explanation. “Kevin?”
There was a silence, and then a voice said hesitantly, “Theresa? … Hi … It’s Rick.”
She closed her eyes, aware that yet another awkwardness had arisen between them.
“Oh! Oh, Rick. I’m so sorry.” She realized she was repeating the same words she had thought she’d been saying to Kevin. She started again. “I thought you were … I mean, my husband just … ” Her thoughts were a jumble.
“I think I’ve caught you at a bad time. I can call back later, but I felt I owed you an apology from yesterday.”
“Oh, no. No apology,” she stammered. Theresa forgot all the lines she had rehearsed for this call. Nervously, she added, “Skinny-dipping has its risks.” She realized she didn’t know whether she meant for her or for him, but he rescued the conversation before she fell deeper into the confusion of her emotions.
“Theresa, would you like to discuss the house maintenance things?”
“Yes … yes, I would, but now is not a good time. Could you come back to the house?” She decided to keep talking, convincing herself that she could put her thoughts in order and speak coherently. “Is today possible? I’m going whale watching tomorrow.”
“Today is fine, if it’s around noontime. I’ve got deliveries scheduled before and after.”
“Great, I’ll see you in a couple hours. And I promise I’ll be dressed.”
There was a pause. “Is that supposed to be good news or bad news?” Rick laughed.
Theresa pictured his smile at the other end of the line. He was unaffected and easygoing. She was glad he’d left the beach yesterday before ei
ther of them had to decide what to do next. Feeling comfortable around him was one thing, but emerging naked from the water would have sent quite a mixed signal for friendship building.
He let her catch her balance and then asked, “One more thing, Theresa.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know a six-letter word that is a ‘verbal noun ending in -ing’?”
“What?” she replied, with startled disbelief. “A what?”
“I…N…G,” he repeated more slowly. “A verbal noun. I need this six-letter word to open up my crossword. I figured you’re a writer and might know. Doesn’t ring a bell?”
“Well,” she began, “a ‘verbal noun.’ I…N…G. You mean, like eating or spying?”
“I’m not sure. I guess so. The second-to-last letter is N; I’m pretty sure of that. The cross word is ‘purana’.”
“‘Purana’? What in the world is that?”
“A Hindu epic. Actually, they are a group of legends relating to the gods and creation. It’s a fascinating study of ancient fables and lore.”
Theresa was dumbfounded. “Rick, what do you teach at the college?”
He laughed. “Do you mean my other talents besides digging perfect holes for lilac bushes?”
She was embarrassed but curious enough not to be put off. “Yes, what else. What lies beneath that easygoing surface?”
Rick paused. “I teach Western Civilization.”
“Western Civ!” Theresa exclaimed. “That’s a long ride from India!”
“Well, community colleges don’t have the luxury of specialization in academic fields. It’s pretty much history and Western civ. We’re the sampling table for higher education. But my background is in South Asia, and my Ph.D. is in Indic languages.”
“Ph.D.! Now I’m really impressed. How did you end up here?”
He didn’t immediately answer, and she remembered her hesitancy when he’d inquired about her background.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry,” she continued.
“No, it’s all right. It’s just a rather long story, a complicated story. Maybe sometime.”
“How about over lunch? I’d welcome a break from unraveling my own history, and I make a delicious tuna sandwich.”
Rick’s hesitation was long enough to make her wonder what he was thinking and whether he was still smiling. “I’ve already packed my lunch for the road today, but I could bring it along to eat at your new table. How would that be?”
“That’s a plan,” she answered eagerly.
Theresa hung up and almost forgot the morning’s alarm over veggie bits and phantom visitors. She was lunching with an interesting man, and the day was ripe for intrigue and excitement. She felt absolutely naughty. Being away from home and from Kevin gave her an imagined freedom that stretched her invisible tether. She wanted to feel free as well as connected, without regret or guilt. It was an improbable combination.
Lack of satisfaction in her life could not be traced to any single problem or omission. It was the accumulation of events, the sameness of action and reaction. The mixture needed a stir, or a new element, but the possibility of explosion bubbled close to the surface.
An ocean breeze crept up the bank and whipped towards the house. The screen door flapped once or twice as the wind changed course and lost its will to enter. Morning settled on the day with both certainty and freshness. A bouquet of fading pink and orange clouds drifted slowly overhead, unobserved, out of reach of the currents below.
The phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Theresa, what happened? I began to worry when you didn’t call back. Then your phone’s been busy. Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”
“Hi, Kevin. Yes, yes, everything’s just fine.” She searched for an excuse. “I was expecting a delivery and thought I heard them outside. Then they called to set up another time. I’m sorry, the time slipped away.” She wondered how convincing she sounded.
“Isn’t it a little early for deliveries?”
“No, not really. I guess they need to call early to set the schedule for the day and be sure people are home.” She was grasping for credibility.
Kevin didn’t ask what delivery she was expecting, and she assumed he chose to let her wiggle in the noose of her own making. There was no such thing as a little lie.
