SHADOW OF WHIMSY

by ANN HYMES

  “Theresa, I … I don’t know what to say. We had no business … ”

  “I know. I know you’re right,” she said, pulling herself up from him and straightening her skirt. “I know it was wrong, but I’m not sorry. It felt so right and so special.”

  “And so selfish on my part.” Rick was trying to put himself back together. “I haven’t been attracted to any woman since Carol. You’ve caught me off guard, Theresa from Virginia. And I feel guilty as hell.”

  “Because now you’ve kissed another woman?”

  He looked at her with a quizzical smile. “A little more than a kiss, wouldn’t you say?”

  She blushed and pushed back his hair with both her hands. She sat content.

  “Theresa, you are a married woman. I don’t want to mess with that. You’re very attractive and desirable, but that’s a game I don’t want to play.”

  Theresa felt like a sixteen-year-old caught in the backseat with someone else’s boyfriend; it was she who had really transgressed. She had done worse than step outside a trusting relationship; she had smashed the barrier of the forbidden and let animal instincts run wild. She had committed adultery without dreams and imagining, and she loved it and wanted more.

  “We need to promise not to do this again,” Rick continued, as if trying to convince himself, but he still cradled her on his lap, kissing the curls pressed into his face.

  “I can’t promise,” she said simply.

  “I can’t be dishonest, Theresa. I can’t pretend this is real … or right.”

  “Can I blame it on the seductive rocking of the mower? ‘The mower made me do it’?” she teased.

  “No, the desire of the moment made us both do it. We felt close and at home with each other. So natural and so ready. Theresa, we are both hungry for love, but an affair is not going to satisfy either of us.” He smiled at her with enormous tenderness. “At least not for long.”

  “It’s the guilty conscience thing,” she said quietly, as if she was being scolded.

  “Of course it is. That’s why we care for each other, feel comfortable together. We value goodness and the desire to do what’s right. We want to love, but we fell off the track, and it’s wrong for both of us.”

  She could not argue with him, although her heart called out that she wanted to change her life and live for the moment, climbing forbidden peaks and not caring about the consequences. She felt warm and safe in Rick’s arms. Perhaps the future was not theirs, and they had only today, but it had been sweet.

  A mist hovered on the ocean as the sun blazed through the morning haze, reaching higher and higher, casting a wild prism of color across the water. The sun rose each day without invitation. It struggled to brighten the sky no matter what obstacles Mother Nature threw in its path. Dust or clouds and rain could veil the power, but the source of brightness didn’t change. It could be hidden but not cancelled. Its strength had no lasting opponent.

  “Rick, are you happy?” Theresa asked, watching the water change into soft rainbow hues melting across the surface as the mist tried to lift.

  Still holding her warm and comfortable on his lap, he answered, “Are you referring to the extraordinary last few minutes of my life or a broader time frame?”

  She poked him and stared straight into his eyes. She wanted to understand her feelings and have a glimpse into a heart that was whole, even with its shadows of the past. She trusted him and felt a closeness that she craved. The discontent in her marriage was wrapped in a web of confusion, and Theresa wondered whether it was to be endured or confronted. Being satisfied with one’s life was the challenge of the ages, and she yearned to know the recipe for healing.

  “Gratitude,” he continued. “Forget the ‘be happy’ business and focus on gratitude. You’ll find that ‘happy’ is what you bring and not what you get. Waiting for something good or better or different is what keeps half of humanity in a state of limbo and empty expectation. Large doses of gratitude create happiness.”

  “Is this the old ‘glass half empty, half full’ query of life?”

  “You bet. And the glass is definitely half full … and filling. Forget empty; it’s the road to misery, and you know about misery’s desire for company!” Rick laughed and tried to shift Theresa’s weight on his lap. “It’s a mighty big pit to fall into, complete with a welcome mat!”

  “And what’s the other half of humanity doing?” she continued. “The half not waiting around for happiness to land on them?”

  Rick became serious. “They don’t have much time to wonder if they are happy, or even should be. Their days are consumed with the necessities of existence, the most basic demands. Clean water, enough food, keeping their children safe and healthy. They don’t have the luxury of whining.” He paused, and Theresa saw that faraway look return to his face, a look of fond remembering, tinged with resignation. “Injustice sings out from the soul through random placement of birth. One day in India would graphically show you what I mean.”

  “India! I’ve never even been outside of Virginia, that I can remember, before last week. I’m afraid my grasp of the world is pretty much academic.” Realizing she would not be able to corner him on the ways of the heart, she pursued his comment. “And when were you in India?”

  “Graduate school. I lived there for a time and then made several other trips to complete my research. Carol used to say that if I hadn’t fallen in love with her first, she’d have worried about the competition from my distant muse.”

  Theresa thought of the dining room table inside with the inscription about muses. She wondered for a moment if muses could be male as well as female. Jealousy was an odd companion, and she had often entertained it herself while Kevin was in law school. He spent long hours with fellow students in the library and in study groups. She wasn’t certain whether she was unhappy with the school, with him, or the people who claimed his time, but she had been alone and outside the circle of activity. Late-night calls for Kevin were often from women, and she could hear him talking in low tones from his desk in their bedroom. But Kevin was too conscientious, too honest, and probably too exhausted to be tempted by any woman on the prowl, student or not, and Theresa’s anxiety dissolved at graduation.