“Theresa, I’d like to come up this weekend. I miss you, and there must be some things I could do to help you around the place. I can fly into Boston and rent a car.”
Kevin’s way of pursuing a thorny issue was to tack and come around at a different angle. He was a natural strategist, and Theresa felt outmaneuvered. She twirled a lock of hair around and around her finger. Just as she was lining up her troops for battle, the war shifted, and new terrain had to be defended.
“Oh, Kevin, I don’t know. I’m still finding my way here, mentally and physically. I don’t think I’m ready to open it all up.”
“Do you mean open yourself up?”
She hesitated, feeling transparent. “Maybe.”
“Theresa, I don’t pretend that we can resolve this over the phone, but we need to face some things. I don’t want you settling in up there with me in Virginia. I miss my girls.”
“Laundry piling up?” she quipped.
She could hear him take a deep breath and knew it was a cheap shot. Kevin did not have a temper, but he often had to calm his anxiety level with her. Conflict resolution required delicacy and patience, and she and Kevin had cultivated them both.
“No, I can handle the laundry. And my shirts don’t care who drops them off. But the prospect of a long-distance marriage and being shut out isn’t something I bargained for.”
Theresa wondered whether her grandmother had heard similar words, perhaps by letter or cable. The written word gave time for reflection before response. Telephones brought immediacy to an issue. She felt the silence hanging between them, waiting for her to step in and chase it away.
“Kevin, having a few weeks apart is not exactly severing our relationship.” She stopped, considering the sharp edge of her tongue, and then decided to unsheathe it. “We’re able to do that just as well when we’re together.”
A long, painful quiet engulfed the moment. Theresa realized she had broken the code of propriety; she had dropped the gauntlet, and Kevin was unsure whether to accept the challenge.
“Let’s both think about it,” was all he said. His instincts as a lawyer fought with his desire to be a good husband. “Let’s take the necessary time to consider what we value.”
Theresa felt numb and guilty as she hung up the receiver. She was baiting Kevin and had no idea what she expected him to say or do. She couldn’t define what she wanted from him or from their marriage. And distance only clouded the issues.
The kitchen was stuffy and smelled faintly of fireplace ashes swept into corners or lodged in the nooks and crannies of the chimney as they rose to the sky. She stood up slowly and walked outside again in her robe, closing her eyes to the morning sun and wondering when rain would come and relieve her of watering the infant lilacs.
Chapter Ten
“RICK, DO YOU THINK home is where you’re from or where you’re going?” Theresa asked abruptly, before he’d even pulled his sandwich out of his lunch pail.
He opened the lid and lifted out several small bags and an apple. She sat patiently perched on the edge of her chair, and he slid his closer to her in order to share the shade of the umbrella. Her face was troubled and intent; her tuna sandwich sat on a bright yellow plate like an unappealing replica of real food. Theresa wasn’t thinking about eating.
“I think home is like an anchor,” he answered slowly, unwrapping a large sandwich of carefully layered meat and tomato slices.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I think home is that place deep inside that gives a sense of belongi
ng. It’s something we bring, not seek. It’s what we develop that nourishes the soul, that includes those we love, even when we’re not together.”
Theresa wondered whether he was alluding to his former wife. He began to chew, without looking at her. “It’s a heavenly place of the heart,” he continued.
“So you can throw your heart anchor overboard?” She laughed, hoping to stir him out of wistful thoughts.
“No,” he answered quickly. “Remember, an anchor is attached!” His blue eyes sparkled and made the blue of the sky turn pale. “You can lower an anchor into any kind of water, make your home anywhere, and that deep sense of belonging stays with you. It’s who you are, not where you’re dropped.”
“I think we have a runaway metaphor here,” Theresa said, feeling a chill at the reference of home and belonging in water. She gazed out at the ocean, thinking of her mother.
“A turtle doesn’t have a problem finding his home; he carries it along for all to see,” he continued, not put off by Theresa’s comment. “We humans aren’t usually that clear on what really suits us. We waste a lot of time wishing and hoping for someone else’s idea of home to be ours, to fit. It’s a disappointing search.”
“My father used to say to ‘blossom where you’re planted,’ but I think he always longed for the time he was with my mother.”
“Wishing for something out of reach is different from remembering the past with fondness, Theresa. But longing for what cannot be is destructive and hurts those around us as well.” He paused and looked at her, setting his sandwich aside. “What happened to their marriage?”
She was still watching the gentle roll of distant waves. The rhythmic motion reminded her of a photograph she had seen inside of being rocked on the porch by her mother. Snuggled and safe in maternal love, she had slept with the certainty of heaven on earth.
“‘Heavenly place of the heart.’ I like that,” she began. “I believe that heaven is a mental concept that we can experience here and now, and our home should definitely be tied to it. Heaven is not a place where we go but an idea, and so is home. They both develop in thought.”