  His law office was a mistress she could handle, and the results of the relationship benefited them both. He moved quickly through the ranks of approval and accomplishment, carving a niche among the partners with his diligence and competence. He was excited, focused, and their life began to build with the certainty of success and contentment.

  And then the easy conversation and sharing began to fade. They each were wooed by the subtle temptress of overwork, the pull of self-importance. Silence filled the spaces of their time together. There was less affection, less touching, less caring, and Theresa knew before she acknowledged it that her marriage was slipping to that place where no one would come looking for it.

  “Did Carol practice law?” she asked Rick, who was contentedly watching the gentle rhythm of the ocean.

  “No, she never had the chance. She passed the bar on the first go and her job in Boston was waiting for her, but January never came. It’s a cruel loss of talent.”

  Then, shifting his weight and pulling her close to him, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t you think it’s a little odd to be talking about Carol just now? I have to sort through that on my own.”

  Theresa kissed him, feeling desire and intrigue. They were parked in the middle of a half-mowed lawn, and she didn’t care who might see them. Pulling her skirt up over her hips, she felt the hot sun on skin usually out of view.

  “I care about you, Rick, and I’m curious about the women in your life.”

  “It’s a short list, remember?” he said. Theresa wanted to slip off her skirt and lie with him in the grass. “My mother, my sister, and Carol. Each with a slightly different role, I’m happy to say. But each with a profound influence on me
. You’ll be interested to know that my favorite professors in college were often women, and one of the most renowned scholars of Indic languages is a woman.”

  “What did you give her for Christmas?”

  “Dr. Sentasse?”

  “No, silly. Carol.”

  “Now why in the world would you want to know that?”

  “It was your first married Christmas together. What did you give her? Is it too intimate?”

  Rick sat perfectly still. Theresa was trying to figure out this puzzle of a man and was asking him to return to a painful day in his life.

  “I gave her a fuzzy yellow sweater and a plate,” he replied slowly.

  “A plate?”

  “It was a Christmas plate, like a platter. In the center was an elegantly dressed reindeer cavorting in the rain with boots and an umbrella. Across the top it said ‘Vixen’ and underneath, ‘You are the sweetest rain, dear.’”

  Theresa said nothing, just watching him remembering.

  “She had made Christmas cookies and was carrying the platter of frosted and sparkly cookies to my parents’ when we were hit. She died in the sweater I had given her just hours before. It was so soft and ... so soft … ” His words couldn’t give shape to his agony, and Theresa joined in the silent sorrow of missing a loved one.

  “The platter was shattered, and the cookies scattered, of course. Our damaged packages were retrieved from the scene, but the bits of ‘Vixen’ were everywhere. For weeks and months I would spot a shiny piece under a shrub or washed to the curb. The cookies were a gift to the birds, manna from ashes, but the plate chips did not go away, like the grief that won’t give up.”

  “I love rain,” said Theresa softly, with no apparent reason.

  “So did Carol,” came the quick response. “She loved the sound, the smell, the cleansing freshness. She used to say that a gentle rain was sweeter than candy and healthier for the disposition.”

  “I think I would have liked her.”

  “I believe you would have liked each other a lot. Two kindred spirits, both a little unpredictable and pushy.”

  “Pushy!” exclaimed Theresa, trying to stand up from her tangled position and poking at the crumpled flannel shirt. “Pushy? You think I’m pushy?”

  She laughed as he tried to grab her hands, and they almost fell off the mower as he kissed her to stop the taunting.

  “From what you’ve said about your grandmother, you seem to be her cookie cutter duplicate—sugar and fire, no ice.”

  She looked at him carefully for signs of disapproval, but there was none.

  “My husband might disagree with the ice part,” Theresa mused aloud, realizing she had not thought once of Kevin while making love with Rick. It was a cold woman who felt no guilt.

  “I wish I could know more about my grandmother,” she said.

  “Why not go talk with her nurse?” answered Rick, matter-of-factly.

  “Her nurse?”

  “Yeah, she works at the library.”

  Chapter Twelve

  THERESA FUMBLED through the pages of the telephone book to find the library number but soon gave up and called the operator. Even if it meant missing her afternoon whale-watching trip, she was determined to find her grandmother’s nurse and talk with her. She had assumed the woman had moved away and did not even think to ask the bank trustee. Impatience was catching up with her.

  “Hello? This is Theresa Crandall calling, and I’m looking for a woman there who knew my grandmother, Theodosia Hampton.”

  There was silence on the phone line, and she thought she might have been disconnected. She wished Rick had remembered the woman’s name. He had met her only one time before she moved out of Whimsy Towers. She had showed him some things around the house and where supplies were kept. It was weeks later that he recognized her at the library desk, and he’d just smiled and waved.

  Suddenly a voice said, “Ana’s off for a few days. Could I take a message for her?”

  “Ana?” Theresa said half aloud and half to herself, remembering the woman watching her with her grandmother’s seashell. “Could I have her home number?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to give that out. But I’d be happy to give her a message.”

  Theresa began to bite her fingernail, a nervous habit she had not done in years. She wanted to jump through the phone and yell at the faceless voice, “But it’s important that I talk to this woman. I need to talk to her!”

  She calmed her impatience and didn’t want to speak until she could trust herself to be civil.

  The voice spoke again. “Would you like for me to take a message, to give her your number?”

  “Thank you. Yes. Yes, I would.”

  Theresa gave the number and reluctantly turned to get ready for whale watching. She looked at her fingernails and thought perhaps some nail polish would keep her from biting them. She had time now to think of her morning with Rick, but painted fingernails would not stop her growing confusion or the changes that were happening.

  She felt reluctant to bathe. Water, sometimes the symbol of life and continuity, also had the ability to erase, and she wanted to hold on to this last hour and its wonder. Theresa felt alive. She dropped her wrinkled clothes on the floor. A quick shower, she realized, couldn’t remove the feelings, the longing, the satisfaction of being with Rick. The connection was more than physical, but believing she could not become pregnant left her free to savor the forbidden thrill and its future possibilities.

  Gypsy sat watching her brush her hair with hard, decisive strokes, each pull causing the curls to spring out and then settle softly around her face. The dog seemed to sense that preparation was underway for something, and she stayed close to Theresa in order not to miss whatever was about to happen.

  The “Virginia is for Lovers” sweatshirt lay tossed in the corner of the bedroom, untouched since the beach episode in Provincetown. Sand still stuck to it, and Theresa decided not to disturb the crumpled bundle or stir her recollections of that day. The dream was over; reality had overtaken imagining.

  She grabbed a reversible slicker and headed downstairs, with Gypsy close on her heels. In the dining room she stopped abruptly and read the inscription on the marble again: “TABLE OF THE MUSES.” She, too, was feeling pulled by distant voices—the temptation of adultery, the mystery of Bobby, the hope of meeting Ana, the secret of a seashell. She wanted to draw this strange chorus closer and hear what they had to say to her.

  Reaching down, she picked up a shopping bag that sat next to the window and walked purposefully toward the back door. Heavy contents shifted in the bag.

  “Hold down the fort,” she called to the dog, leaving her for the first time without a pat.

  The drive to Provincetown felt somewhat familiar, and Theresa laughed when she passed the park entrance where she had encountered the two men. They had been startled by a woman rolling toward the surf, and, in retrospect, she was startled at the sight of two men holding hands. She hoped their paths would not cross again. Surely there were enough new roads to follow in life without retracing the embarrassing ones.

  Hurrying down the long pier, she saw warmly dressed adults and kids in T-shirts already boarding the boat for the afternoon trip. Theresa wondered why children often seemed so oblivious to temperature, either not noticing or not caring that cool weather required more clothes. One girl wore a bright yellow shirt with detailed pictures of a dozen whale tails on the front; each looked different and had a name under it. Theresa remembered holding Gypsy as a puppy and playing with her, looking into her eyes and deciding what to name her. How does one name a whale, she wondered.

  “Hi, welcome aboard. Tickets, please. Thank you.” A young woman with the most amazing hair stood at the edge of the pier and helped everyone with the last step onto the boat. Her waist-length strawberry hair billowed out in the wind like unraveling strands
of gold streaked with sunshine. She was suntanned and fit, with an easy smile and watchful eye. “Mind your step. Yes, there are restrooms inside. Tickets, please. We’ll be leaving in just a few minutes.”

  “Is there any particularly good place onboard?” Theresa asked as she handed over her ticket, clutching her shopping bag.

  “You’ll probably want to move around when we get out a ways, but I’d avoid the bow for awhile if you don’t want to get sprayed. It feels great on a hot afternoon, but I don’t think you’d like it much today.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, grateful she’d brought the slicker, and automatically following the aroma of brewing coffee. Minutes later she was seated on a sturdy wooden bench with a plump young family from Pennsylvania. With the bag tucked securely between her feet, she sat happily drinking coffee and eating a hot dog covered with chili.

  “Ever been on a whale watch?” the woman asked her.

  “No,” replied Theresa. “This is my first time. How about you?”

  “Well, my husband and I came here on our honeymoon eight years ago and went out. We haven’t been back to Provincetown since. You know … uh … because of the couples thing here. We just weren’t used to it. But the kids are so excited about seeing whales, and we can’t afford to travel to the West Coast or Hawaii. They’re little enough to concentrate on seeing the whales and not take in the rest of it.”

  Theresa was curious but decided not to ask about “the rest of it.” She was enjoying the gentle roll of the boat, still docked at the busy pier, and the warm afternoon sky filled with seagull squawks and the fishy smell of the ocean. She glanced down protectively at the bag at her feet, the bag that held her father’s ashes. This was the day that would fulfill his wish to be scattered in the ocean. By joining her parents together, Theresa would be finally separating herself from them both. She was anxious to be underway, and too much conversation with strangers might lead to questions she didn’t want to pursue.

  As if responding to a silent prompt, the woman asked, “What’s in your bag? Brought your lunch?”